Chapter 11

Chapter

Eleven

Lying in this bed,I can"t help but think I should be more comfortable; after all, the mattress cost a small fortune. But here, in the oceanside house, comfort seems elusive, as distant as the soft hum of the waves outside. This place, with its sprawling views and salty air, has never truly felt like home. Perhaps that"s why the idea of renting it out keeps nudging at me—I"m hardly ever here, preferring the simplicity and warmth of the small bungalow nestled within the Seashell Inn"s grounds.

But tonight I needed space. Distance. From her.

As I stare up at the shadowy ceiling, my mind refuses to settle, swirling with thoughts of Claire. Her tentative smile, the flicker of both fear and wonder in her eyes at the mere mention of flight, haunts me. There"s a pull, a compelling urge to help her, to guide her beyond her fears, that I can"t quite shake off. It"s a connection, a challenge that stirs something deep within me, making the comfortable bed and need for sleep seem trivial in comparison.

The frustration gnaws at me, a relentless reminder of Claire"s unexpected influence over me. She"s there, a constant presence in my thoughts, challenging my self-imposed solitude with her quiet strength and vulnerability. Why does her journey, her battle with her fears, resonate so deeply with me? What the hell was I thinking, offering to teach her to fly. Flying"s not as hard as it seems once you get the hang of it, my previous words mock me. I"ve never taken on the role of a mentor before, never felt compelled to guide someone through the skies. Yet, with Claire, the thought feels not just right, but necessary.

I sit up, running a hand through my hair, the strands slipping through my fingers like the countless reasons I should maintain my distance. And yet, the urge to protect her, to be her shield against the fears that hold her back, is overpowering. It"s a new and unfamiliar role, but one I find myself increasingly ready to embrace. Because, in some unspoken way, I understand her struggle. Iris might not have told me everything, but she told me enough—Claire's fear of flying, her lack of a shifter family to guide her, the near-death experience that left her petrified of the very thing that should have been as natural to her as breathing. The weight of past traumas, the fear of falling without a safety net—it"s a feeling I know all too well.

The room's silence is broken only by the distant sound of the waves, a rhythmic reminder of the world outside, a world I"ve kept at bay for too long. Maybe, just maybe, teaching Claire to embrace the sky, to find freedom in the open air, will grant me a reprieve. Perhaps in helping her, I might find a way to quiet the restless part of my soul that finds solace in neither sea nor sky.