5
Dylan
Now
I stand at the ocean’s edge, the tide creeping up the sand, inching closer with each pass. Tears threaten, and I swallow hard, forcing them back down, but the tidal wave of memories from Rockport rises, ready to pull me under.
I didn’t mean to run—I wasn’t trying to. But seeing Brooks hit like a shock to my system, stirring up everything I swore was settled.
Ten years I spent building walls around the past, convincing myself leaving was the right choice—yet here I am, breaking all over again.
Aaron appears beside me, his presence grounding as he pulls me into a hug. I press my face into his chest, the tears spilling freely now, soaking into his shirt while he holds me close.
“Do you want to talk about whatever that was?”
“I…don’t think I can right now.”
“That’s okay. If you ever change your mind, I’m here.” With a gentle sweep of his hand, he moves a strand of hair from my face, and a sense of calm begins to spread through me. The sound of the ocean, the distant cry of seagulls—it all fades into the background.
“Want to grab a bite? Maybe get your mind off of it? There’s this place I want to take you to—best lobster roll in all of Maine, or so they say.” Aaron pulls back slightly and offers me a half-smile. “We could drive up to the lighthouse, maybe rent some bikes. Whatever you want. I’m not picky. Well…except if you suggest skinny-dipping. I’m drawing the line there. The hotel might not appreciate that.”
A reluctant laugh escapes me, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction. A distraction might be exactly what I need. “Something to eat sounds great, but I need to go back to the room first. I want to shower.”
Aaron squeezes my hand. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll handle the reservation after I change and meet you in the lobby.”
“Okay.” I manage a small smile. “Shouldn’t take me long.”
“Take your time,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead before gently taking my hand in his.
We make our way back to the hotel, and once we’re inside our suite, he disappears to quickly change while I head to the bathroom. The sound of the shower and the warmth of the water help ease the ache in my chest, though my mind continues to race. I rush through washing up, swiftly pulling on fresh clothes and battling with my damp hair, trying my best to make it presentable. As I head to the lobby to join Aaron, I stop dead in my tracks.
Near the elevators stands one man, leaning against the wall, his presence lighting up the space like it always does. A sharp sensation pierces my ribs, and I struggle to inhale. I’m certain I’m imagining things—imagining him—until he turns.
And then, like the world is slamming into place with a force I wasn’t ready for, the air stills in my lungs.
It’s Brooks fucking Holland.
Again.
He chuckles at something on his phone, but the sound dies instantly when his gaze flicks up, landing on me—tracing my features like I might disappear if he blinks.
“Dylan.” He says my name like a question, like he’s trying to convince himself I’m real, that I’m actually standing here after vanishing by the pool.
I freeze. It feels like an eternity before I can even breathe, before I can process the fact that he’s here…that we’re both in Maine. He shifts slightly, exhaling like he has a thousand things to say but no idea where to start.
“I didn’t know if you’d recognize me,” he admits. “Um, at the pool.” But there’s a sadness in his eyes, something that tells me he’s speaking of more than the years or distance.
“It’s been a long time,” I say, finally regaining a little composure.
Brooks acknowledges that with a brief, thoughtful nod, his eyes wary, as if he’s not sure how I’ll react. “Ten years.”
Those two words land between us like a fault line, splitting open the past we never truly buried.
The years have piled up, yet even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to outrun the aftermath of what happened. A decade has passed since I gave my heart to him, and though time has clearly changed us, the past still tugs at me, like it never left.
I stand there, speechless. What do I even say? After I left, I turned my back on love. I turned my back on everything that reminded me of the pain. The idea of letting anyone close again after what he did took longer than I care to admit. He didn’t just break my heart; he destroyed the version of me who believed in love, in trust. I spent years guarding myself, afraid I wouldn’t survive another betrayal.
Brooks’ eyes sweep over me, pausing almost imperceptibly near my mouth. I feel it, even if he doesn’t mean for me to.
I start to ask why he’s here, but the question forms in my gaze before the words leave my lips.
“I’m staying here…at the Beauport Hotel.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I assumed.” I mean, the fact he’s staying here doesn’t surprise me; it’s the most obvious explanation. What confuses me is why he’s come so far. I can’t imagine for a second that he’s left Oregon permanently. However, I tuck the question into the back of my mind—some things, I realize, are best left alone.
The elevator dings, its doors sliding open. Brooks steps forward first and holds them for me, his presence surprisingly solid. “What floor?”
“Lobby,” I murmur, still trying to find my footing in this strange moment.
He presses the button, and then, after a beat, turns back to look at me. “So, are you coming? To the reunion next weekend?”
The question is deceptively simple yet there’s so much more behind it. In the faint sheen of the elevator doors, I catch his eyes on me—searching, waiting. Hope flickers there, or maybe just curiosity. I force my gaze to my own reflection, rooting myself in the present. I am here. No longer the girl who ran, but the woman who never looked back. I try to hold onto that truth, but the past presses in, threatening to close the distance I worked so hard to create.
And now, here he is, standing in front of me, asking if I’ll return.
“To Rockport?” I spit out the words, disbelief lacing my tone. “God, no.”
“Right,” he says, his lips pressing together, trying to hide his reaction, though a shadow of hurt flickers his eyes. “That’s too bad. You could visi—”
The elevator lurches to a stop, and as the doors slide open, I sprint forward, desperate for air. For space. A tightness grips me, as if there’s not enough oxygen in the room to fill my lungs.
“Wait!” Brooks calls after me, and this time my feet stop moving. I brace myself against a nearby table, spinning around to confront him. I open my mouth, but the command to leave me alone evaporates, hovering on the tip of my tongue. It doesn’t come out. His eyes—God, his eyes—are full of something that mirrors desperation, as though he’s silently pleading for my attention. I’m immobilized by it.
