Page 84 of The Lightkeeper

Reckless, sure. Obstinate, maybe. Bold, definitely.And whatever I’d gotten myself involved in with Kit was certainly all those things, but for the first time, thatexperimenthad also made me an idiot. Maybe I was incredibly smart… unless I was in love. Then I was incredibly stupid.

The old adage was right, it seemed.Only fools rush in.

And I’d rushed in like a fool. I’d rushed to understand the man in the lighthouse. I’d rushed into his arms, desperate to know more of his touch. And I’d rushed my heart straight from my chest, too caught up in every moment to even consider what happened when the rushing stopped.

Well, it had. And in the moments between worrying about my dad’s life and then his health and then his recovery, I desperately tried to forget how, in response to Kit calling us an experiment, I’dalmost confessed to loving him—and insisted that he loved me in return.

It was the first time my lips blocked the words that were on my mind. Self-preservation superseding infectious honesty.

“Aurora.” Dad touched my arm, and I flinched, the jar slipping from my tense fingers. I gasped, but he caught it in time, looking up at me curiously. “Are you alright?”

Not in the slightest,I thought, feeling the fresh crack in my heart from a silly jar of jam.

“Yeah,” I assured him and stepped off the stool, folding it and moving by him to put it away.This had to get better at some point. It had to.I tried to head back to the living room, where I was holed up at the desk in the corner, finishing the final touches on my paper, but he didn’t let me.

“You’ve been a little distracted since you’ve been home,” he said calmly while spreading the jam on his English muffin.

“Dad.” I folded my arms, giving him my best stern face. “You just had a massive heart attack, a huge surgery, and my final paper is due on Monday. Don’t you think that’s enough to keep me a little distracted?”

He paused and looked at me for a long second, then nodded.

I rolled my bottom lip through my teeth and then said softly, “I have to finish my paper. Please, just call for me before you climb anything.”

I walked away—back to my paper. Back to my distractions. I’d just settled into my chair when I felt his hand on my shoulder.

“If you want to talk about it, you know I’m always here for you, sweetheart.” His warm voice rumbled, always strong and soothing.

“Talk about what?” I asked, trying to keep my expression blank. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m just focused.”

The sympathy in his eyes killed me. The pain. The knowing. “I wake up every morning and see the face of someone who lostthe person they love. If you don’t think I can recognize that look on anyone by now, then you don’t give your old man enough credit.”

My heart skipped and then stumbled, my eyes burning with the tears I tried to hold back. He knew. Of course, Dad knew. Months of phone conversations about the sea, and I hadn’t held back mentions of the lighthouse and its keeper. I hadn’t told him aboutus,but I had told him about Kit. And the Kinkades. And the art. And the candles. And the jam. I guess it hadn’t taken very many words to paint a bigger picture for Dad of what was really happening.

“I didn’t lose him, Dad. I just left.”And he hadn’t stopped me.

“Can you go back?”

No.

“It wouldn’t matter. He doesn’t love me back,” I said, blinking quickly.

“Are you sure?”

I opened my mouth to say “positive,”but the image of Kit’s face the day I left flashed in my mind. His drawn expression. The torture in his eyes. I’d seen them before—when he’d talked about moving to the lighthouse to spare his family the pain of seeing him broken.

I quickly shoved the image aside. An expression didn’t mean anything—it didn’t mean he felt the same when it came to me.

“I have to get back to work.”

Thankfully, he didn’t push the issue. He squeezed my shoulder, bent down to kiss my head, and then returned to his recliner in front of the wood-burning stove where his book was waiting for him.

Minutes ticked by while I worked and he read. I forced myself to scan through every word of my paper one more time, ignoring the significance of the sketches attached to the document that Kit had done and sent with the boxes of my things, and then attachedit to the email to my professor and hit send. I didn’t realize how hard the finality of the moment would hit me until it was too late.

I sat back in my chair with a loud exhale, feeling like I’d just been kicked in the chest.

That was it.The end.

Of my research. Of my paper. Of Friendship and the lighthouse and the experiment of us.

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