Chapter 29 Selene #2
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he exhaled. “There was this one time . . . I was maybe eleven. My dad decided he was ready for a relationship. He picked me up, took me for a ride on the road out here, like maybe he needed to blow off steam. I rode on the back of the bike, arms around his waist, pretending I wasn’t scared shitless. ”
I looked up at him, my chest pulling tight. “You never talk about him.”
He exhaled, gaze fixed on the water. “We didn’t really have a relationship, not a real one. He wasn’t around much. My mom was the other woman—he didn’t exactly sign up for fatherhood.”
I stayed quiet, my chest tightening.
“He showed up a few times when I was a kid. Once with a cheap toy police car, once with a milkshake I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about. And then . . . nothing. Not until I was older and already angry enough to pretend I didn’t care.”
He glanced down at our hands, his thumb brushing across mine absently. “After he died, I got a call. He left me this bike and a letter I never read.”
“You never read it?” I whispered. The wind shifted, lifting the edge of my hair. I tucked a strand behind my ear and reached for his hand.
He shook his head. “I didn’t want his words. I wanted him to want me, and he never did. Not enough to matter, at least.”
Silence settled between us again, broken only by the distant rush of waves and the cry of a gull overhead.
“But this bike,” he said finally, nodding toward where it sat parked along the sand, “it’s the only thing I have from him. I don’t ride it much. But tonight . . . I don’t know. I guess I wanted to rewrite something. Make a new good memory.”
I leaned into him, pressing my cheek to his shoulder, the ache in his voice curling around something deep in my chest.
“You are not him,” I said gently. “You’re so much better.”
He didn’t answer. Just turned his head and kissed the top of mine like he didn’t quite know what to say.
“You know . . . I understand what it feels like to wish a relationship was something it isn’t.
” I couldn’t look at Austin, so I just kept talking.
“Brian and I were always friends, but . . .” I exhaled, fumbling for the words to explain it all.
“I think, in my head, things would get better, more passionate, or just feel . . . right, somehow? I don’t know.
Things like shared interests, caring enough to be on time, my needs as a woman .
. . it was like they never even crossed his mind. ”
I blew a sad stream of air through my lips.
“I learned too late that the idea of him was different from the man I married. He was perfectly content with a comfortable companion, but I needed more. When I realized I was slowly becoming the shell of who I was, I had to leave. For myself, sure, but also for Winnie. She deserved a home where there was never a question that she was fiercely loved. I knew I could give that to her, but not if I lost myself completely.”
Austin turned to me. “You do deserve that, Selene. You deserve everything.”
Tears flooded my eyes as I tried to blink them away. Grit lodged in my throat so tightly I could only nod and nestle closer into him.
A beat passed. Then another.
That was when I saw her.
Just beyond the curve of the dunes, where the golden sand met the shadows of the woods, stood a woman in white.
Still. Barefoot. A pale white dress fluttering slightly in the breeze.
Goose bumps lifted on my arms as I stiffened and sat upright.
“What is it?” Austin asked, following my gaze, but she was gone.
I blinked, heart pounding harder than it should have. “Nothing,” I whispered, pressing my face to his shoulder like that could keep the moment from slipping through my fingers.
It was the wind, I told myself. Just a play of the light.
But part of me wasn’t so sure.
I shivered in the cold, and Austin’s arm tightened around me. “You’re frozen. Let’s get you home.”
I nodded and stood, my gaze still drifting to the spot where I saw her.
Was she like me? Yearning for something more but terrified it wasn’t meant for her?
I tried to shake her from my thoughts as we packed up, but I knew what I had seen.
The ride back was quieter. Nothing had changed, really, but something had settled between us. There was a kind of hush that came when you’ve said something real and the other person held it gently in their hands without crushing it.
The sun was low now, casting long streaks of amber across the two-lane road as we wound back toward Star Harbor.
The breeze was cooler, tinged with the first signs of evening, but I didn’t mind.
I was tucked against Austin’s back, arms wrapped around him, chin resting on his shoulder.
One of his hands stayed curled around my calf—a small, unspoken check that I was still with him.
And I was. Still there. Still his.
The rhythmic hum of the engine beneath us, the steady way he leaned into each curve—it all lulled me into something warm and wool soft. It was a quiet that made space for my thoughts to stretch out. For the first time in a long while, I let them wander where they wanted to go.
Not into fear. Not into worst-case scenarios or escape plans of ghost sightings.
But forward.
I let myself imagine what it might look like to wake up to mornings with him in our lives—slow and golden, tangled in his arms, sunlight painting the sheets.
I pictured Winnie curled up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn while Austin read to her in that gravelly, steady voice of his.
I imagined holidays and grocery lists and the little things—socks folded in the wrong drawers, toothpaste left in the sink, fights and forgiveness and the ache of ordinary love.
I imagined laughing with him in a kitchen that didn’t quite feel like mine yet. Watching him dance Winnie around the living room while I stood at the sink, dish towel in hand, pretending I wasn’t completely, utterly wrecked by the sight of it.
I imagined a life.
Not just a moment, but a life.
When we pulled into my driveway, the sky had slipped fully into violet. The porch light spilled gold over the walk, and the duplex stood there waiting—familiar and quiet and suddenly not quite big enough for all the dreams crowding my chest.
Austin cut the engine and reached down to steady the bike. I didn’t move right away, didn’t let go. My arms stayed around him a second longer than necessary.
He looked back at me over his shoulder, helmet hiding most of his face, but I saw it in his eyes.
“You good?” he asked, his voice soft through the visor.
I nodded, heart swelling with something I couldn’t name just yet. “Yes,” I said with a deep sigh. “I’m perfect.”
He smiled, slow and crooked. “Yeah you are.”
Even after the helmets were off and we were walking toward the door, our fingers laced together, I kept that vision close to my heart.
Just in case it wasn’t a fantasy.
Just in case it was a beginning.