Page 99 of When We Are Falling

We gather around the cooler, popping it open to reveal bottles of cold beer. The mayor hands them out, and soon we’re all leaning against the vehicles, eating and drinking. The atmosphere is light, celebratory, and Bandit sits by my feet, tail thumping against the ground, happily accepting pieces of crust from everyone.

Once we’ve demolished the pizza, the mayor thanks us all again before climbing into her SUV and driving off, leaving us to pack up the last few shovels.

“You joining us at the Tavern later?” Mike asks, clapping me on the back. “We’re all heading there to raise a glass or ten. You deserve to blow off some steam.”

I can’t think of anything worse than having to watch Blake work without being able to kiss her, claim her as my own, but if I’m ever going to have the chance to show her I’m ready to be there for her the way she needs, I can’t avoid her forever. “I’ll be there.”

We finish, and after saying our goodbyes, Bandit and I jump into the truck and head home as the sun starts to dip below the horizon. The moment we get back, I feed Bandit and strip off my dirty clothes, stepping into the shower, hot water pounding against my skin, washing away the grime from the day. Soon I’m dressed, and I pause in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection, giving myself a pep-talk: it’s going to hurt like hell to see Blake, but not seeing her hurts even worse.

I park on Main Street and walk down the boardwalk toward the Tavern. The moon hangs low in the sky, casting a silver sheen on the water, and ahead, boats bob gently in the marina. I focus on them, finding theFreedom, looking at the shape of it rising and falling on the swell, steadying my nerves.

Approaching the Tavern, the sound of laughter and music reaches me. I take in the familiar sight of the place, the lights inside warm and inviting, but tonight they’re almost intimidating.

When I finally push open the door, the buzz of the place hits me full force. It’s busy, with locals and tourists alike mingling at the bar, the clatter of dishes and loud conversations rising over the speakers blasting Rhianna singing over and over about standing under her umbrella.

Blake’s behind the bar, her red hair catching the light as she moves, talking to a customer with that easy smile that will always make my heart stutter. She’s a vision, and for a second, I actually forget to breathe.

Watching her, unable to look away, the way she laughs at something Carlos says, the way she tilts her head when she listens, the way she moves—with a kind of fluidity and grace. And then, as if sensing my gaze, she looks up.

Our eyes meet, and it’s like the entire world stops spinning. The noise, the people, everything fades away, leaving just the two of us locked in a moment that’s bigger than time itself. My breath catches in my throat, and I see it in her eyes too—the same connection, the same pull that’s been there between us since this all started, like an invisible thread tying us together no matter how much distance there is between us.

A deep breath, trying to jumpstart my heart, trying to push past the emotions lancing through me, before walking toward her. She holds my gaze as I approach, and when I finally reach the bar, she still doesn’t break eye contact.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey.”

There’s a long pause. “I heard you boys finished at the wetlands. Congratulations. What can I get you?”

I clear my throat. “The usual, please.”

She turns to grab a glass before filling it with beer. When she hands it to me, our fingers brush, and it sends a jolt through me, a reminder of everything I’ve missed, everything I still long for.

“I’ll put it on your tab,” she replies, but even as she says it, she doesn’t move away. The bar is busy, people jostling for attention, but she stays there, close enough that I can catch the faint scent of her shampoo, strawberries and vanilla, the smell driving me crazy.

“How have you been?” My voice is soft, careful, like I’m testing the waters.

Blake hesitates for a moment, then shrugs lightly. “I’ve been okay. You know, taking it one day at a time.”

I force a swallow over the dry of my throat. “I know it’s too little too late, but I just wanted to say I’m sorry again… for everything. For the lunch, for how I handled things. I get it now, and I know I made a big mistake. A lot of big mistakes. I should have respected you more instead of thinking I knew best. If I could take it all back, I would.”

She looks at me, really looks at me. “Actually that lunch... it got my moms talking, finally. I didn’t think anything could do that, but you managed it.”

A bit of relief washes over me, but it’s bittersweet. I fight the urge to reach across the bar, to pull her close and kiss her, to tell her she’s still the most perfect woman in the world to me, that she always will be. That no one will ever take her place.

“I’m glad,” I say instead. “I’m really glad. And I’m still sorry.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.” Her smile falters, and she hesitates, glancing down at the bar before meeting my eyes again. “They’ve actually decided to get a divorce.” She says the last part quickly, like she’s bracing herself.

The second she says it, something inside me twists, the worddivorcesending me spiraling back to my own past, to the mess of my family falling apart. An old familiar knot forms in mychest, the same one I’ve carried for years, but this isn’t about me. Blake’s family isn’t my family. I force myself to breathe, to focus on her, not on my own baggage.

“I’m really sorry, Blake,” I say, keeping my voice steady even though my mind is racing. “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now. I hope everything works out for the best, however that looks for you and them.”

She gives me a small nod, her eyes clouded with a kind of pain I recognize all too well. It hurts to see her going through this, and I want to do more, say more, but I hold back—it’s not my place anymore. “If you ever need to talk. I’m here, okay? Anytime. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Blake offers me a small, genuine smile, and for a brief, precious moment, it feels like there could still be hope for us. But the moment passes, and she’s drawn back into the rhythm of the bar, called away by a customer waiting at the far end.

Watching her go, my heart heavy yet somehow lighter, a strange mix of emotions swirls inside me. Taking a sip of my drink, savoring the taste—I’ll carry this moment with me, this fragile, fleeting connection that hints at everything we might still be.

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