“Can we talk? Please,” he asks, his voice insistent as he inches closer. “Just for a second. There are so many things I need to say to you.”
I want to walk away, but my legs won’t obey, staying frozen in place for reasons I can’t explain. “We’re long past talking, Brooks.”
“That’s not true,” he emphasizes, as if he can’t bear to let this go. “If you could just hear me out—”
I glance at my watch, more out of habit than any real sense of time. “I can’t. Not right now.”
He steps closer again, his hands slightly outstretched, like he wants to touch me, but he stops himself.
“When?” he presses. “Just tell me when.”
“Never,” I snap, my voice rising. “This is crazy. Seeing you again, it’s just…wild. I don’t even know what to say to you.” I try to take a deep breath, but my chest is too tight, too constricted to allow one.
“It’s not crazy, Dylan. Crossing paths with you here, so far from home, feels like a sign—this moment was meant to happen.”
I’m on the verge of either laughing or exploding. “Home? Rockport isn’t my home, and running into you isn’t a sign—it’s a curse.”
Brooks flinches, his eyes shifting downward as he combs a hand through his hair, visibly deflated. “You still hate me that much?”
I shake my head, but the movement feels like I’m trying to rid myself of more than just the question. “It’s not hatred, Brooks. It’s…it’s something more than that.”
“Then why are you so determined not to hear me out?” His voice cracks, just a little, like this is the one thing he can’t seem to understand.
“Hear you out? Now?” A cold, cynical laugh spills out of me. “Ten years later? You’ve got to be kidding me. I begged you, Brooks. Begged you to tell me what happened—what changed after—” My voice falters, reluctant to speak the truth, but I force myself to get to the point. “But you were gone before I could even grasp what was happening.” I shake my head, the skin bunching around my eyes, a deep crease forming between my brows. “You fucking left when I needed you most.”
His expression hardens, but there’s a softness in his eyes that doesn’t match the way he’s holding himself. It’s like he’s caught between wanting to fix everything and knowing he might never get the chance.
“I needed you too,” Brooks says, his voice tight, almost defensive. “More than you even know.”
My next words are cut short as Aaron rounds the corner, and instinctively, I take a step away from Brooks.
“Hey, didn’t mean to make you wait.”
“You’re fine,” I reply, breathless. “I just got down here. Um…you remember Brooks? From the pool?”
Aaron watches us silently, his face impassive, yet there’s a strange energy building in the space around him.
“Of course.” His voice is polite as he offers his hand. “Aaron Sinclair.”
“Brooks Holland. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
There’s an edge to the exchange. The handshake holds for just a fraction too long, the space brimming with unexpressed thoughts.
“Here for long?” Aaron asks casually.
“Just for the night,” Brooks replies, still giving me his full attention. “I head out in the morning.”
Aaron nods curtly and then turns to me.“We should get going. The reservation won’t wait,” he says, his look a little pointed, urging me to wrap things up.
“Of course.” Brooks agrees but he doesn’t move. His eyes hold me captive, and in them, I can see an ache that pierces through to my soul. “Dylan,” he says with a softness that feels intimate, like he’s afraid to push too hard. “Can I just have your number? Or…give you mine? So we can talk.”
A sharpness seizes my throat. I don’t know what to say. The last thing I want is to open this door again, to let him in after all these years of avoiding it. Even though my mind is screaming to say no, my heart refuses to let him slip away.
I notice a shift beside me and glance over. Aaron’s eyes flicker to me, his lips pressed into a thin line, impatience written all over him. He doesn’t say a word—just stands there expectantly, waiting for me to respond.
“Sure.”
“Yeah?”
I nod, just once, as I try to make sense of what I’m doing.
Brooks pulls his phone from his pocket, and I rattle off my number without a second thought, speaking a little too fast. “I’m not promising anything,” I add, just to make it clear this isn’t some attempt at friendship.
“I wouldn’t expect that,” he says, not lifting his gaze from the screen. I’m half ready for a ping, for him to double check that I didn’t hand him a bogus number, but instead, he tucks the phone away and turns his attention back to me.
I look off to the side, keeping the mess in my head hidden. I shouldn’t feel a goddamn thing. His presence is rattling me, and it’s infuriating that I’m apparently unable to close that chapter and move on.
“I should get going. But, Dylan, I—”
“Brooks,” I say sharply, raising my hand.
He pauses, eyes searching mine, then exhales like he’s releasing something buried deep. “I owe you an apology. I don’t expect you to accept it, but you need to hear it.”
I lift my chin in acknowledgement, my gaze barely meeting his before I drop it away. What am I supposed to say to that? A decade of agony—of shoving it all down, forcing myself to forget until nothing was left to feel. And now he’s here, tossing out an apology like it can undo the damage, like it’s not a knife straight to the chest. I’m not ready for this—hell, I’m never going to be ready for this.
“Not now. We can talk later.”
“Oh…um, okay. Have a good night, Dill,” he says softly, and the nickname feels awkward, like it belongs to someone else. It doesn’t fit anymore—not when it feels like we’re two completely different people now.
I spin on my heel and head towards the door, not sparing him another word. Aaron grabs my hand, but it’s not the comfort it should be—I should feel relieved, but instead it’s just a reminder of how hollow everything’s become. And it’s not even his fault, but damn if it doesn’t make it harder to breathe.
I keep moving forward, but his apology clings to me, like a futile attempt trying to fix what’s irreparably broken.
It’s too much.
It’s not enough.
It’s everything and nothing.