Page 72 of Roses & Ruin

I’d never heard of Nocturne Bay until I read the fading words on the frosted sign just outside the minuscule coastal town. We’re back in Maine, except this time we’re only about ten minutes away from the Canadian border. The heavy snow has driven any of its scarce population indoors, so the obscure city, if you can even call it that, has the eerie feel of a ghost town.

I sort of like it. It has the devastating, remote beauty that tourism often ravishes. This dock is one of only three in the harbor. There aren’t many sailboats, so I get an expansive view of the steel-gray waters, the snowy, salt-thick air, and the snowcapped waves sloshing along the icy wooden poles of the dock all to myself.

I wish Hayden would let me share it with him. But ever since he told me to pack, he’s retreated behind the dark wall of his simmering, protective fury, the fear he refuses to acknowledge.

If only he’d let me help him carry that burden, open the curtains of his heart, show him that grief and fear can diminish in the light of our love. If only he’d trust us this time around, that together we can fight fate or the curse or whatever stupid supernatural thing is holding me at cosmic gunpoint. If only he’d trust me.

As it is, he’s nearly as impenetrable as he was in the beginning. He’s become my shadow again, as had been his plan. Always at my hip are his long silences, the great, towering loom of him, the cruel, perfect scent of smoke and cinnamon. God, how I want to open the collar of his shirt and press my face into his neck. But other than a protective arm around my waist and occasional brush of his thumb near the bruise on my cheek, he’s barely touched me. In fact, he sort of goes out of his way to make sure we don’t graze our bare skin.

I know it’s because he’s scared to lose me.

I know he loves me.

But it hurts. It really, really hurts.

A narrow matte-black bow of a boat appears on the water, slicing through the snowy fog in front of me. My mouth hangs open as a small, fierce-looking yacht glides gracefully to the end of the dock, Hayden at the second-level helm.

“Storm’s coming. It’s a good thing, will make double sure we can’t be followed.” Hayden climbs over the side and takes an inhuman, effortless leap onto the dock, striding to me. “We need to leave now, though.”

“That…” I swallow and blink at the fogged windows of the cabin below the helm. “Is that a small living room in there?”

“It’s called a salon.” Hayden whips his thick woolen coat off and wraps it around my shaking shoulders. He shoots a sharp look back, sweeping an eye along the barren docks and streets. “You’ll be warm in there. Hurry.”

The mist swallows us as we set off onto the open ocean. I watch the dock and town lights of Nocturne Bay shrink from the soft leather couch in the salon, pink-cheeked from the small fireplace. Above me, Hayden steers the boat.

When we’re surrounded by choppy black water on all sides, I wrap a blanket around myself and exit the cabin, climbing to where Hayden fiddles with a panel of controls, one hand on a black leather wheel.

“So you own a yacht?” I say evenly.

“An expedition boat.” Hayden looks at a beeping dot on the radar. He looks out the window at the swirling tunnel of snow. He never looks at me. “And we own it.”

“I…” I cast my eyes out to sea, trying very hard not to cry. Clearing my throat, I say, “So you’re rich-rich.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “How’d you manage that?”

“With infinite time and the compulsion to fill it.” Hayden presses his tongue hard to the inside of his cheek. His voice drops. “It’s all meaningless without you, you know.” I see a crack in his composure that has me take a step closer.

“Hayden,” I begin, putting a hand on his arm.

“Nearly forgot,” he says suddenly, breaking my touch to rummage through his leather bag. “I have something for you.” I fold my arms tightly against my chest, feeling wounded. I almost forget the stab of pain when Hayden hands me a box with the top-of-the-line version of my broken phone.

“No way,” I breathe. Pretty sure I heard something about this model online—it’s only been out a week. I laugh incredulously, shaking my head. “The newest phone I’ve ever had was, like, six years old. This is…Thank you.” I throw my arms around him. He doesn’t stiffen, but he puts both hands on the steering wheel.

“Not safe for you to have no phone,” he rumbles.

“Do I…?” I pull it out of the box and switch it on. As it loads, I shoot him a wince. “I usually have the guy at the phone store set it up for me…I’m not the super-most techno savvy.”

“I know,” he huffs. He smiles to himself. “The first time you saw a rotary phone, you lost your shit. Delia set it all up for you.” He taps the pristine screen and turns his gaze back to the open waters. “All your contacts are transferred; texts are preserved. Got all the bells and whistles for you. She even cleaned up your inbox, unsubscribed you from a few things.” Hayden quirks a brow at me. “Any reason you were on the mailing list of literally every student club at Payen University?”

“I wanted to keep my options open,” I say airily. “It’s a very positive quality in a person, open-mindedness. And I’m very open-minded.”

“I’ll say.” Hayden narrows his eyes, reciting. “ ‘Payen Men for Mandatory Nap Time.’ ”

“Other than the gender-normative exclusion and bias, I’d join the crap out of that.” I wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “With all my nightmares, any minute of sleep I can manage to get is a miracle.” Hayden falls dark and unreadable once more, and I could kick myself. Of course the mention of my nightmares makes him go silent.

After all, they’re not nightmares. They’re memories of how he lost me over and over again.

About an hour later, a huge, jagged silhouette emerges through the distant fog. I exit the salon and go to the front of the boat, tingling with fear and anticipation as we approach the monstrous shape through a thickening veil of snow.

When we’re mere hundreds of feet out, I realize it’s a small island. With a rugged coastline made of steep cliffs and rocky shores, its wind-carved, craggy-faced terrain is in high relief and crowded with bottlebrush spruces and towering, foul-needled hemlocks. The obsidian waves hurl themselves against the sharp cliff faces, crashing and roaring with the angry temper of the approaching storm.