“All I could see was you in that red vest, you tearing against the fences. I couldn't let that happen.” He drops his head to his chest.

Agony of what could have been chokes my words. “We could have made it,” I say. “We could have escaped.”

When he looks at me his eyes are wet with tears. “No, we couldn't have,” he says softly. “We never could have escaped.” He places a hand over his leg. “I'm too broken. They would have found us—we never could have gotten away.”

He kneels in front of me, takes my hands and holds them in his. “Don't you see, Mary? Ever since Gabrielle I've done nothing but try to keep you safe because I was too afraid of losing you.”

I shake my head, my thoughts swimming and swirling, tossing about wildly. “Why didn't you tell me all this before? Why are you saying these things now?”

“Because I have been protecting you for too long. Gabrielle said the ocean was dangerous and I thought I could keep you from it. But then when I saw you yesterday drowning under the Unconsecrated I realized that I can't do it anymore. I can't be the one to make these decisions for you.

“I realized yesterday that it doesn't matter about the ocean. Because even if we never find it you still no longer need me. Once I thought I could protect you. Could take care of you. But you're strong enough. I've never seen anything like what you did yesterday. I've never seen someone survive the way that you have. To fight the Unconsecrated and live!” He shakes his head, his eyes bright and wide. “I was in awe.”

It's as though he's pulled a plug in my body and all the pain and anger is slipping out, leaving nothingness behind. “I will always need you,” I whisper. “All this time I've waited for you.

And you were never coming for me. Why did you let me wait for you?” Travis sighs, flexes his fingers against the windowsill. “I think that even then I knew I wouldn't be enough for you, Mary. It's no longer about the ocean. It's about you and what you want and need. Maybe you'll be happy with me for a few years….” He pauses and I can see tears flooding his eyes again. “I can't be your second-choice dream.” I want to scream at what he's saying, to push him down and make him take back the words.

Instead, I step past him and walk to the window. I lean out, my hips digging into the sill. For a moment I wonder if I would be able to smell the salt of the ocean from here. If I could close my eyes and concentrate hard enough, if I could discern the crash of the waves on the shore. If I could taste the air, taste the ocean.

Ever since that day on the hill, ever since he promised he would come for me, this was always supposed to be our dream, together. It was never supposed to be about having to choose one or the other.