Page 55 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

My chest had constricted, panic clawing up my throat like the incoming tide. Everything I’d ever wanted to say to him crashed over me at once—how he’d been my anchor through so many storms, how his laugh made the whole harbour brighter, how I couldn’t bear the thought of him sailing away.

The words wouldn’t come. Instead, I’d lurched forward, my trembling hands finding his jacket, and pressed my lips against his. For one suspended moment, everything else fell away—the pier, the funeral, the weight of expectations. There was just Tom, and the desperate hope that maybe, justmaybe…

Then, it was Tom’s face shifting, crumpling into that gentle, devastating look of sympathy. Even now, I could still feel the softness of his lips, taste the salt from the sea air, hear his soft, “Oh, Flynn,” that had shattered me.

Seb remained silent, but I could feel his presence beside me, listening.

“I thought I loved him.” My voice wavered. “But now I’m not so sure. We were super close for years, and I think I just wanted desperately forsomeone.” Heat crept up my neck. “I mean, I’ve reached twenty-five and I’m still a virgin. It’s embarrassing.”

I clearly wanted to dig the shard of glass in deeper as I forced myself to look up at Seb, bracing for pity or mockery. Instead, his eyebrows had shot up towards his hairline, genuine shock written across his features.

“Flynn—”

“Don’t.” I straightened up, forcing a smile. “Don’t try to make me feel better about it. I know it’s pathetic. It’s humiliating.”

“It’s… surprising.” Seb’s eyes roamed over my face, down my body, and back up again. “You’re so confident, so warm to everyone, and—now, thisisn’t flirting—quite frankly, very attractive. I’d have thought you’d have people fighting over you.”

Heat bloomed across my cheeks at his words. The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like he was stating the sky was blue—made it impossible to dismiss as empty flattery.

“I had a few flings with tourists,” I mumbled, fiddling with my empty mug. “I’m not a complete born-again saint or whatever. Just… nothing serious.”

“Why not?”

I sighed, memories of Grandpa’s disapproving scowl rising unbidden. “My grandfather, I guess. He was… well, quite homophobic would be putting it mildly. Proper old-school Catholic. Half the town was.”

“Did he know about you?”

“Yeah. I made Mum tell him, actually. Couldn’t bear the thought of hiding it forever.” I traced the rim of my mug. “She told me to ignore him, said he was from a different time and all that usual bullshit. But she fully supported me, honestly. My sister, Katie, too.”

Seb leaned against the counter, expression considering.

“The thing was…” I swallowed hard. “It was his house we all lived in. My mum, Katie, and I moved in with him after my dad died. Living under his roof, seeing him every day… I think it might have stopped me—subconsciously, you know?—from pursuing anything real. He was everywhere in Braymore Bay. Local celebrity, practically ran the town council. Everyone knew him, respected him.”

The words tasted bitter. It was complicated, how the same man who’d given us a home, who’d taught me to love the sea, had made me feel so small.

“Hard to risk bringing someone home to that. Wouldn’t be fair to them. So yeah. Tourist flings were safer. They’d be gone in a weekanyway.”

Seb’s expression darkened, a shadow crossing his features. “Your mother should have done more to support you.”

“No.” The word came out sharper than I intended. “You don’t understand. Weneededto live there.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Needed?”

“My mum. She uses a wheelchair.” I gripped the edge of the counter. “Has done since the accident that killed Dad. The house—it was perfect. My grandfather had already modified it years ago for Gran before she died. Wide doorways, ramps, accessible bathroom. Everything she needed.”

The anger slightly melted from Seb’s face.

“And Katie and I were still in school.” I shrugged. “Mum’s disability benefits barely covered the basics. Grandpa… he provided for us. Made sure we had everything we needed. Food on the table, clothes for school, birthday presents.”

“At what cost to you?”

“Better than watching my mother struggle to survive on her own.” The words came out with a snap. “What was I supposed to do? Tell her we should leave because he made me feel bad about being gay? Force her to try and find somewhere else accessible on next to no money?”

Seb remained quiet, his gaze fixed on my face.

“She did her best, okay?” My voice trembled.

The weight of everything crashed over me at once—my phone conversation with my mother, the guilt that I’d abandoned her, my icy demon heart, Eliza attacking me, Seb’s firm words. A sob tore from my throat before I could stop it. I turned away, pressing my palms against my eyes, but the tears kept coming.

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