Chapter 44
Bastiaan
The silence in the cabin is deafening. The door clicks shut behind them, but it feels like it closed on my entire world. Amber is gone, and the ache in my chest is raw, relentless.
I drop to the floor where she stood moments ago, my back against the cold wall.
The fire’s last embers cast thin, flickering shadows that only mock the heaviness inside me.
Her scent still clings to the hoodie she left behind—clean soap, jasmine.
It’s cruel how something so comforting now twists into a reminder of what I just lost.
My hands shake as I press the hoodie to my face. I want to scream, to tear the world apart and call her back. But all I can do is sit here, a broken man drowning in grief and guilt.
Jack was right. I wasn’t enough. Not for her. Not to keep her safe, physically and emotionally.
I rake my hands through my hair and groan, trying to shake last night from my mind. But the hardest part wasn’t the exchange—it was telling her I couldn’t do it anymore. That I couldn’t fight for us.
I don’t know how she swallowed her heartbreak without shouting at me. Without demanding that I try harder. She just packed her things quietly, walked out with her dad, and didn’t look back.
I wonder if she hates me. If she’ll ever forgive me.
The truth is worse than I want to admit: I wasn’t protecting her. I was pushing her away. And now she’s gone because she thinks I don’t want to fight for her. For us.
And she’d be right. Not because I don’t want her—God knows I do—but because I’m too broken to believe I can be the man she deserves.
I’ve spent years guarding what’s left of my heart, terrified of the pain love brings. I never stopped to think what that fear would do to hers.
Hours pass. The cabin sinks deeper into quiet, the weight of the night pressing down until breathing feels like work.
My phone vibrates—a message from Amber.
Amber: I want to fight.
The words stab deep. I want her more than anything. But fear claws at me—fear that loving her means risking everything again.
The life I imagined with her feels like a distant dream now.
I pull on my boots and step outside into the freezing dark. The stars are cold, sharp witnesses to my torment.
“I’m sorry, Amber,” I whisper into the wind. “I want to fight. I just don’t know how to stop the guilt and fear.”
The shadow of Marieke’s death still hangs over me—a constant reminder of what losing someone does to a man.
Could I survive losing Amber, too?
I don’t have the answer. But as the night deepens and the fire inside burns low, I make a promise.
I won’t let fear win forever.
Even if I’m broken. Even if I’m afraid.
I owe her that much.
I owe her the fight.
The dawn light seeps weakly through the frost-lined window. I sit on the edge of the bed, fingers tapping against the worn wood. The silence isn’t comforting—it’s suffocating.
Ambers gone.
I’ve known since the day I met her that fear and love don’t mix well. But knowing doesn’t stop the ache twisting inside me. This isn’t just guilt anymore—it’s something darker, colder. The fear that maybe I’m not the man she needs. Perhaps I never was.
Marieke used to say grief was a wild thing—unpredictable, vicious—but that it forces you to grow. I wonder if that’s true. If this heartache can turn me into someone better. Because right now? I feel weak. Broken. Like I’m standing on the edge of something I can’t climb back from. And I hate it.
Later, as I make my way across Europe toward home, I can feel the ghost of Marieke beside me. The memory of Amber’s warmth is still fresh, and it’s all I can do not to reach for her.
My phone buzzes.
Amber: I don’t want to lose you, Bas. But I need to know you want me too.
The honesty cuts deep. Do I want her enough to risk everything? To leave fear behind?
I type back, hands trembling.
Me: I want you. More than I can say. But I’m trying.
I set the phone down, knowing it isn’t enough. Not yet.
Sanne calls. Her voice is soft. “What’s next?”
I stare at the dark road ahead. “I don’t know. But I know I have to stop running—from her, from myself,” I murmur. “How’s my boy? Fuck I miss him.”
She hums. “Abel’s good. He’s been talking about you every day. Said to tell you about the ‘super awesome’ fort he built with Pieter in the living room.”
A chuckle escapes me. “I can’t wait to have him in my arms again. To just listen to his excited chatter about everything.”
“How are you really doing, Bas, honestly?"
“I’m a mess.”
“You’re not losing anything if you don’t fight for it,” she says.
“I’m scared, Sanne. I lost Marieke. I swore I wouldn’t lose anyone else.”
“That’s exactly why you have to try. Because if you keep closing yourself off, you’ll end up alone—and you don’t deserve that.”
“I’m terrified I can’t give her everything she needs. Everything she deserves.”
“You need to let Amber decide that. She clearly thinks you’re worth the risk.”
Her words sink in. “What if my past breaks us?”
“Then you face it together. Love’s never easy, brother. But you’re stronger than you think.”
I sigh. “I worry about Abel. He’s never seen me with a woman before.”
“You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
Her words settle into the quiet like a fragile promise—that maybe I can find my way forward. Not just as a father, but as a man who can love without fear.
Later, I call Amber. The line clicks, and for a moment there’s only quiet—no rush to fill the space, no easy greeting—just her breathing, slow and measured, like she’s holding something in.
Her voice finally comes, calm but tired. “I’m on my way home.”
Relief tries to push its way in, but it’s short-lived. There’s weight in her tone, something I know I won’t like.
“But, Bas…” She pauses, and I can almost hear her swallow. “We need to go back to our own lives for now. I need to figure out who I am outside all this.”
My chest tightens hard enough to hurt. “You want to go back to how we were before? No fighting for us?”
She hesitates. I can hear the wind through her phone, the sound of her shifting like she’s bracing herself.
