1
Dylan
Now
No. No. No.
This isn’t happening.
Ten years should’ve been long enough to bury the memories, to piece together what he shattered and finally move on. An entire decade to forget the boy who tore my heart apart. Familiar as ever, the need to vanish creeps in as I’m crouched behind a ridiculous umbrella, praying that Brooks Holland doesn’t see me.
Every effort went into running from my past—from him. Yet, one glance, and I’m back to being that broken, vulnerable girl again—a harsh reminder that the wound he left behind never truly closed. Time didn’t fix it. I’m just better at pretending. And now he’s here—not the boy I knew, but a man lounging outside the Beauport Hotel in Ogunquit—miles from the place I swore I’d left behind. Rockport, Oregon.
My grip tightens around my camera, knuckles white as I try to steady the tremor in my hands. I wish I could turn back, return to capturing the rocky cliffs and endless ocean, letting the world exist through my viewfinder—but now, the lens feels useless. The damn I built is giving way, and the pain I’ve kept hidden is breaking through the cracks.
The ocean breeze pulls at my hair, its salty touch a reminder of the last place that felt like home. My heart betrays me, pounding in protest as that old ache brutally resurfaces. I force a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm, to hold back the memories pressing in.
Hiding behind the shade of the umbrella, I steal a quick glance at Brooks—lounging by the water, completely oblivious to my gaze.
He is even more handsome than I remember, his chestnut-brown hair catching the light, hints of gold flickering through it like sparks. Thankfully, his eyes are closed, but I can picture the piercing emerald green hidden beneath his lids. Even his dimples, those infuriatingly charming dimples, mock me from afar.
Then there’s Aaron, my boyfriend, sprawled out on the cabana just a few feet further, waiting for me. The urge to bolt, to escape back to our room and leave him behind at the pool, is more tempting than I care to admit. I could easily pack my things, come up with some urgent excuse, and disappear before nightfall. But guilt sinks its teeth into me, refusing to let go. Aaron planned this trip to whisk us away from the chaos of the city. I can’t abandon him now—especially not because my past refuses to let me go.
With a shaky exhale, I force my legs to move, stepping away from the safety of my hiding spot and toward the pool. Aaron is unsurprisingly absorbed in a thriller novel. His black hair, flecked with subtle hints of gray, falls across his forehead, and I can’t help but smile as I watch him absentmindedly brush it back.
His warm hazel eyes light up as he smiles, the corners crinkling with an easy charm. “I was wondering when you’d come back,” he says, marking his place and setting the book aside.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, easing into the chair beside him.
“Did you get a chance to capture any of the views?”
“Yeah.” I reply with a smile, though it feels stiff. “It’s beautiful here—easy to lose track of time.”
Aaron hums in agreement, and my gaze drifts to our joined hands. His thumb glides in slow, soothing circles against my skin, steadying my pulse as I battle the overwhelming urge to turn and face the one man I swore I’d never see again.
“Hey, is everything okay? You seem a little off,” he asks, concern seeping into every syllable.
“I’m fine.” The lie slips out easily as I tighten my smile, trying to shake the tension clinging to my shoulders. My camera rests beside me, and I glance down at it, my gaze drifting over the edges as if it holds the answers I can’t find.
Art has always been my escape, a way to make sense of the world when nothing else could. But after leaving Rockport, picking up a paintbrush felt like looking too closely at the things I wasn’t ready to face—so I turned to photography instead. Through my camera, I could hold on to the good without facing the rest. But with Brooks within reach, even the lens feels as though it’s exposing too much.
Aaron’s fingers skim my cheek, anchoring me for a fleeting moment.
“You sure?”
“Mm-hmm.” I nod, meeting his gaze. “Just a little tired.”
But as soon as he looks away, the undeniable awareness of Brooks’ presence pins me in place. His shadow spills over me as he rises, pressing down from behind like a suffocating blanket. I suck in a breath, praying he’ll walk away before he notices me, but his unmoving silhouette locks the air around us like cement.
I’ve made a habit of running…I know that. I’ve used my camera as both a shield and an excuse over the years. Photography was his passion, and somewhere along the way, I picked it up without even realizing. It was easier than facing who I left behind.
“Dylan?” Aaron prods, his hand squeezing mine.
I exhale sharply, only now realizing I’d been holding it in.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask, springing to my feet and grabbing my camera along with the bag I left on the chair earlier. Brooks’ stare is unshakeable, and when he finally speaks, my pulse nearly stops.
“Dill?”
I halt mid-motion, clutching my things, desperate for them to somehow make me vanish. His voice is deeper now, causing an agonizing throb to pulse in my chest. He repeats my name—no nickname this time, just a hesitant, “Dylan Rivers?”
A slow pivot locks us into a gaze that sends a distinct, sharp twist of loss and betrayal through every one of my nerves, urging me to flee.
“Wow, it’s really you,” he murmurs, awe softening his voice. Fingers sift through his now short hair, a subtle reminder that time hasn’t stood still, and a flicker of disappointment tugs at me.
“It’s so good to see you,” he says, green eyes shining, unaltered, just as I knew they wouldn’t be. I’ve lived this scene a thousand times in my mind, each time hoping I’d find the words to make him feel even a fraction of what he left me with. But now, with him standing here, close enough to touch, every planned thought dissolves into nothing.
“You too,” I say, praying my knees don’t buckle from the way he’s looking at me.
Aaron stands, his attention shifting between the two of us in obvious confusion. “You two know each other?” Uncertainty tinges his voice, but his curiosity is evident.
“We went to high school together.” It’s a massive generalization, almost as if I’m denying the connection we once had, but now isn’t the time or place to get into specifics.
“Oh,” Aaron murmurs, his expression softening as he looks at me. He’s never pressed for details about my past—it’s something I love about him. But masking my emotions has never been my strong suit, and there’s no doubt he notices something’s off right now.
The silence stretches between the three of us, suspense building until Brooks ultimately clears his throat. Just as he’s about to speak, I make a sharp turn, bolting in the opposite direction.
“Dylan, wait!” Brooks calls after me, but I pick up the pace, the need to distance myself pushing me forward. His voice is a tether I refuse to grab. Instead, I run, my pulse pounding in rhythm with the memories I refuse to face.