The waves crashed against the shore in a slow, steady rhythm, but Rowan barely noticed. He sat beside Rosey, his fishing line cast into the sea, but his thoughts were far away—lost in the past, drifting back to a time when the ocean had been nothing but an adventure waiting to be explored.

  Back when he wasn’t afraid of it.

  Back when he wasn’t afraid of anything.

  Before his father vanished, Rowan’s life had been different.

  He had friends—a group of boys who spent every summer swimming in the ocean, sneaking out to steal small fishing boats, and daring each other to go farther out into the sea than anyone else.

  They had caused endless trouble, tipping over barrels at the docks, racing barefoot through the streets, and climbing onto anchored ships as if they were their own.

  And Rowan had been their leader.

  He had always been the one with the biggest ideas, the wildest dares, the loudest laugh. He had been the boy who believed the sea was his playground, who dreamed of sailing to distant lands, discovering lost treasures, and becoming a legend.

  His father had often scolded him for it—“Rowan, you’ll get yourself killed one day.” But even then, there had been warmth in his father’s voice, as if he were proud of Rowan’s spirit.

  Rowan had never been afraid of the ocean.

  But then, his father left.

  And everything changed.

  Rowan didn’t believe his father was dead.

  Not then.

  Not now.

  Even when the town whispered that the sea had claimed another man. Even when the fishermen spoke in hushed voices about how a boat lost for that long would never be found. Even when his mother remarried and life moved on—Rowan refused to accept it.

  But his friends... they did.

  Maybe they thought they were being kind when they stopped talking about his father around him. Maybe they thought they were helping when they invited him out to the ocean less and less.

  Or maybe they just grew tired of waiting for him to be the same Rowan he had been before.

  At first, they still tried. They knocked on his door, called his name, asked if he wanted to go swimming or steal another boat. But Rowan wasn’t the same anymore.

  He wasn’t playful. He wasn’t carefree.

  His family was struggling, barely able to afford food. He wasn’t out looking for adventure—he was inside, thinking about what would happen tomorrow.

  And as the days passed, his friends stopped knocking.

  Stopped waiting.

  Stopped including him.

  And Rowan, despite everything, let them go.

  Because the boy they had been friends with—the loud, reckless Rowan Creed—had disappeared along with his father.

  And the one left behind wasn’t the same.

  "Rowan?"

  Rosey’s voice pulled him back from his thoughts. He blinked, realizing that his fishing line had gone slack, the sea stretching endlessly in front of him.

  "You were thinking again," she said, tilting her head slightly.

  "Nothing important," Rowan muttered. "Just… about the old days."

  Rosey smiled faintly. "I remember the old you. You were always causing trouble, but at least you were fun back then."

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Rowan let out a short, dry laugh. "Yeah, well… things change."

  Rosey nodded, casting her line deeper into the water. "They do."

  There was a pause before she added, "I had a crush on Stephen, you know."

  Rowan turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "Stephen?"

  She nodded. "Back when we were kids. When you were still leading that group of troublemakers. I thought he was funny, and he always knew how to make people laugh. But…"

  Rowan knew what was coming.

  "But after you left, things got worse," she said. "They got wilder. Meaner. Stephen took over, but without you keeping them in line, they started bullying the younger kids. At school, on the streets—wherever they could get away with it. And Stephen became the worst of them all."

  Rowan stared at the waves.

  He knew he had changed after his father disappeared, but he had never really considered what his absence had done to others. Maybe he had kept his friends in check more than he realized. Maybe, back then, he had been needed.

  And maybe, when he had withdrawn from the world, it wasn’t just himself that he had abandoned.

  "I stopped liking him after that," Rosey said simply.

  Rowan nodded. "Good decision."

  The sun had climbed higher in the sky by the time they were done fishing. Rowan reeled in his last catch, a decent-sized fish—not the biggest, but enough to eat.

  He didn’t hesitate before handing it to Rosey.

  She frowned as she took it, adding it to the rest of the fish in her basket. "You always do this."

  "What?"

  "Give me all your fish."

