Page 184 of Pull Me Under

‘I know. But it’s where I’m starting.’ He reaches out. Stops just short of touching me. ‘Can I⁠—’

‘Yes.’

He takes my hand. Just holds it. His fingers are cold, calloused from ropes and nets, and the sea.

‘I don’t know what to do with my life, Brynn.’ His gaze lifts to the blue stretch of sky above us. The spring storms have passed – for now. ‘It feels like everything I built it on was a lie.’

‘Then maybe you get to build it on something true this time.’

He nods. Swallows. I want to throw my arms around him, but I don’t. It wouldn’t be right to make this more complicated than it already is. We need to earn our way back to each other. Not fall back into it because it’s easier than standing apart.

So instead we stand there. Holding hands in the garden. The daffodils bobbing their heads, the red door gleaming in the April sun.

Inside, I can hear Maisie’s voice – something about sharks and biscuits. Lily laughing. Helen saying something I can’t quite make out.

Family. All of them. Finding their way back to each other.

As if he reads my mind, he turns, giving my fingers a gentle squeeze. ‘That’s my family in there.’

Grinning, I nod. ‘Your sister is very opinionated.’

He laughs and my heart doubles in size. ‘Sounds like her sister.’

I can’t say he’s wrong.

‘Introduce me to my sister, Brynn.’ His voice catches on the word sister. ‘I think I’d like to meet her.’

I squeeze his hand.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Let’s go meet Lily.’

We walk up the path together.

For now, that’s enough.

Epilogue

BRYNN

Five months later

Betty sits in the harbour like she belongs there.

Because she does. Finally.

I stand on the quay, coffee in hand, watching the early morning light catch her hull. Fresh paint – not the garish colours I’d first imagined, but a deep navy with her name picked out in gold. Classic. Timeless. The kind of boat my grandfather would have been proud of.

It’s taken me six months to finish her. Six months of sanding, varnishing, replacing rotted timber, rebuilding the engine piece by piece. Four months of early mornings and aching shoulders and splinters in places I didn’t know splinters could go.

Worth it. Every bloody splinter.

‘She looks good.’

I don’t turn. Don’t need to. I’d know that voice anywhere.

Jude appears beside me, his own coffee steaming in the September chill. He’s let his hair grow out a bit – it suits him. Makes him look younger. Less like Reuben.

‘She looks better than good,’ I say. ‘She looks perfect.’