Harts

fifteen [pt. one]

a/n: LISTEN TO WHERE THE SHADOW ENDS (and then we can cry together)

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Hart's has to trust that the sun will come out again. But first, they have to weather the storm. 

The skies will be dark. The sea will creep further up the shore. There's no way around it, but through. Sometimes, things need to get worse before they can get better.

Sometimes, people need to lose themselves before they can find one another.

He finds her on the curb at the edge of the parking lot, flicking a scratched up blue lighter on and off with shaky hands. The orange-tipped flame quivers, then disappears.

After Cate bolted out of the ice cream shop, Alex had stood up in alarm and pulled Sean from the table with force that surprised the both of them. "What the hell did you say?" Sean had shaken his head, jamming his hands deep into his pockets. "Alendale. What else?" While he returned to his friends, Alex ran out of the store. 

He takes a seat beside her.

"I quit four years ago," Cate murmurs now, blue stare fixed on the quivering flame. When it disappears, she turns to Alex. "But I'm tempted. So fucking tempted." 

He gently pries the lighter from her hands. It isn't hard to. Without it, she twists her fingers and stares at the cement.

As the rain begins to pelt down, they pull into a parking lot by a run-down garage. Are you sure? Alex swallows the words because he knows that she's more than certain. Instead, while she's sliding into the driver's seat of her rented sedan, he calls out, "Careful on the road." And he can't help but add, "Text me when you get to Alendale?"

"Will do. I'm sorry I can't be here." She stays hunched over the steering wheel for a moment, then turns to him with a smile that holds the tiniest flicker of hope. "Thank you for understanding."

As Alex navigates the narrowing roads, peering out the rain-streaked windows to find Windale Street, he wonders how Cate is faring on the highway and has a startling thought. Maybe the greatest form of understanding is to give someone space when they need it. Even when you're afraid they might grow distant. Even when you want to stay close.

After parking the car in the driveway of a white bungalow, he stares at the two forest-green garage doors. Finally, he works up the courage to walk up the steps and ring the doorbell. Above him, a ring of seashells clamour in the wind. 

Silence. Followed by the incessant barking of an Australian Shepherd who insists on jamming his head between the door and his mom's leg.

"Shh, Nobby." 

"Mom. Hi." His voice sounds strained, even to his own ears.  He's struck by how much she's changed from the mom he remembers—at least, the idea he's clung onto so desperately—from their days in Newcastle. Her skin is sun-creased, but paler. She seems to have shrunk⁠.