The Choices I've Made (By the Bay #1)

Chapter Four: Molly

There wasn't a single part of me that wasn't tired. From my head all the way to my toes, I felt like a walking, talking zombie.

Since the accident on the ferry, I'd slept a grand total of ten hours. It had been the longest week of my life, but I knew it was nothing compared to Dean's.

He'd awoken in the small hospital room, our eyes focused on him as he tried to remember how he'd ended up there. Suddenly, like a lightbulb had blinked on in his brain, his focus had shifted to the right side of the bed, and we'd watched in horror as that great big bear of a man cried out in terror.

The tears had fallen down his bruised and battered cheeks as the realization set in.

He'd never give one of his famous bear hugs again.

He'd never drive his old stick shift jeep down the beach.

Every single day would be a constant struggle.

We'd supported him, taking shifts at the hospital, hoping he'd come to terms with his new reality.

Several hospital officials had been to his room, counselors and specialists, all trying to help him cope. They'd spoke about what to expect during physical therapy and when he could expect a prosthetic.

But he'd wanted none of it.

His only request was to be left alone.

And then the silence had begun.

It was deafening.

I'd begged and pleaded, asking him to open up.

To just tell me what he was feeling.

Instead, he'd stared straight ahead, never wavering. I'd placed a tiny kiss on his cheek and headed back down the coast.

It had gone on like this for days, and now, as the weekend approached, I felt nothing but exhaustion in every inch of my body.

Thankfully, most of my guests had canceled for the upcoming week. With the reliability of the ferry service being up in the air the majority of the week, many travelers had decided to postpone or try again next year.

The only couple who remained was the Lovells. After Mr. Lovell had demanded to stay, I'd comped their room for the week and allowed the old man to help as much as he was able. I thought it made him feel useful even though, in turn, it made me feel useless. He'd been going above and beyond, making trips to and from the island, gathering supplies like a bona fide local. It was more than I deserved.

Now that the sun was setting and I'd collapsed in my favorite chair on the deck with a glass of merlot, I'd never felt more worthless and alone.

Worthless that I couldn't help Dean.

Worthless that I couldn't keep my business running without help.

My parents had never needed it.

And so alone, my body ached from the weight of it. Even amid this crisis, when everyone was pitching in to help—from guests to my parents—I sat on that deck, overlooking the water, and felt as if I were the only person on the island.

And I had no idea why.

After two glasses of wine and an hour of feeling sorry for myself, I decided I'd had enough self-pity for one day. Rising from my cozy chair, I took one last look at the sparkling water as the moon rose high in the sky. How one could ever get used to a view like that, I'd never know. I'd been raised in this house, and still, it never ceased to take my breath away.