Page 41 of The Captain
She’d seen the worst of it, and I didn’t have her trust to lean on.
I thought about calling Marcus, his smartass grin a lifeline I could almost grab. But what could he do? Crack a joke? Slap my shoulder and tell me to shake it off? This wasn’t a mess he could fix, and I wasn’t ready to owe Dominion Hall a debt.
My eyes drifted to the sea, the horizon a flat, endless line where the world stopped making sense.
Lily had loved the ocean. She’d stand at the edge, her tiny hand in mine, pointing at the waves. “Whales, Daddy!” she’d say, her voice bright, her blonde hair catching the sun. They were just waves, curling and breaking, but I’d play along, squinting at the horizon, telling her I saw their tails. She’d laugh, her giggle sharper than the gulls, and for a moment, I’d forget the deployments, the missions, the weight of leaving her behind.
But I always left.
Another op, another warzone, another promise to be back soon.
And then my ex—her mother, the only good thing from that wreck of a marriage was Lily—let her slip away. One of many careless moments, and the ocean took her. Forever.
The pain in my chest was a living thing, a broken heart that hadn’t stopped bleeding since that day. I could still see her, small and fearless, running into the surf. I could still hear my own voice, screaming her name when I got the news.
The mother’s accusations today, the slap, the girl’s uncanny likeness—it was too much. Too fucking much.
My hands shook as I grabbed my goggles and fins, leaving the duffel, the phone, the keys. None of it mattered. The ocean was calling, same as always, and this time, I didn’t plan to come back.
I waded in, the water warm against my calves, my thighs, my waist. I snapped on the goggles, slipped on the fins, and dove, cutting through the waves with a stroke that felt like surrender. The rhythm came fast—arms slicing, legs kicking, breath steady—but it wasn’t about the workout. Not today. Not anymore.
The current tugged, stronger than before, like it knew I wasn’t fighting it. I swam straight out, the shore fading behind me, the horizon pulling me like a promise.
Stroke, kick, breathe. Stroke, kick, breathe.
My body moved on autopilot, but my mind was a storm—Lily’s laugh, her small hand pointing, the way she’d trusted me to keep her safe.
I’d failed her.
I’d failed everyone.
The water darkened as I went deeper, the surface chop fading to a low hum. My chest burned, not from exertion but from the weight I couldn’t shake.
I thought of Camille—her laugh, the way she’d looked at me in the tent, like I was something worth keeping. But I wasn’t. Not to her, not to anyone.
The mother’s words—monster—clawed at me, mixing with the memory of my ex’s voice, blaming me for leaving, for not being there when it mattered.
I swam harder, the ocean’s pull stronger now, the pressure building in my ears. I didn’t care.
Let it take me.
Let it end the noise.
Lily’s face flickered, her eyes bright, her voice calling for whales that were never there. I’d played along, always played along, until the day I couldn’t. I’d been halfway across the world when she drowned, too far to save her, too late to matter.
The water closed over me now, the same way it had over her, and I let it.
Stroke, kick, breathe.
The rhythm was a lie, a habit I didn’t need anymore. I was tired—tired of the ghosts, the missions, the weight of being the man who always came back. Not this time.
The horizon blurred, the water a deep blue-green, streaks of light cutting through like knives. I didn’t stop to tread, didn’t check my watch. There was no hour out, no hour back. Just the deep, endless and indifferent, waiting to swallow me whole.
I swam until my lungs burned, until my muscles screamed, until the world was nothing but water and the echo of a name I’d never say again. Lily.
I was done chasing her.
Done chasing anything.
