Game of Thrones was right. The night is long and full of terror.

In my case, terror came in the form of a quiet blonde that, to no fault of his own, was far too close for my insane mind to handle. Yet again, I managed to invade Beau’s side of the bed. Dark lashes contrasted against full pale cheeks. There was the faintest sign of a shadow on his chin.

Any movement resulted in a quiet hum or minuscule twitch from the resting danger. Worrying over my bottom lip, I contemplated the right move; drag myself away and in doing so wake Beau, who would certainly tease me, or torture myself by laying there. Oddly enough, the decision was too difficult to make. Turning away resulted in more yearning for the warmth that he unknowingly gave.

Sleep eluded me that evening. I only chanced moving away when his alarm went off, signaling that we would leave for Portland Head Lighthouse soon.

If he thought anything of my back facing him, certainly closer than when we went to sleep, he said nothing of it. I pretended to sleep for about five minutes before he kicked me. I was grateful for the rough housing; made me believe nothing had changed when my heart was arguing that, little by little, my whole world had become as turbulent as the sea outside the door.

Not long after waking, we met up with our parents. Mom and Aunt Zoey were driving, claiming that after my dad’s mishap on the drive here, they weren’t willing to risk turning a twenty minute drive into a three hour one.

With my new set of headphones, I ignored Beau during the drive.

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“Here we are!” Mom announced when we came upon a road that seemingly led to nowhere.

Popping out a headphone, I searched for the supposed lighthouse only to see the shoreline and a small parking lot. To the left there was a stretch of land with an old military bunker. The structure was left in our rearview mirror as we continued on. Mom followed the road further up a steep hill. There were two more parking lots. She drove through both then found a spot.

“The lighthouse should be right over the hill,” Aunt Zoey claimed when clambering out of the car.

I was already on the move.

“Are you running off without us again!?” Mom hollered.

“You old folks are too slow for my taste!” I taunted.

Mom’s shout faded into the distance.

The grass had been freshly cut. The heady scent mixed in with that of sea salt. Ocean waves crashed against an unseen shore.

Beau jogged to meet me. I broke into a run, smiling when his footsteps mirrored my own. He never caught up. I was always faster, but we still raced over a hill, down an asphalt road, and past other tourists that laughed at two overzealous teens. We rounded a bend where the road led to a roundabout.

Portland Head Lighthouse sat at the far end on the cliffside. The white house was well kept with pale green molding and a soft brown tiled roof. Behind the house was the actual light tower, made of white brick, reaching into the sky. Two smaller buildings sat on the property, both the same in color. Brown posts with wired fences encircled the area, keeping the tourists from the cliffside of jagged rocks and foaming waves below.

“Fort Williams,” Beau read. He stood in front of a green sign, slightly battered up with chipped paint. Next to the sign was a rusted bell in the grass, and a few benches. “This former military installation, begun in 1873 and known as The Battle of Portland Head, was a subpost of Fort Preble until 1898 when it became a separate independent fort.”

“An independent fort?” I hummed. “Suppose that’s why there’s that old fort thingy that we passed on the way in here.”

“Old fort thingy?” He snorted.

“I don’t know what the hell it’s called.”

“I’m assuming it’s called a fort since it’s, y’know, a fucking fort.”

“I’m assuming it’s called a fort,” I mocked, attempting to smack him upside the head. He easily dodged then spoke over me.

“It was designated Fort Williams in honor of—” He squinted his eyes at the chipped paint. “That word is too ruined to make out—”

“Thanks for the clarification. I obviously can’t see that myself.”

“Major General Seth Williams, a native of Maine, and Assistant Adjutant General, U.S. Army. This coastal defense installation guarded the entrance of Casco Bay and was the headquarters for the harbor defenses of Portland. It remained an active military base until it was closed in 1964.”

Digging a pinky into my ear, I hissed, “Loved that you read all that like I give a shit.”

“Why did you stand around to listen then?”

“Thought I’d humor you.”

He elbowed me in the gut then walked away.

Our parents took their time catching up. Beau and I were already jogging over to the lighthouse. There was a sign next to a path explaining that there was a road to take along the cliffside that leads to the parking lot we passed on the way in. I made a mental note to inspect the path later.

“Wow!” Mom whistled behind us. “How gorgeous! Devin, come here and let me take some pictures.”

I groaned. “This ain’t a photoshoot.”

“Come here.”

I wasn’t going to argue with that tone. Model Devin returned, only that time it was for my parents. We all got some in front of the lighthouse, along the fence lines, and, of course, our parents forced Beau and I together. We stood side by side, forcing smiles in front of the lighthouse.

“Stop frowning like that!” Mom ordered. “You’ve been having a blast this whole trip together and you know it.”

“Not together,” I corrected her. “I did almost break his nose, remember?”

Mom went red. I shouldn’t have brought that up!

Before she started ranting, I threw my arm around Beau’s shoulders. He grunted when I hugged him into my side and smiled, hissing between clenched teeth, “Smile, jackass, or I’ll kill you the moment we’re alone.”

He rolled his eyes, but put on a smile.

I was spared since Mom got a “cute” picture. The moment she got it, I leapt away to go off on my own. The less time I spent with Beau the better, especially when my heart refused to beat properly.

I didn’t realize how big the actual light tower was until I stood next to it. My neck ached from peering up. Behind the light house, the moon was actually out, sitting in a clear blue sky. Not a single cloud was in sight. The lighthouse wasn’t what kept my attention though. It was the view.

The beach was calm and serene while the cliffside was fiercely beautiful. Jagged rocks littered the shoreline where waves roared and twisted into bubbling white waves. Even nature was fearful of the shore, creeping over rocks but never too close to the treacherous ocean. The water was dark blue, consuming the warm sunlight. Every direction I went, the view was breathtaking. Walking around the back of the lighthouse to the opposing side, admiring the ocean and the boats out at sea.

Click.

Beau lingered behind me with camera in hand. My breath caught in my throat when I realized the scenery was dull in comparison to him.

Click.

“Shouldn’t you be taking pictures of the ocean?” I teased, or maybe pleaded. The thought that it was me he was taking a picture of rather than the amazing view left a strange hope warming my chest.

He didn’t answer, only joined me. Standing there, a warm arm brushing my own, had me thinking that, in only a few months, I wouldn’t feel this again. Our vacation would end. Summer would end. Beau would leave. No more multiple conjoined family dinners every week. No more game nights on Fridays. No more shared holidays. No more forced birthday invitations. No more bickering at school.

No more Beau Young. Like I wanted…

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