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Chapter 7

"I got it! I got it—it's here, honey!" Liz shouts, breathless, as she runs toward me with the chain clutched in her hand.

Thank God. The ring is still attached, though the chain is snapped and tangled with sand.

I take it from her, relief hitting me like a wave. My fingers close around the gold, and a sob slips out as I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. The world around me fades—who I'm with, where I am—everything blurs. All that matters is this small piece of metal.

Jason's ring. His memory. The only tangible thing I wear close to my heart every day.

"Thank you," I murmur, my voice thick. "Thank you so much, Liz."

I walk back toward where I'd dropped my bag, head down, cradling the ring in my palm.

"Ash..." someone says gently.

I freeze. It's Harry. His face is pale, his expression tight with concern. Behind him, Niall looks awkward, as if unsure whether to approach or walk away.

Shame rushes in, hot and fast. I must look completely unhinged. I can't bear to be seen like this.

"I need to go," I whisper, backing away.

No one follows. They must sense it—my need for space. It's that obvious.

"I'll call you later, Harry," Liz says behind me, her voice soft.

Back in the room, I tuck the ring and chain into a small box inside my suitcase, then head straight for the shower. The water soothes my nerves, and for a few quiet minutes, I let myself breathe.

I hear Liz talking on the phone outside, but I can't make out the words. I'm grateful she doesn't press. She knows when to push and when to back off—and right now, I need stillness. I need to get my head on straight before the presentation.

When I emerge, wrapped in a towel, Liz's eyes meet mine—worried, but patient.

"I'm fine," I lie, crawling onto the bed. I curl onto my side, away from her, trying to quiet the ache in my chest. I stay like that for a while, Jason's smile flickering through my mind like a film reel. The way he used to laugh when I couldn't zip my diving suit. His hands on my shoulders before a speech. Always calm. Always sure.

Eventually, Liz nudges me. "It's time."

I get up, mechanical. Pencil skirt. Shirt. Pulled-back hair. Light makeup. I know how this works. If you want to be taken seriously, you have to look like you have it all together—even when you don't.

Before leaving, I try calling Anzette. I need her voice like a lifeline, but it goes to voicemail. Time zones. I sigh and slip the phone into my bag.

Liz is waiting at the door, ready. I offer her a smile. She sees right through it but doesn't say a word.

The press conference room is already buzzing when we arrive. Reporters are scattered around the room, camera lights blinking. I begin setting up when I spot Liam waving from across the room.

He motions me over, and I make my way to him.

"Hey, Ashley... I think I'm gonna faint," he says, holding out his hands dramatically as if they're shaking.

"What are you talking about?" I laugh. "You perform for tens of thousands of people!"

He shakes his head. "I sing, Ashley. Not talk. And I'm not alone when I do it. This is different."

I suddenly see the nerves are real. He's not playing it up for effect.

Trying to calm him, I offer advice, reassurance, humour—anything to ground him. And for a moment, I forget all about the beach.