D Y L A N

Waves crashed on the shore, the horizon was dusted with dark orange and the silhouettes of the seagulls flying across the sky. Bea hadn't moved in half an hour. She was crouched in the sand now, knees drawn to her chest, long waves of golden hair cascading and whipping around her shoulders.

I sat behind her, close enough that she could feel me but not so close that she couldn't pretend to be alone with her mom. Which I knew was what she wanted. She'd been mumbling farewells since she emptied the urn and watched the wind settle the dust in Cassandra's favourite place. The beach. The ocean. Bea has always been more of a city girl. She loves the lights, the noise and the fact that there's never a quiet moment.

But she suited the beach. Her hair, while matted and a mess from not having brushed it all week, was gorgeous, capturing the shine of the sun and illuminating its strands. Her thin sun dress with short sleeves and daisies all over it, fell to her thighs and the natural warmth in her skin was glowing after having so much sun.

She was a vision and so at home in the sand, in front of the soft waves and setting sun. I wanted to pick up her camera and focus on her delicate heart shaped face. But now wasn't the time. All week she'd been simultaneously preparing for this moment and hoping to avoid it. As much as she wanted to make sure that her mom was put to rest somewhere that she loved, it was so final and there was nothing left to do now. She had to begin to grieve and move forward.

I knew that she wasn't ready for that.

Her shoulders rose and fell before she began to twist around so that she was facing me. Her cheeks were streaked, her skin blotched and red but her smile still knocked the wind out of me. "I guess we should go? Or get a room for the night. It's a bit late to start driving, huh?"

"I'm not sure what the time is," I said, fishing in my pocket for my phone. She hadn't touched hers since we left. The reason being that Kevin was trying to make contact. He'd even sent me a text message describing how much shit we were both going to be in for stealing the urn. I had no regrets over our actions, he didn't deserve to hold onto Cassandra.

"It's six," I said, briefly reading over a text from Brecken, threatening that if I come back here without telling Bea how I feel, I might as well not come home at all. "We should get a room and head off in the morning? Drive fresh. You'll just end up falling asleep in the car and it won't be comfortable."

She nodded, rubbing her hands across her tired face.

I stood fast and helped her up, every part of me wishing that I could steal some of that pain. Because she didn't have to tell me, I could see it. I knew her better than I knew me. Her raw, unfiltered emotion had never been hard to gauge. For me at least. And as if it were the most natural and instinctual thing in the world, I ached to protect her. It just so happened that this wasn't something I could save her from. It was a helpless feeling that I resented.

"I think I might move to the beach," she said once we were in the car, her glazed over stare fixed on the water on the other side of her window.

I smiled and gave her a small nod. "I've heard it's a pretty peaceful place to live. I wouldn't mind retiring on the beach." It was better to just nod along and go with whatever plan she concocted when she was in this mind frame. Bea was impulsive and chopping and changing all the time. Hell, she might even do it, rent an apartment on the waterfront for a few months. It wouldn't surprise me if she was gearing up for the next adventure five minutes later too.

We drove down Alemeda Avenue in Burbank and peered at the hotel signs letting us know whether it was vacant or not. We were in luck, and probably had the season to thank, when we found Burbank Inn and suites. It was nice, simple, clean and the beds were soft and comfortable. I dropped our bags on the floor.

"Want the first shower?" I offered.

Bea, who was crawling up the bed and fighting with the sheets that were tucked into the mattress, grumbled. "I'll have one in the morning."

I watched her tugging on the sheet, it wouldn't come untucked and her movements were lethargic, full of exhaustion. Her cheeks started to redden and her brows knit tight, frustration becoming more and more evident.

"Do they want people to sleep in the fucking bed or cut it up with a cleaver. For fucks sakes!"

Before she could make good on her threat, I came over to the side of the bed and lifted the mattress from the base, just enough that the sheet slid out. She tipped her head back, let out a long breath and then inhaled, slow and deep.

"I thought I'd feel better," she whispered as I sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up her hand. The skin around her nails was torn and red from her biting. A habit that she detested but couldn't seem to break due to her anxious bouts making it worse. She'd had a lot of those lately. "I thought I'd feel better after I let mom rest in her favourite place. I don't, Dyl. I still want her back."

Her gaze watered, the rim of her eyes pooling with tears that spilled and dropped onto the mattress as her head fell. It killed me to see her like this. Her smile was intoxicating. Her laugh was divine. Nothing felt right when she wasn't the picture of optimism. I couldn't blame her though. Life had been throwing a hell of a lot of shit at her and I wasn't surprised that she couldn't smile and breeze through this curveball.

"It's still going to hurt, Bea," I explained, pushing her hair behind her shoulder. "All you can do is remind yourself that you fulfilled something that would have meant so much to her. And you didn't let anything get in the way."

She lifted her head and looked at me with quivering cheeks and lips. She chewed on the inside of her mouth, I could see that she was fighting to hold it back. "I just— I thought that if I put her to rest at the beach and I kn—knew that she wasn't in pain anymore, I'd feel better. She's not in pain now, Dyl. And I thought that would make it hurt less."

"Give it time," I told her, wiping at her tears with my thumb. She leaned her face in my palm and I smiled, hoping that she'd find the strength to hear me. "You can't expect it to feel fine straight away. It's been two weeks. You got through the funeral and the wake. That didn't feel so raw during the week that we spent on the road, right? That'll happen again, Bea. Once we get home and you get back to life. It'll always hurt. But it'll get easier."

