By late July, the coast had already given him more than he
expected. A kiss he hadn't dared imagine,
A friend who listened when he told the truth, an uncle who
finally let silence crack into memory.
But the scene never stopped at what it gave.
It carried the past back with it and left him facing what he
tried to bury. This summer was not forever.
It was only the stretch between what had broken and what had
waited beyond the horizon. And before the tide could turn,
there were still things he had to face.
The anger of a friend, the weight of a mistake, and the
truth of what it meant to stay. When the world is already
calling you back. This is Shoreline Secrets,
chapter 6. The sea that remembers the phone
buzzed against the table, once, twice, a third time before he
gave in and picked it up. The voice on the other end came
sharp, angry that he hadn't called back.
It was Rosa, always Rosa. She didn't wait for him to
explain, she filled the air herself.
She said his name, Ben, and with it the room shifted.
The last day of school all over again.
The moment he wanted to forget and couldn't.
Rose's voice over the phone. I spoke to him.
He's fine, Jamie, better than you think.
He doesn't hate you, he's just confused.
You don't get to carry it like you broke him.
The name landed heavy, Ben confused.
Yes, hurt maybe, but not ruined, not broken the way Jamie had
feared. Jamie stayed quiet.
He let Rose's words carry the weight for him.
She continued. And don't think I don't know
about that kiss. The boy by the sea, what's his
name? He said nothing, but Rosa didn't
need an answer. She always found what he wasn't
saying. Her tone softened.
After a moment, she reminded him results were still waiting, like
a tide that could turn either way.
Fingers crossed for Cornwall. Rosa said.
The place is you, and you know it.
He closed his eyes. The words felt like Bosa.
Promise and await. And Jamie.
Rosa continued. Don't you dare ghost me again.
The line went quiet, and in the hush that followed, he felt the
sea pressing faintly through the window, a reminder that even
silence was never empty. The day stretched long and
bright, the kind of light that left nothing hidden.
Jamie and Sam walked the clips together, the sea below
restless, steady, like it already knew the things Jamie
hadn't said. For a while, Sam let the silence
carry them. Sam never rushed him.
That was the difference. Where Rosa filled the space, Sam
made room in it, and somewhere between the steps and the salt
air, the memories slipped free. The last day of school, the last
exam, Jamie waiting outside the hall, laughing with his friends.
Then Ben blurting out a truth Jamie knew never coming.
The words replayed now, like a salt water in his throat.
I like you, Ben's words replayed.
The friends had turned sharp, their laughter caught in quick.
Ben tried to laugh with them, but the sound broke halfway.
Then came the look, the step back, the words that stung more
than any fist. Don't touch me, not like that.
That was the last word Jamie said to Ben.
It was too much. The strike came before, he
thought, and with it the silence that followed, louder than the
laughter, louder than the Bruce blooming on Ben's cheek.
Jamie carried it still, like the sea carried its salt, not washed
away, not forgiving, just there and besides Jamie.
Sam said nothing, but his silence held steady.
Like the tide itself. The memory left Jamie raw, like
skin rubbed too thin by salt and wind.
He let it go into the air between them, and Sam didn't
feel the silence, only matched his steps, steady as the tide
itself. By the time the pass bent lower,
Jamie's breathing had evened out.
The clips gave way to the beach track, and the shed came into a
view. One of Edward's old boards
popped against the wall, it's paint worn pale, the wood
darkened by decades of salt and the tail almost hidden in the
grain. 2 waves curled into each other, an old carving, shallow
but deliberate. Jamie crouched, tracing the mark
with his fingertip. The wood was rough, but the line
still held, intertwined, Not one wave, not the other, together or
not at all. Sam knelt beside him, his shadow
falling against the board. He didn't reach out, just
looked, eyes steady where Jamie's hand lingered.
They meant it, Sam said. You don't carve something like
that unless you want it remembered.
Glad the letter found its place, though better there than
forgotten. Sam continued, the words pressed
into Jamie's chest, heavier than the sea air.
The letter held safe in Edward's keeping.
The mark left in the open, one meant to be buried, the other
carved deep enough to outlast silence.
He let his hand fall away from the board, but the shape stayed
with him, the curve of two waves bound in the same time, waiting
for someone else to see from higher on the pass.
A voice carried down through the salt air.
Boys tease. Ready.
Jamie's great uncle Edward had called.
The sound of it broke the hush, gentle but firm, as if Edward
knew exactly when to pull them back.
Jamie and Sam turned from the shed, the marks still lingering
in Jamie's chest, and started off the path toward the house.
The kettle hissed as they stepped inside.
Edward was already waiting at the table, cups set out, steam
rising faint and steady. Beside them, a plate of scones
split and buttered, as if he'd knew tea alone would not be
enough. He didn't ask where they had
been. He only poured push the plate
toward them and let the silence settle, like something earned
the scrape of knife against porcelain.
The soft thought of the cup set down the kind of sounds that
belong to any quiet evening, yet tonight they felt heavier, like
a prelude towards waiting too long.
For a moment Jamie thought it would end there, but then Edward
cleared his throat and the sound of it was heavier than the sea.
He told them of the summer long ago, when the boards were new
and the mark at the tail still sharp.
Arthur was more than a friend, though they never said the word.
It was his mother who ended the pretending, opening the door one
night, finding them too close, the silence after sharper than
any shout. From then on, everything closed
in. Arthur's parents begin pressing
harder. So did his own mother.
