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He didn’t know why the idea had suddenly popped into his head. But once it had, he had been determined.
He’d had one job, to get her home to her grandfather and mother. It was the last thing he’d ever asked of him. They’d been at the edge of it. He’d watched his last remaining tie to the man he’d been fall in the heat of the final battle— the one that would decide it all.
In that moment he hadn’t cared. The rest of it faded away. The anger, grief, betrayal. He’d fought his way over to him, put him in a fireman’s carry and gotten him away. Two shots to the gut with a Patriot rifle. It wouldn’t take long.
It had only taken a few minutes. Just enough time for apologies from both of them and that final ask.
Get her home, and give her mom this. I’m trusting you.
He’d pressed his final message into his hand, and then had been gone.
He’d gone back to fight— if they’d lost this battle she would die and he’d never be able to make good on his promise. He used that to survive the day. When it was over he carried his body back to camp. He laid him in his tent, making it clear that anyone attempting to move him would join him.
It had taken hours to find her. She’d taken a bad slash to the shoulder and had been getting patched up. She’d collapsed when he brought her to him to say goodbye. He’d held her. She’d cursed him and fought him— blamed him. And he’d just held on.
I hate you.
I know.
It should have been you.
You’re right.
I’m alone.
I’m here.
He had dug the grave himself. He wouldn’t let them help. He picked a quiet place, away from the others. It was on the edge of the field where he’d died, facing west, so he’d see the sunset.
And then he’d taken her away from there. It was over and they were no longer needed. At first Texas hadn’t wanted to let him out of their sights. They’d heard the rumors of what he’d planned. But eventually they’d relented.
Maybe they finally understood that he’d given up on that path the moment he’d watched him die.
They were on their way back and had made it as far as Kentucky when he decided on the detour. It would add over a month to their journey— longer if they stayed a while. It was stupid, really. But, once he’d made up his mind, he wasn’t backing down.
As they’d traveled, she’d slowly come back to life. The first week, she’d barely eaten, wouldn’t talk to him. He took care of her like she was a child.
He hadn’t had the time to focus on his own grief. Maybe that’s what helped pull him through it— he was needed, whether she liked it or not. Instead of drowning in it or exploding, he’d just kept going.
But time has a funny way of moving things along. She had gotten through the worst of it by the time they’d crossed into Alabama.
By the time they’d stopped in Birmingham for a few days of rest, she’d been talking again. That first night had been strange. There hadn’t been a lot of options, but with over six weeks on the road, he’d wanted a damn bed.
Just the one room, one large bed. He’d taken it. That first night, they’d been asleep before their heads hit the pillows. The second night he was almost asleep, when it had finally hit him. The weight of it all was too much.
She’d been peacefully sleeping beside him so he had tried to keep it quiet— contained. But the waves had kept flowing through him. It wasn’t just this latest loss. It was all of them.
He’d woken her, his breath hitching, hand covering his eyes. He’d felt her hand on his arm and it had broken him apart.
In another life he’d have been humiliated by it, would have rejected it. But he had been so tired of burying the pain. It only caused more. So he’d welcomed it. It was time to let it out and let it go.
He hadn’t expected her to turn to him in that moment, to share in it— to return what he’d given her that first awful night. Two simple words that said almost too much:
I’m here.
She had given him something to cling to through the night and in the morning he’d realized for the first time in decades that he just might be okay.
They stayed in Birmingham three more days. In that time something changed. He couldn’t put a name to it, but there was a softness there that hadn’t been there before. Not friendship, but maybe a gentle understanding.
He now sat in the sand, boots off and feet buried in the white powder. It was October and the sun was warm but not intense. Their long journey had finally come to an end just past midday.
He hadn’t known what to expect. A hurricane had come through a few years back and Downtown Destin was decimated. But the East End by Crystal Beach had somehow survived. There wasn’t a lot there now, but it was enough to stable the horses and find a place to stay.
They had the beach to themselves. Florida’s Emerald Coast had once drawn millions of tourists each year, but now people were so busy surviving that they took so little time to stop and take it all in. They’d forgotten the vastness and greatness of what was so close to them.
He watched her frolic in it. She’d never seen the ocean. When he’d decided to bring her here, he’d wanted this for her. That first moment of recognition— there was something so much bigger and more powerful than them all.
It made all of the fighting and rage seem so foolish. Compared to this, everything he’d seen and done seemed so insignificant.
He’d chosen this place because it was one of the last pure memories he’d had— that they’d had. Three months before he’d lost his folks and sisters, they’d joined them on leave. It had been a good week.
They’d rented a house on the beach, spending the days on the sand. During the evenings the two of them would have beers with his father on the deck, listening to the waves crash.
It was the last time he clearly remembered being truly happy before the world died. He didn’t know why, but the need to share it with her was overwhelming. So, he’d given into it. As he watched her dance along the shore, he was glad he did.
She turned and smiled at him, and he felt it hit him. It was like the rest of the world around him faded away, and he could practically hear his voice… pay attention, dummy.
He wanted to burn the sight of it into his memory. On his dying day, he wanted this to be the last thing he saw. She was radiant and he never wanted to let that go.
He was lost in his head when she plopped herself down on the sand next to him. “Aren’t you going to enjoy it?”