  Rowan shrugged. "You need them more than I do."

  "But you know you’ll get in trouble at home for not bringing anything back," she said, watching him carefully. "Your stepfather always finds a reason to scold you. If you brought home fish, maybe he wouldn’t."

  Rowan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "If I bring home fish today, then Marcus will expect me to bring fish every day. And I’m not doing that."

  Rosey bit her lip. "But…"

  "I want him to feed the family," Rowan interrupted. His voice was steady but firm. "He’s the one living in my house. My father’s house. He’s staying there rent-free. He’s the one who married my mother. He should be the one providing for us."

  Rosey didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, finally, she nodded.

  "You’re stubborn, you know that?"

  Rowan smirked. "Yeah. I’ve been told."

  She rolled her eyes but took the fish without another word. And as she turned to head home, Rowan stayed behind, watching the waves.

  The old Rowan might have run home, eager to prove his worth.

  But this Rowan?

  He knew the difference between what was fair and what wasn’t.

  And Marcus Holloway would get nothing from him.

  The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time Rowan returned home. The sky was a deep shade of blue, the first stars beginning to twinkle above the sea. The house was quiet, just as he had expected.

  Marcus wasn’t home.

  He never was in the evenings.

  Rowan knew exactly where his stepfather would be—sitting in the dimly lit backroom of The Rusty Gull, the only real club in town, surrounded by men who smelled of fish and cheap ale, gambling away what little money he had. His mother hated that about him. She never said it outright, but Rowan had heard the arguments when she thought he was asleep.

  "You spend all night drinking while I worry about how we’ll make it through the next month!"

  But no matter how much she disapproved, she never told Marcus no.

  Maybe that was why, on nights like these, when Marcus was gone, Rowan’s mother spoke more freely.

  Maybe that was why Rowan didn’t mind being home tonight.

  Even though he resented his mother for remarrying so soon, he still loved her.

  His mother, Evelyn, was in the kitchen when he walked in, stirring a pot of stew over the small stove. She turned when she heard him, relief flickering across her face.

  "You’re late," she said, though her tone held no accusation.

  Rowan shrugged. "I was with Rosey."

  She nodded, ladling a portion of stew into a bowl and placing it on the table. "Sit and eat before it gets cold."

  He didn’t argue. He slid into the chair, the warmth of the food filling the space around him. His mother sat across from him, resting her arms on the table, watching him the way she always did—like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

  Rowan hated that look.

  It made him feel like a stranger in his own home.

  For a while, they sat in silence, the only sound being the quiet clink of his spoon against the bowl.

  Then, without really thinking about it, he asked, "What will happen if my father comes back?"

  The words hung in the air, thick and heavy.

  His mother tensed.

  Rowan placed his spoon down, staring at her. "Will he live here? With Marcus?" His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. "Or are we going to leave with him?"

  His mother’s expression was unreadable, but she didn’t answer right away. She looked away, pressing her hands together as if gathering her thoughts.

  Finally, she let out a slow breath. "Rowan…"

  "You never really talk about him," Rowan interrupted, pushing his bowl away. "You never even say his name anymore."

  His mother closed her eyes briefly before meeting his gaze. "Because I don’t know what to say."

  "You could start with an answer," Rowan said, crossing his arms.

  His mother sighed, rubbing her temple. "Rowan, I—I don’t know what would happen. It’s been years. If your father were alive, wouldn’t he have come back by now?"

  Rowan felt his jaw tighten. "What if he couldn't?"

  His mother hesitated. "Then…" She swallowed. "Then I don’t know."

  She reached across the table, placing a hand over his.

  "I remarried because I thought it was what was best for us," she said softly. "I was alone. We were struggling. I was scared. I did what I thought I had to do."

  Rowan didn’t pull away, but he didn’t hold on either.

  Deep down, he knew she had suffered too. He knew she had done what she believed was right.

  But that didn’t mean he had to accept it.

  And as he sat there, staring at the woman who had once been his entire world, Rowan realized something.

  His mother had moved on.

  But he never would.