Page 65 of Better than Yesterday
Eli and Jules were sprawled on one of the oversized driftwood logs, his arm slung casually around her shoulders. Harper and Chase were nearby, trying to contain Claire and Cameron from crawling all over the place. Brenna sat with Hunter close beside her, their bodies angled toward each other in that comfortable way of people settled into permanence. Austin stood at the fire’s edge with Ben, their faces illuminated by the flames. Iris was hosting a guest reception tonight at Heron House, and Austin’s solitary presence was more pronounced now that it was unusual.
Of course they’d been talking about me. About Tessa.About what I’d done. I’d spent the last three days in a state of controlled dissociation. Work had been a refuge—the sharp focus required to inventory hops, monitor fermentation, and refine the recipe for the new seasonal blend. At the brewpub, I could hide inside the mathematics and precise chemistry that didn’t care about my personal catastrophe.
But I couldn’t hide forever. Family obligation was a pull I’d never learned to resist, and this afternoon Harper had texted with a casual invitation that wasn’t really an invitation at all.
We’re having a bonfire tonight. You should come.
I approached the fire slowly, taking in the scene. The moment I came into view, conversation shifted. Recalibrated. People who’d been looking at each other suddenly looked toward the beach or the flames or anywhere that wasn’t directly at me.
“There he is,” Eli’s voice was artificially bright, the forced warmth of someone trying to hold something together with enthusiasm.
I grabbed a beer from the cooler someone had set up on the sand—one of mine from Tidal Hops—and claimed a spot adjacent to the group but not fully inside it. My shoulders were locked. I focused on the beer, opening the can and taking a pull. The taste was familiar enough to ground me, even if nothing else did.
“Good turnout tonight,” I said to no one in particular. The kind of neutral observation that could fill space without committing to anything real.
Austin was watching me. I caught the look—the assessment in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened slightly. He’d been where I was, or somewhere close. Emotionally walled off, choosing solitude over the messy risk of connection. He’d learned better, eventually.
It took him about five minutes. He waited for a natural lull in conversation, until Harper had picked up Cameron to soothe him, until Brenna and Hunter had stepped away to talk to each other in their private-even-in-public way.
“So,” Austin said. He still stood at the fire’s edge, the flames casting long shadows across his face. “I can see you’re wound tighter than a drum. Want to talk about it?”
I turned the beer bottle slowly in my hands. “Not particularly.”
“I figured.” Austin shifted his weight, and I realized he was going to push. “But you’re going to anyway, because sometimes we don’t get a choice. You’re the one who taught me that in the back room of your brewery not so long ago.”
Something hot flashed through my chest. A defensive anger, the kind that felt safer than the alternative. “Can it, Austin. I don’t need a lecture.”
“I’m not here to lecture you.” Austin moved closer. “I’m here to point out something you already know but are doing a really good job of not looking at directly.”
The bonfire was the only light on the beach now. Stars had started appearing overhead, but they were faint, barely visible. Everything was narrowing down to just the two of us and the flames before us.
“What’s that?” I asked, though I didn’t really want to know the answer.
“You’re following the same playbook I did. Build something good, start to believe it might actually work, then tear it down from the inside before someone else gets a chance to.”
The beer suddenly tasted bitter. I’d crafted the story of a careful man making a careful decision, and I’d believed it just enough to present it without shame. But Austin wasright. The shame was there. I could feel it now that he’d named my actions.
“She’s leaving.” My words came out flat, controlled. “The Great Barrier Reef position, the next dream opportunity—it’s all there. It was always going to end this way.”
“So you did it first.”
“I did it logically. The only thing that made sense.”
“You did it out of fear.” Austin’s voice wasn’t unkind, but it was firm, impossible to dismiss. “You decided ahead of time that you couldn’t handle the uncertainty. That it was safer to end it yourself than to risk her choosing something else. And you know what that is, Braden? That’s not logical. That’s you making a decision for her because you were too scared to let her make it herself.”
I wanted to argue. I’d spent three days constructing arguments, polishing them, rehearsing them until they felt solid.
We wanted different things. Our timelines didn’t align. She would always wonder what she’d missed. I was doing her a favor.
But none of that was true. None of it was the real reason.
“I was protecting her,” I said, and even as the words left my mouth, I could hear how hollow they sounded.
“From what? From you? From her own choices?” Austin stepped closer, his dark stubble almost glowing in the firelight. “You weren’t protecting her, Braden. You were protecting yourself. And you wrapped that protection in logic and noble intentions like a gift for her.”
The fire crackled louder, sending another spray of sparks into the darkness. My siblings had gone quiet, or at least quieter. They were pretending not to listen but were absolutely listening to every word.
“You don’t understand the situation,” I said, but it sounded like a plea, not an argument.
