Chapter 87 The Last Breakfast, the First Distance
Malia's POV
Well, resumption is in a week. Yay but no yay.
The deck’s morning air is salty and caffeinated with a little breeze blowing in the smell of sunmelted pineapple. Sunlight angles low over the sea, making each wavelet a molten piece of gold.
We’re all standing barefoot and half-dressed in sunscreen with sweat dripping from every pore as we hunch around the small table on the deck like we can hold the island off our backs a little longer.
Two days. Before that, three hours a day for ferry rides, wolfing down breakfast, and cramming into schoolroom seats, filling us back up with all that atmosphere.
July perched cross-legged on a chair, pilfering strawberries from Freddy’s plate as he reluctantly plays along.
“You’re a thief,” he says, but it’s an infuriating grin, and he’s nudging the bowl closer so she can get a better hold.
On the other side of the table, Rowan has also plopped down, pulling his knees up to his chest, furiously sketching the arch of the coastline in tight, messy lines. Leaning back in his chair, Cian folds his arms and half-closes his eyes from the light, satisfied in his silent, simple way.
Aiden is sitting with me. Our thighs are close enough under the table to be touching. I can’t get close enough to read his face.
He’s been like this since last night—there, but not quite. He laughed at Freddy horrible pirate voice over the s’mores. He kissed my shoulder when we went in. He dragged me to bed and held me until I fell asleep.
But whenever his phone buzzed — once at 2 a.m, twice before sunrise — he froze. Didn’t check it. Didn’t answer. Simply rolled over, tucked me in tighter against him, and went through the motions of sleeping.
I noticed. I notice everything about him now.
He pours mine without asking as he reaches for the coffee pot. His fingers skims mine—warm, intentional but he’s not looking at me. His eyes are fixed at the water. Far away. As if he’s already halfway back to campus.
July notices too. She kicks my shin lightly under the table. She raises both brows in mute query when I look at her: “What’s up with him?"
I shrink to the tiniest shrug. I don’t know what to say.
Freddy is opening up and telling a story about how he once tried to boogie board and ended up with his face in a tangle of seaweed. Each of us laughs. Rowan’s low chuckle, Cian’s snort, July’s full-throated cackle. Aiden smiles. It’s real enough on the surface. But it doesn’t touch his eyes.
I watch him as they talk.
The one-handed way that he rubs slow circles with his thumb over his knuckles like he’s comforting something. The way his phone rests face-down next to his plate—silent now, but still he checks it every few seconds. How he keeps his shoulders tight even when he’s leaning back in his chair.
He’s not here. not really.
—----
Breakfast stretches. No one wants to be the first to say it’s time to start packing. July pours more orange juice. Freddy steals the last croissant. Rowan turns to a fresh page in his sketchbook. Cian finally opens his eyes and reaches for a mango slice.
Aiden stands abruptly.
“I will start loading the cooler” he says. Voice casual. Too casual.
Rowan looks up. “We’ve got time.”
“I know.” Aiden shrugs. “Just…getting a head start.”
He leaves before anyone can protest. His feet make no sound on the stairs leading to the deck, and then nothing.
July waits three seconds, then leans toward me. “Okay. What the hell is going on with him?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
Freddy frowns. “He’s been weird since last week. Like… distracted weird.”
Rowan closes a novel he's reading. “He didn’t sleep much.”
Cian meets my eyes across the table. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. We can all feel it: the change. The small crack in the otherwise perfect week we’ve had.
I shove my chair back. “I’ll go check on him.”
July squeezes my wrist before I stand. "Tell him we are not leaving without him smiling for real!"
I nod.
The path down to the beach is warm under my feet. Aiden is at the cooler, kneeling on the sand as he packs ice packs and water bottles in an orderly fashion. His back is to me. Shoulders tense. Phone still in his pocket—I can see the outline.
I stop a few feet away. “Hey.”
He doesn’t startle. Just pauses, hands still in the cooler. “Hey.”
I step closer. He keeps packing. Slow. Precise.
After a minute he speaks without looking up. “You’re not packing.”
“Neither are you. Not really.”
He breathes out through his nostrils. Nearly a laugh. “Touché.”
I keep my eyes on his hands—strong, careful, the same hands that held me under the stars last night. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not.”
At last he turns to look at me. Weary eyes. Protective. “I’m just… thinking.”
“About?”
He shuts the cooler lid. Sits back on his heels. “About going back.”
My stomach is in knots. “And?”
He strokes a hand over his face. “And just for a moment, when we get off this island, everything changes.”
I slide off the table, walk over, kneel in the sand next to him. Our knees touch.
“How, talk to me.”
He’s so quiet for so long I think he’ll never be so still again. Then— “My mom’s been calling. Day by day. Sometimes twice.”
I nod. I already knew. But hearing him say it makes it real.
“She wants us home. Says the pack business can’t wait. Says the elders are asking questions.” He looks at me—raw, unguarded. “About you.”
My throat closes. “What kinds of questions?”
“‘Choose one or lose everything’ types.” At the last word his voice breaks. “She didn’t say it outright. But I heard it in the voicemails.”
I reach for his hand. He lets me take it, his fingers are cold. Aiden is scared, for a moment I couldn't believe it.
“I didn’t tell Rowan or Cian,” he says softly. “I didn’t want them to worry. Didn’t want them to… start pulling away before they had to.”
“They’re not pulling away.”
“They will.” He gazes at the water. “When we return. When people start whispering. When the council begins to push. They have to decide whether to go with the pack or …” He swallows. “And us.”
I grip his hand. “They won’t.”
He laughs—tart and small. “You’re not pack politics savvy, Mal. I am.”
I move closer so that our shoulders are touching. “So then we deal with it together. All four of us.”
He looks back at me. Eyes searching. He exhales—shaky. Then he leans forward, rests his forehead against mine. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You do.” I cup his face. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
He closes his eyes. Breathes me in. When he opens them again some of the distance is gone. Not all. But some.
“Okay,” he whispers.
“Okay.”
We sit there in the sand until the sun climbs higher. Until July’s voice drifts down from the deck. ”Come on, lovebirds! Packing party!”
Aiden stands first. Offers me his hand. I take it.
We walk back up together, hands linked, steps matched.
The packing is slow Laughing. Teasing. July blasts music from the speaker. Freddy does a terrible dance while folding shirts. Rowan packs a few things. Cian packs the books, silent but steady.
Aiden helps me fold clothes. Doesn’t speak much. But every time our hands brush he squeezes my fingers once. A promise.
With the last bag zipped we stand on the deck and gaze at the water one more time.
July sighs. “Best week ever.”
Freddy nods. “We’re coming back. Right, heirs?”
Rowan smiles - small, real. “We will.”
Cian just looks at the horizon. Then at me. Nods once.
Aiden’s arm slides around my waist. “Ready?”
I lean into him. “Ready.”
We load the boat, climb aboard. The engine hums to life.
As we left the dock I look back—green palms, white sand, the little beach house growing smaller and smaller.
Aiden’s hand finds mine. He doesn’t let go but I can still feel his tension and it makes me wonder how the next few weeks would be.
I guess we all have to find that out. Right?