Page 65 of The Maine Event

Before I can respond, Chloe comes down the stairs, dressed in warm, dry clothes. She climbs onto the couch beside me, curling into my side. I wrap an arm around her, holding her close.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she murmurs, her voice small. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Dan’s expression softens as he looks at his daughter. He moves to join us on the couch, pulling Chloe into a tight hug. “I know, sweetheart. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Over Chloe’s head, our eyes meet. I have to look away. The shame. The guilt. The disappointment in myself…

I struggle to my feet, cinching the robe tighter around me. The exhaustion from the swim, the panic, the argument with Dan—it all crashes over me in a suffocating wave. I need to getaway, to clear my head. I walk towards the door, each step an effort.

“Rachel, wait.” Dan’s voice halts me. “You can’t leave like this. You’re in no shape to go anywhere.”

I pause, not turning around. The concern in his tone tugs at my heart, but the sting of his earlier words lingers. “I’ll be fine,” I mumble, though even I don’t believe it.

“I’m really sorry,” I say as I open the door and head out of Dan’s life and Maine forever.

SIXTEEN

I stare at my plane ticket to Chicago, the departure time blurring before my eyes as I sit at the airport bar. Despite the melodramatic exit from Dan’s house, I spent two days in Portland before air traffic was fully operational again. But I got to drown my sorrows in the relative comfort of a five-star hotel in the city center, and got to experience room service three times a day.

“What can I get for you?”

The bartender’s voice startles me out of my thoughts. He leans on the polished wood counter, his kind eyes taking in my distress with a look of concern.

I blink rapidly, trying to focus. “Um, I’ll have a…” My voice trails off as I glance at the rows of gleaming bottles behind him.

What does it matter what I order? In a few hours, I’ll be back in Chicago, back to normality. Back to work. Although, truth be told, I’m not sure it’s the life I want anymore.

The bartender waits patiently, his gentle presence somehow soothing in the midst of my turmoil.

I clear my throat. “A vodka cranberry, please.”

He nods with an understanding smile. “Coming right up.”

As he busies himself preparing my drink, I stare unseeingly at the bustling concourse beyond the bar.

Travelers hurry past, their faces alight with purpose and excitement. Couples stroll hand-in-hand, families wrangle exuberant children. They all seem to know exactly where they’re going, their paths laid out clearly before them.

And yet here I sit, my own way forward suddenly as hazy as my reflection in the bar’s mirrored backsplash. I thought I had it all figured out—climb the corporate ladder, focus on my career, prove myself in a cutthroat industry where success is the only currency that matters.

And somehow, I brought that mindset here—to Maine. Trying to prove that I could make things better for Dan and Chloe, that I could fix their lives like some kind of guardian angel. But I wasn’t thinking about what they actually needed. I just wanted to feel useful again. To feel like I was doing something worthwhile. And instead, I nearly got Chloe killed.

“Here you go.” The bartender slides my drink across to me, the bright red liquid sloshing gently. “Anything else I can get for you?”

I wrap my fingers around the cool glass, anchoring myself in its solidity. “No, thank you. I’m… I’m good.”

Am I, though? Am I really ready to walk away from everything these past weeks have awakened in me? The connection, the belonging, the sense that I could be part of something real?

My stomach twists, and I take a fortifying sip of my drink. It burns going down, a welcome distraction from the ache in my heart. I’ll be fine. I have to be. This is the path I chose long ago, and I can’t just abandon it because of a few weeks of… What, exactly?

A fantasy, that’s what. A lovely dream that has no place in the harsh light of reality. Rachel Holmes doesn’t get distracted bysmall-town charms and cozy family parties. She doesn’t let her guard down, doesn’t let herself imagine a different future.

No, Rachel Holmes gets on a plane to Chicago and doesn’t look back. Even if every fiber of her being is screaming at her to reconsider. Even if she can’t shake the feeling that she’s making a terrible mistake.

I can do this. I have to do this.I lift my gaze to the bartender once more.

“Could I get my check, please?”

As I reach into my pocket for my wallet, my fingers brush against something unexpected. Frowning, I pull out a crumpled napkin, my heart stuttering as I recognize the scrawled handwriting. Dan’s napkin, the one he’d given me that night at the bar. The night that started… everything.

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