Whispers of duty, of family, talk of marriage came quicker
than either boy could breathe. Arthur was the first to bend.
His wedding came sudden, a choice that wasn't really his at
all. Edward said it was for the best.
It gave them both a way to keep living when the world offered no
other. And then came his own wedding.
By then, the pressure had its grip.
A household already waiting. A child expected the paths
chosen for him long before he took the vows.
But months is later, Arthur came back, drunk, desperate.
Standing outside his door in the night, he asked Edward to run
away, just the two of them. Edward looked at Arthur's hands.
He said he could not. Too many lives had been bound by
his by then. Too many eyes watching, too many
rules he already accepted. Arthur left without another
word. The cups cooled between them,
steam fading, And then Edward spoke again, lower now as the
words resisted leaving the letter.
It wasn't his, it was mine. I gave it to him.
And somehow Arthur must have kept it all these years until it
found its way back. The words set heavy between
them, not Arthur's Edwards love written, handed over and carried
back to him long after it was too late.
Jamie felt his chest tighten. Sam's gaze stayed on Edward,
steady, searching, as though willing him to say more, and
Edward did. His voice shook at first, but
then it steadied, like someone who had decided not to hide
anymore. It was different then, Harder.
The word itself was dangerous. We didn't dare speak it, not
even to each other. So we let others choose for us,
And they did. Marriage, children, duty, until
there was nothing left to call ours.
He lifted his eyes then, meeting them both across the table.
But you, you've been given a different time.
Don't waste it hiding. Don't bend the way we bent.
Cherish what you find, even if it scares you.
Even if it costs you. Because the cost of silence.
Edward's hand brushed the rim of his cup, trembling just
slightly. The cost never leaves you.
The kitchen held its breath, steam fading to nothing.
Jamie's eyes burned, but he kept them low, the weight of the
words pressing deeper than shame.
Sam was the one who broke the silence, his voice careful,
warm. Maybe you'd like to visit him
together? Edward nodded once, not quick,
not ashamed, just steady, the kind of nod that carried a
lifetime. The kettle had long gone quiet,
but the sound of the sea filled the room instead.
When Edward rose, he said nothing more, just gathered the
plates with the steady hands of habits.
Jamie excused himself soon after, the weight of the evening
pressing heavier than the walls could hold.
Jamie and Sam climbed the stairs together, Edward's words still
heavy between them. The small room was warm with
lamp light, the window cracked open just enough to let in the
hush of the sea. A book lay face down, a jumper
folded over the chair. The kind of traces that turn to
borrowed space, into something lived in.
Jamie sat on the bed. Sam took the chair by the desk,
turning it halfway so he faced Jamie.
For a while, neither spoke. The silence felt different now,
not awkward, but filled with everything Edward had given
them. The letter, the mark, love
written but carried too late. It hung between them, unspoken
but too close to ignore. Jamie said.
Do you think it was love back then?
Sam replied. If it wasn't, why would he still
be holding it now? Jamie swallowed hard.
The word itself felt heavier here.
Not a joke, not a dare, but something worth keeping.
Edward's voice returned in his mind.
Don't waste it hiding. Cherish what you find.
Jamie lifted his eyes, breath unsteady.
I applied here. Film school results come in
August. He twisted the blanket in his
hands, forcing the rest out. If I make it, it means staying.
It means maybe we could have more than this summer.
Sam leaned closer. His hand rested on Jamie's
steady, patient. It said more than words ever
could. But Jamie wasn't done.
The words pressed sharp in his chest.
I love you. For a heartbeat, he feared he'd
gone too far, but Sam's grip only tightened, his voice low,
certain. I love you too.
The words landed like tide against shore.
Not loud, not sudden, but inevitable.
Jamie let out a breath he'd been holding.
Sam didn't move away. He leaned in closer, their
shoulders pressed, their foreheads brushing in the half
light. The distance between them was a
breath, a heartbeat, and then the sound cracked through the
hush, jolting them apart just enough.
Jamie glanced down. The screen glowed in the dim
light. Mum.
For a long moment, he didn't touch it.
The sea hummed through the open window, the weight of her name
pulling heavier than the tide. Jamie lifted it.
Sam lay back on the bed, watching.
Without a word, Jamie crossed to the window, the cool air
brushing his face as he raised the phone.
Jamie, finally. I was starting to worry, his mom
said. Her voice carried a steadiness
he hadn't realized he missed, and yet even from across the
miles it pressed heavier than he wanted to bear.
Mum continued. School's lifted, now you just
need to come back for the final words.
After that, it's only waiting on results.
The word sank into him like a tide pulling back the end of one
season, the beginning of awaiting.
I spoke to Ben's mom. He's doing better.
Don't call him, not yet, not until you're back with me.
We'll sort it out together. Jamie's chest tightened at the
name. He glanced back at Sam on the
bed, the silence between them holding steady.
Jamie replied. OK, I'll come next week to bring
you home. It's time, love.
The line went still. Jamie lowered the phone, the sea
pressing in through the open window from the bed.
Sam had heard every word, the speaker louder than he expected.
He rose without hesitation, crossed a small space and
wrapped his arms around Jamie from behind.
The embrace was firm, steady, holding him against the windows
light. No words, just a quiet promise
of not letting go. This was Shoreline Secrets
chapter 6, The sea that remembers.
The next chapter will be the last.
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