Free Yours: A Standalone Contemporary Romance by Jasinda Wilder

“I never did, either. That’s why I’m up here.”  
    He nods. “Your dad, he came up here, right near the end. I think he bought this place for…” a vague wave, “—to get ready. He knew it was coming and…he needed to—to get ready.”
    “He gave it to me so I could do the same.”  
    Another nod. “Well, now…you’re here for the exact opposite reason. That’s…that’s a damn good thing.”
    “You knew Dad?”  
    A shake of his head. “Not well. You get tourists and the occasional newcomer, folks up for summer vacation every year, things like that, and they keep to themselves, mostly. But your dad was…different. You all got money, and a lot of it, but he acted like a local. Friendly with everybody, generous, liked to drink at the local watering holes. Everybody liked him, round these parts.”  
    “He spend a lot of time up here?”  
    A nod. “Sure did. Toward the end, he was up here more than anywhere else. I think he wanted to…to pass on up here, but your mother talked him out of it. I think maybe—well, that’s conjecture, and it don’t do to speak on it. You’re here, and that’s all that matters. Does my old heart good, is all I’m saying.”  
    I unpack, put all my clothes on hangers and in the drawers, pile my gear in the garage. It’s weird, unpacking, being on solid ground and in one place after so long. The floor doesn’t roll. There’s nowhere to go. No Friends of the Day. No new adventure to go looking for.
    Once I’m unpacked, I—
    I have no idea what to do next. Mom said she would be coming up for the weekend. I did everything in my power to dissuade her, but she’s not a woman to take no for an answer. I sure don’t need or want a babysitter, but sometimes it’s just easier to give in to her.  
    Gregor has left, and the house is utterly silent. Onboard the Vagabond , there was always sound of some kind. The caw of gulls, the chuck of waves, the ever-present wind, the clink of metal on the mast, the snap of bellied sails. And, usually, music, women laughing, men tossing playful insults at each other. Now…there’s nothing. The doors and windows are all closed, there’s no music, no voices. Just…complete silence.
    And I don’t know what to do.  
    I’m rarely alone.  
    Rarely enveloped in silence.  
    Rarely left to my own thoughts, left to let my emotions boil up and over.
    And fuck, are there a lot of thoughts and emotions to deal with.
    I slide open the windows, pull open the back door and move out onto the deck. And that’s not helping, because the ocean is there. The sea has always been my siren, calling me. And there she is, right there. Wide and blue, whispering to me. Come , she says. Follow my currents. Ride my winds .
    I can’t, though. That was my old life. This is my new one. If I go out there, if I follow the sea, I’ll never come back. I’ll fall into my old patterns. And now, that just…it feels wasteful.  
    It feels like running away.  
    I put my hand over my chest, feel my heart beating. The thud under my ribcage is steady, strong, reassuring. No defect. No end in sight. I reached the deadline, and I’m past it. I’m alive.  
    In the back of my mind I know I will only have a few hours to myself before dear old mom arrives so, somehow, I’m off the deck, but I don’t remember leaving. I’m barefoot, stumbling through scrub to the wooden staircase leading down to the sea. It’s a long way down, hundreds of stairs. I start the descent, and my pulse remains steady and slow. My old heart would have been pounding by this time, reminding me, reminding me.  
    Eventually I reach the beach, sand cool underfoot, and the ocean azure and endless. Surf crashes. Gulls caw. Wind soughs through my hair, touches my cheekbones, ruffles my hair. I scuff through the sand to the water’s edge, and the lap of Pacific against my toes is cutting and cold. There’s no one, not in either direction. No boats, no neighbors. Just me, and the sea, and