“No, Bas. I want you—more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.
But wanting you doesn’t erase the last few weeks.
We’ve been running, hiding, waking up every day and wondering if it would be our last. I don’t know who I am without that fear in my veins. I need to breathe. I need to heal.”
I almost cut in—tell her we can do that together—but something in her voice pins me silent.
“You’ve been my safe place in the middle of hell,” she continues, “but I can’t ignore that you’ve pulled away before. I know why—you were grieving, you were scared—but it still hurt, Bas. And I can’t keep putting myself in a position where I’m waiting for you to decide if you can stay.”
My hand tightens around the phone. I open my mouth, but she beats me to it.
“And it’s not just me,” she says, softer now.
“You need to heal, too. You’ve carried your grief for so long it’s like part of your skin.
I know you loved her. I know losing her broke you.
But I can’t be the one you lean on if you’re still half in that past. You need to know—really know—if you can move forward. Not for me. For you.”
Her words slice through me, clean and deep. I want to argue. I want to tell her she’s wrong. But the truth is, I don’t know if she is.
“You think I can’t move forward?” I ask, my voice low.
“I think you might be able to,” she says carefully. “But I think you need the space to prove it—to yourself, and maybe to me. I want us, Bas. God, I want us. I just don’t want us when we’re still bleeding from everything we’ve been through.”
My throat feels too tight. “If that’s what you need, I’ll respect it. Just… know I’m here. Always.”
“I know.” Her voice wavers, and for a second, I think she might take it back. But she doesn’t. “Maybe when we’re ready, we’ll find our way back.”
The call ends. I stay there, the phone heavy in my hand, the silence in the van pressing in until it feels like I’m breathing through concrete. Outside, the world keeps moving, indifferent to the fact that mine just shifted off its axis.
I stare out the windscreen, feeling the weight of what could have been—and what still might be—just hoping she’s wrong about the one thing I can’t bear: that by the time I’m ready, she won’t be here to come back to.
Amber
The ferry pulls into Harwich just as the sun crests the horizon, the light soft and watery against the waves. England. Home. It feels like I’ve been gone for months instead of weeks, and yet nothing in me feels like it did before.
Dad is beside me on the deck, his leather cut flapping in the early morning wind. He hasn’t said much since we left Norway. I know he wants to, but maybe he understands that my heart is somewhere else—torn and raw.
His phone buzzes in his hand, and he lifts it to his ear. His voice is low, rough. He only walks a few steps away, but his eyes never leave me.
“We’re still diggin’ into how the fuckin’ Reapers found them. That don’t just happen. Somebody talked.”
Dad listens, jaw tight, then shakes his head at whatever’s said on the other end. “Could be one of ours, could be one of theirs. Either way, I’ll find out. This don’t get buried. And when I do, they’ll wish they never spoke my daughter’s name.”
He ends the call, slips the phone back into his pocket, and pulls me into his side. The silence between us is broken only by the cry of gulls and the churn of the ferry below.
The moment my burner reconnects to British service, I type out a message with shaking fingers to my girls.
Me: I’m okay, back on home shores. I’ll explain soon. I love you. Ax
My chest tightens when I see Jess reply almost immediately:
Jess: THANK FUCK. We’ve got the shop. Just come home safe. Can’t wait to tell you about Pirates dong, shiver me timbers!!. Love you, Bell.x
Bea: Oh thank god! I cannot wait to squeeze you to death and have a tracker implanted in your arm. Love you so. Bea x
Andrea: I can’t wait to see you, my angel. I’ve missed you more than you know. Come home!
Home.
The word feels strange, because when I close my eyes, home doesn’t look like Hampstead Island or my little flat above the florist. Home smells like pine and woodsmoke. Home wears glasses at night and calls me liefje.
Bas.
I press his hoodie to my face, inhaling the scent that’s fading a little more each day. I wish I’d stolen more than one. I can still feel the rough warmth of his stubble against my cheek, the weight of his arms around me when the world felt like it was caving in. And now… nothing.
He didn’t fight for me. Not really. He let me walk away.
Maybe that’s not fair. He saved me, risked everything for me. But when it mattered most, when I wanted to fight for us, he chose fear over love.
And now I’m supposed to pick up the pieces of my old life like I’m the same woman I was before.
I’m not.
Dad claps a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back to the present.
“We’ll get you home, babygirl. Safe and sound.”
I force a small smile and nod. “Thanks, Dad. And thank you for understanding that I need to go home. With MC guards outside, obviously,” I roll my eyes at his overprotectiveness.
He studies me for a long moment. “Hmm. I’m not happy about it, so you’ll have guards until your ‘old man’ knows he ain’t gonna have a heart attack every five minutes. You thinkin’ about him?”
“I can’t stop.”
His jaw ticks, but his voice softens. “Good man or not, he’s broken. Sometimes… you can’t love someone whole. They have to choose to be whole first.”
I blink hard, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. “I just… I thought he would choose me.”
Dad squeezes my shoulder. “Give it time. Life’s funny like that. If he’s meant to be yours, he’ll find his way back.”
I nod, but in my chest, I feel the hollow ache of someone who isn’t sure they can wait forever.
When I step into my little flat above the florist’s that night, it smells faintly of dried roses and lavender. The girls left the place spotless, a vase of fresh flowers waiting on the table. I drop my bag and sink into the couch, staring at the quiet room.
Safe. Home.
And completely, achingly empty.
I wrap myself in Bas’s hoodie, close my eyes, and for the first time since I left him, I let myself cry.