By the time the sun fully disappeared, the sky had deepened into a quiet, endless dark. The last trace of color bled out of the horizon, leaving only dock lights and stars that felt too distant to matter, cold pinpricks scattered across a sky that suddenly seemed very uninterested in my existence.
I took one last look at the water.
Not searching this time. Not asking anything of it. Just letting the moment settle into my bones the way it always did, heavy and familiar, like a weight I'd learned to carry without complaint.
Then I stood and headed back toward the helm.
It was time.
The ride back to the marina was calm, unnervingly so. No racing thoughts. No seductive pull at the edges of my mind. Just the steady hum of the engine and the gentle rhythm of the tide guiding me home. For once, the ocean felt like it was carrying me instead of calling me under, like it had decided temporarily to let me go.
I docked without thinking. Cut the engine. Stepped onto the pier.
Loop. Pull. Tighten.
I wrapped the rope around the cleat slowly, deliberately. One breath. One knot. One small thing I could control when everything else felt impossibly fragile.
That's when I felt it.
That unmistakable prickle at the back of my neck, the sensation of being watched.
I looked up.
Kai was on his yacht.
Leaning casually against the railing, arms crossed, posture relaxed in a way that immediately irritated me. Like this was just another quiet evening for him. Like nothing monumental had ever happened between us. The dock lights caught the side of his face, casting shadows that made his expression unreadable and there it was.
That faint, unmistakable smirk.
Of course.
"Wow," he said, his voice carrying easily across the short distance between our boats. "That knot's… ambitious."
I froze, my hand still resting on the rope.
Slowly, I straightened. "Excuse me?"
He tilted his head, eyes flicking down to the cleat and back up to me, clearly enjoying himself. "I mean, it'll hold," he added. "Probably. But if the tide shifts, you might wanna rethink that loop."
Heat crept up my neck. "It's fine."
He shrugged, completely unbothered. "Just saying. Boats have a way of humbling people who are overconfident."
I scoffed and gave the rope one final, unnecessary tug. "Did you come out here to critique knots," I said sharply, "or is this just your new hobby?"
His smile widened. "Little of both."
The silence that followed was thick. Heavy. The kind that pressed against my ribs and made it hard to breathe. I could feel his eyes on me, not casual, not dismissive. Attentive. Like he was cataloging every small movement, every hesitation I didn't quite manage to hide.
I hate this, I thought.
I couldn't face him. Not after the way I'd pushed him away. Not after how cruel I'd been when all he'd done was save my life. The guilt stirred uncomfortably in my chest, tangling with something dangerously close to embarrassment and something worse.
So I did what I always do when things get too complicated.
I grabbed my bag.
Without looking at him again, I turned and walked toward Robert's office, keys clenched in my hand. Each step felt deliberate, stiff, like I was pretending not to notice how my pulse had picked up.
I could still feel his gaze on me.
That same maddening smirk burning into my back, not mocking, not angry. Just… knowing.
And somehow, that was worse.
I told myself I was doing the right thing. Returning the keys. Ending the interaction. Keeping distance. That's what I was good at, flying away from turbulence, not straight into it.
But as I pushed open the door to Robert's office, one uncomfortable truth followed me inside like a shadow
Avoiding Kai didn't make the tension disappear.
It only made it louder.
The bell above the office door chimed as I stepped inside, the sound far too sharp for how tight my chest felt. I closed the door behind me a little quicker than necessary, as if wood and glass might be enough to keep everything outside from bleeding in.
My heart was still beating too fast.
Robert looked up from behind the counter, surprise flickering across his face before softening into recognition. "Back already?" he asked.
I nodded, holding up the keys. "Yeah. I'm done for the night."
He took them from me, his fingers brushing mine briefly. "Everything okay?"
"Yes," I said too quickly.
Then I corrected myself, quieter. "Better than before."
He studied me for a moment, eyes searching my face like he was weighing how much to say. "I'm glad," he said finally. "Really."
I offered a small smile. The polite kind. The practiced kind. "Thanks."
I turned toward the door, already bracing myself to step back onto the dock, to walk past Kai again, to feel that unbearable awareness of him watching me.
My hand hovered over the handle.
Then I stopped.
I turned back to Robert. "Is there… an exit at the back? Somewhere I can use?"
His brows knit together in confusion. "The back?"
"Yeah," I said, forcing a casual tone that didn't quite land. "Just another way out."
He looked at me for a second longer, understanding slowly dawning. He didn't ask why. For that, I was grateful.
"Uh… yeah," he said, stepping out from behind the counter. "There's a service door. Leads to the parking lot."
He gestured toward a narrow hallway behind the office. "That way. It's usually locked, but I've got the key."
"Thank you," I said, meaning more than just the directions.
Robert unlocked the door and pushed it open, cool night air slipping inside. The parking lot beyond was dim, quiet, mercifully empty.
"Take care of yourself, Serene," he added, his voice low. Not a warning. Not a lecture. Just concern.
"I will," I said. I hoped he believed me.
I slipped through the doorway and let it close softly behind me.
The sudden quiet was jarring.
No dock lights. No water lapping against hulls. No presence behind me that made my skin feel too tight. Just asphalt, distant streetlamps, and the faint hum of traffic somewhere far away.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
God. That was pathetic.
Avoiding him like this, sneaking out the back like a teenager dodging an awkward encounter. I shook my head as I walked toward my car, keys clenched in my hand.
But the truth was, I wasn't avoiding Kai because I hated him.
I was avoiding him because he'd seen too much.
Because when he looked at me, I felt transparent. Like he could see straight through the uniform, the composure, the carefully rebuilt version of myself I showed the world.
And worse?
I didn't feel judged.
I unlocked my car and sat inside for a moment without starting it, hands resting on the steering wheel. The marina lay quiet now, shadows stretching long across the pavement.
I pictured him back on the dock leaning against his yacht, watching the space where I should've walked past. Maybe he'd notice I was gone. Maybe he wouldn't.
The thought lingered longer than it should have.
I started the engine and pulled out slowly, headlights cutting through the dark. As the marina disappeared in my rearview mirror, a strange mix of relief and disappointment settled in my chest.
I told myself this was for the best.
Distance was safer. Cleaner. Easier.