She shook her head and I dropped my hand from her face, feeling a little emptier without having her in my grasp. "Nope," she wiped at her face. "I have nothing to go back to. I don't have a job. I barely have a home. I don't even have you anymore."

"You've always had me."

She scoffed. "We haven't talked in weeks."

It didn't seem like the right time to remind her that she was the reason we hadn't spoken.

"You've got Charlie and the restaurant and your parents. All I do is make your fiancée cry and blame me for everything wrong with your fucking relationship."

"Wait," I blinked. "Are you talking about what happened when we were in New Zealand?"

"So we're doing this, huh?" She pulled her knees to her chest and leaned against the head board. "Might as well. Life can't get much worse. I might as well get everything out at once and hope that's all the pain I'll suffer for one lifetime."

"Alright, I've been curious about what happened in that room before you took off home. So what happened, Bea? What did she say to you?"

She refused to look at me. "Nothing that wasn't true," she mumbled.

"What was it?"

"I'm too dependent on you, okay?" She met me with a broken look that felt like a knife to the heart. "Our friendship is inappropriate. All she wanted was the chance to be your priority and I figured that she deserved it."

"Charlie and I broke up that morning."

Bea recoiled, her lips parted as if she wanted to say something. But she didn't and the more that I looked at her mouth, the more that I remembered why Charlie and I were no longer engaged.

"That's why she was crying, Bea. Because I told her about what happened between us and I told her that I couldn't be with her when I knew that we weren't in love. Not how we should be if we were going to get married."

Her mouth snapped shut and she looked out of the window, still stunned. This was the wrong time to tell her that I love her and I always have. She's just put her mom to rest. She's not coping with her emotions and it would be selfish to confess that she's all I've ever wanted. But how can I not tell her?

"I stepped out of the picture," she murmured, her words turning into sobs. "I stepped aside because all she wanted was the chance to have a relationship with you where I wasn't constantly in the way. I gave you guys that and you just. . . left her?"

"She told me that you said something like that. Something about giving us some space. But that wasn't the entire reason for breaking things off, Bea. We—"

"No," she stood up, throwing the sheets back from her legs and pacing the length of the small room. "She was supposed to win. I let her fucking win. I gave up my best friend so that she could get the relationship that she wanted!"

I stood as well. "You should have talked to me about it!" I snapped, shit I felt wound up. "I should have been part of the decision, don't you think? I lost my best friend and barely had a fucking clue what the real reason was. I thought you might have been upset about the kiss. I thought Charlie might have threatened you. I didn't know what to think."

"You would have chosen me over her if I gave you that option," she tried to shout but her voice was broken and she was breathless with tears.

"You're damn right I would have! Charlie wasn't the woman for me and it wasn't just because of how much she resented our friendship. I just didn't feel it. It was missing that— that something."

She wrinkled her red nose. "That something?"

"Yes. The feeling. The feeling that two people in love should have. You're the one who told me it was missing on Christmas Eve, remember? I didn't believe you. But you were right. It was missing that feeling."

She shook her head and we stared at each other from either side of the bed. She felt so far away from me and that didn't just have to do with the space between us. So much had shifted in our relationship since we kissed in New Zealand and it scared me but I wasn't sure that I could pretend that it meant nothing to me as well as she could.

I exhaled, my shoulders falling. "It was missing the feeling that I had when you and I kissed."

Her tearful gasp racked her whole body and I started to circle the bed as she vibrated with choked sobs.

"I don't know what it meant to you, Bea. But I know what it meant to me and it was a slap in the face. I couldn't keep pretending with Charlie. Not after that."

She held her balled fists in front of her eyes and shook so hard that it hurt to watch her. So I didn't watch her, I pulled her in and held her against my chest and kissed her head and let her soak my T-shirt with her tears. That night, Bea kissed me like she meant it. I'll never forget how her body felt against mine. Her tongue gentle and curious. Her hands holding on as though she was scared to let me go.

Even if she told me that it was a mistake and she never wanted more, I'd still be here because I'd factored the risk of confessing what I felt for her. I'd thought about it all and the only outcome that I couldn't survive, would be losing her.

Suddenly, she leaned back, looked at me with bloodshot eyes and blotched cheeks but before I knew what was happening, she'd tiptoed, thrown her arms around my neck and was kissing me. I could taste the salt of her tears and it almost killed me. Part of me felt like a piece of shit for kissing her when she was so vulnerable. But the other part of me felt like I needed this more than she did.

My hands fanned out on her lower back, tugging her in close as her fingers slid through my hair and she opened her mouth, deepening the kiss, sending me into a state that left me breathless. No one had ever made me feel the way that she could. Not that it surprised me. I'd been in love with her from the moment that we met. But I'd come to terms with knowing that I would never have her.

I'd settled for being content with the wrong woman rather than risking it all so that I could be exquisitely in love with the right one.

When she broke from me, I felt cold and it became worse when I looked down at her and saw the absolute torment in her expression. "I don't want to mess this up, Dyl," she cried harder than I'd seen her cry this entire week. "I can't mess this up."

I knew what she meant. Her commitment issues would have been weighing on her. I knew her better than she could ever know.

"You deserve one hundred percent. You deserve everything and I've got nothing right now."

My palms held her face and I leaned in close. "Nothing or not, I'm here and I'm here however you need me."

Her beautiful face contorted again and she hid against my chest so I held her and let her sob, hoping that she understood that I meant what she said. Despite the fact that I had a feeling she was about to vanish on me again, I wasn't worried because I knew that she'd find me again. She was meant for my life whether it was as a partner or a friend. She was meant for me and I for her.