Chapter 25

Chapter

Twenty-Five

With the kitchensomewhat back in order and the storm having moved on, Morgan and I decide to take advantage of the clearing skies with a walk along the beach while the quiche bakes.

The beach feels different in the aftermath of the storm, like it"s been washed clean, leaving only the soothing rhythm of the waves against the shore. Morgan and I tread along the water"s edge, the damp sand firm beneath our feet.

"You know, Sam was my biggest fan," Morgan begins, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "He never missed a single game, even when it meant driving for hours just to sit on those uncomfortable bleachers."

I glance at him, noting the softness in his eyes. "Sounds like he was a great brother."

Morgan chuckles, a sound colored with nostalgia. "He was more than that. He was my rock. When things got tough, he was always there, telling me to shake it off, to focus on the next play."

We stop walking for a moment; Morgan stares out at the rolling waves. "And when that pitch hit me, when everything I worked for just... ended, Sam was right there. He tried to keep me from drowning in self-pity." Morgan's gaze drifts to the sprawling house behind us. "I had everything lined up. My career, great friends, this house. Then one game, one pitch in the bottom of the seventh inning, and it all came crashing down."

He taps his temple lightly, a self-deprecating smile on his lips. "Took a fastball to the head. Lights out. When I woke up, everything was different. My reflexes, my balance, the game I loved—I couldn"t do it anymore."

I listen, a knot forming in my stomach as I imagine Morgan, full of dreams and ambitions, struck down in an instant. The unfairness of it all, the randomness of fate, leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

"And Sam was there for you through all of that," I say, needing to know more about the bond that held Morgan together through his darkest hours.

Morgan nods, a softness in his voice as he speaks of Sam. "He was the one constant when everything else fell apart. He believed in me even when I"d lost faith in myself."

Morgan pauses, his gaze distant. He draws a deep breath, steeling himself for what comes next. "But I—I let him down in the worst way," he confesses, his voice a whisper against the roar of the waves.

I reach out, placing a hand gently on his arm, urging him to continue, to share the burden he"s carried alone for too long.

"The night Sam died," Morgan continues, his voice breaking, "I was a mess. I"d been drinking—a lot. Lost in my own misery, I guess. I didn"t come home... didn"t even answer my phone." He swallows hard, the pain evident in the tightness of his jaw. "Sam got worried. He went out looking for me."

He stops, closing his eyes as if to block out the memory. "There was an accident. A driver ran a red light. Sam... he didn"t make it." The words tumble out, laden with guilt. "He was just trying to find me, make sure I was okay. And because of me, because of my recklessness, he"s gone."

The revelation hits like a wave, overwhelming and relentless. Morgan"s shoulders slump, the weight of his guilt manifesting in his defeated posture. I squeeze his arm, not knowing how to comfort him but needing to offer some semblance of support.

"He sent texts, left voicemails," Morgan whispers, almost to himself. "I found them the next morning—too late. He was always looking out for me."

The confession hangs between us, heavy and suffocating. I feel my own eyes well up, moved by the depth of his sorrow, the raw pain of his guilt. "Morgan, you can"t blame yourself for a tragedy like that. It was an accident, a terrible, horrible accident."

He shakes his head. "But it wasn"t just an accident, Claire. It was my fault. If I hadn't been drinking. If I'd just stayed home, if I"d answered the phone, he would still be here. I"ve never told anyone this... not the full truth. I've been living with this, trying to find some way to just... cope."

The intensity in his voice draws me in, and I find myself hanging on his every word. "So, that's why you don't drink? Why you only live in the moment?" I ask, genuinely curious about the philosophy that seems to guide him.

Morgan nods, turning to meet my gaze. "Exactly. Sam taught me that the future is this big, unpredictable thing. You can plan all you want, but in the end, life has its own agenda. After he passed, I realized more than ever that all we really have is now."

I ponder his words, the depth of their meaning resonating within me. Yet, part of me hesitates to embrace such a fleeting approach to life. "I get that, I really do. But don"t you think it"s important to have something to aim for, some kind of direction?"

Morgan"s smile is gentle and understanding. "Maybe. But I"ve learned that the best moments, the ones that truly matter, aren"t always the ones you see coming."

In the midst of our conversation, something shifts between us, the atmosphere charged with a new, indescribable energy. Morgan"s eyes hold a depth of emotion that"s almost overwhelming. It"s as if the very air around us has stilled, waiting for something inevitable.

And then, without warning, Morgan leans in, his hand finding the side of my face, guiding me gently towards him. The world seems to fall away as his lips meet mine, the kiss igniting a cascade of sensations that dance across my skin like the first drops of rain on a parched earth. It"s tender, yet filled with an intensity that leaves me breathless, my heart pounding a frenzied rhythm against my ribcage.

For a fleeting moment, I"m lost in the whirlwind of feelings that Morgan"s kiss awakens within me. It"s as if every nerve ending has come alive, each one singing in harmony, creating a symphony of emotions that I"ve never experienced before. This is what a kiss should be, I realize—a collision of souls, a merging of two hearts that have somehow found their way to each other against all odds.

But just as quickly as it began, the moment shatters. Morgan pulls away, his eyes wide, a trace of confusion mingled with something akin to regret in his gaze. "I"m sorry," he stammers, stepping back as if trying to put distance between us and the electric connection that just moments ago felt unbreakable.

I"m left standing there, dazed, the echo of his lips on mine still sending shivers down my spine. "It"s okay," I hear myself say, my voice a whisper lost in the roar of the waves. "It was an emotional conversation. No need to apologize."

Yet, deep down, a part of me can"t help but feel a pang of disappointment, a whisper of longing for what might have been. I wanted that kiss, wanted him to want me, not as a fleeting impulse born from vulnerability, but with a certainty that matched the ferocity of the storm that had just passed. At that moment, I hate that he"s apologizing, hate that he sees the need to retreat from the connection that, for one perfect moment, felt like it could be the start of something beautiful.