“I am.” He took his shirt off and used it as a pillow. The sand was warm and soft against his back. She laid back down next to him and they soaked in the late afternoon sun together.
She asked him why here, so he told her. She’d reached out and grabbed his hand and they stayed that way until the sun started to set.
She needled him into the water to watch it with her. He’d resisted at first, but how could he refuse her? He found himself floating with her, shoulder deep in the warm water of the gulf as they watched the show together.
She was pressed up against him, her back to his chest. When he wrapped his arms around her to keep her there, she didn’t protest, but leaned into it.
Maybe it hadn’t been just him.
The sun was a half sphere, drowning into the sea on the horizon. She turned back to look at him. The glow of the setting sun in her face was mesmerizing, and he gave into an impulse.
She accepted him, and he was lost. It didn’t matter what happened after they left or what happened when he got her home.
He knew this was likely just temporary for her. The magic of this place and the pain of her loss had created a fantasy. But he didn’t care.
For the rest of his life, no matter where they were… Together? Apart? It didn’t matter. From here on out he was hers. That would never change.
They fell into an easy rhythm. It was strange how quickly he’d given himself over to it. He’d wake to the sound of the waves crashing on the beach, the pillow beside his still showing proof he hadn’t been alone.
The days were simple. Coffee. Breakfast. Long walks along the shore. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they didn’t. It hardly seemed to matter. Being there with her and sharing it was enough for him.
They never missed a sunset. She couldn’t bear to. On their third night, he marked where they’d sat with a piece of driftwood. She asked why, but he only told her, “You’ll see.”
The next morning he woke her gently, just before dawn. She’d complained, but he promised her it would be worth it and he won in the end.
The sky was just starting to lighten as they reached the spot he’d marked. They sat and watched the sunrise over the gulf together. She’d marveled at it, to see both without having to move.
They stayed there for two weeks. She hadn’t wanted to leave, but he’d made a promise and he intended to keep it. After everything that had happened, he needed to see her safe. And her mother and grandfather deserved to see her again.
It was almost December by the time they rode into the town. The warmth they’d shared in Destin had faded as they’d gotten closer. It had hurt, but he’d been prepared for it. There were too many ghosts in Texas.
The reunion was bittersweet. It had been kinder than he’d expected, all things considered. Maybe it was because he’d brought her home to them. Or maybe they were just too tired to hate now.
He’d been sitting on the steps on the back porch on that first night, alone with his thoughts when her mother had joined him. She’d been furious. He’d sent no word. They’d been told she’d lived and that hehad fallen, but nothing else. They’d expected them back long before now.
He told her he was sorry and where they’d been. She asked why. “It was the last place he and I went before it all fell apart— when I was still really me. I wanted her to see it.”
He didn’t know why she accepted it, but she did. Before she left him alone, he dug something out of his pocket and gave it to her. “He told me to give this to you,” he said as he handed her a guitar pick. “He said you’d know what it meant.”
She held it up and looked at it in the moonlight. “I’ll make up a room for you,” was all she said.
As he lay in bed that night waiting for sleep to come, he knew he’d stay here as long as they’d let him. By now things had reverted back to the understanding they’d had in Birmingham, but he’d never forget Destin.
The weeks passed slowly and winter— such as it was in Texas— settled in. Her family never asked him to leave and so he kept on, helping where he could. He did whatever odd jobs he could find in town to contribute. Eventually his presence was accepted enough that finding work to help feed them came easier.
One night he woke up to find her standing next to the bed. He didn’t say anything. He just pulled the covers back and let the invite speak for itself.
They didn’t do more than just lay there together, her head on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around her. He was almost asleep when she told him, “I want to go back.”
“Okay.”
March…
They sat on the beach together. Her back to his chest, his chin resting on her shoulder. Her mother and the old man had already gone in for the night. The long journey had taken a toll on her grandfather and it would take time to recover.
The further they got from Texas, the more the warmth they’d found gradually returned. First, it was just sitting closer to him when they stopped for the night. Then she started sleeping next to him— not touching, but nearby.
Her family hadn’t liked it, but there was a reluctant acceptance. When she was closer to him she seemed more alive and at peace.
Her grandfather had questioned him one afternoon. She’d gone into town with her mother in Biloxi, and they’d stayed by the horses and wagon outside of town. By then they’d been sharing a bedroll.
He’d been convinced that somehow he was taking advantage of her grief.
I’ll never leave her, but she can walk away and I’d let her go.
You’d let her leave if she asked?
He’d nodded, and the old man had left it at that. They’d wanted more for her, and he didn’t fit that mold, but they couldn’t stop it. And would kill him if he hurt her.
Fair enough.
When they finally arrived, they’d had their pick of places. It was strange. In the years before the fall of the old world, the smallest of houses on the beach were more than most could ever dream to afford. But now there weren’t enough people— let alone anyone brave enough to risk a storm coming in.
The one he’d found was very similar to the one they’d rented all of those years ago. It had survived the wind, waves, and neglect surprisingly well.
It needed work, but he was happy to do it for her— for them.
As they watched the sun set beneath the gulf, he told her the words that had risen within him on that day in October, “You’re the one.”
She didn’t reply. Just tightened her hold on his arms and pressed herself closer.