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I DIG my bare feet into the sand, getting just close enough to the water for the mid-morning waves to tickle my toes. Each lazy wave licks my feet, then retreats as if beckoning me into the Atlantic Ocean, whispering of adventure. Of mischief.

Of peace-and-freaking quiet.

Which is all I want after this past summer. What with Jagen’s attempt to take over the kingdoms, our near discovery by humans, me leading a wall of fish to an underwater tribunal—we barely had room to breathe. And then our breath was all but stolen away from us when Rachel drowned.

We deserve a break from it all, Galen and I. But it doesn’t look like we’re getting one.

Behind me, the wind hauls with it the occasional shout erupting from my house. The bellows of Galen and his older brother Grom taint the air with a rancor that repels me farther from the house and deeper into the water. I roll up my pajama pants and, letting the saltwater have its way with my calves, try to ignore the words I can make out between the squawks of seagulls overhead.

Words like “loyalty” and “privacy” and “law.” I cringe when I hear the word “grief.” That word comes from Grom, and after it, no words come from Galen. It’s a kind of silence I’ve come to recognize from him. One filled with anguish, torment, guilt, and the overwhelming need to say or do something to hide it.

But there is no hiding that Rachel’s death mauled the deepest parts of him. She was more than just his assistant. She was his closest human friend. Maybe the others don’t see the depths of it. If they did, they wouldn’t throw it in his face or use it against him. But I do see it. I know what it’s like to have so much heartache you come to despise the air that keeps you alive.

Galen doesn’t cry. He doesn’t talk about her. There seems to be a part of Galen that belonged to Rachel, and she took that part with her. What’s left of him is trying hard to function without the missing piece, but it can’t quite coordinate. Like a car running on empty.

I want to help him, to tell him I know how he feels. But comforting someone is different than being comforted. In a way, it’s harder. I went through this after Dad died of cancer. After my best friend Chloe was attacked by a shark. But I still don’t know what to do or say to make it better for Galen. Because only many, many sunrises can soften the pain. And it hasn’t been long enough for that yet.

I feel bad that I left my mom in the kitchen to deal with this mess by herself. Poseidon princess that she is, this is a difficult problem to navigate alone. But I can’t go back in yet. Not until I think of a fantastic excuse for why I thought it was okay to abandon a very serious and very-important-to-Galen conversation. I should be there with them in the kitchen, standing beside him, arms crossed, giving Grom the stank eye to reiterate that I am not his Royal subject and that I’m on Galen’s side no matter what that might involve.

But it’s hard to face Grom like that when I’m kinda sorta in agreement with him. Especially since the Triton king is one of the most intimidating people I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet. He would hone in on my reluctance. He would see through me if I put up pretenses about the trip.

This stupid trip.

Last year at prom—well, our own version of prom, which involved dancing underwater in Armani—we promised each other we would take a trip to the mountains. To get away from it all, or whatever. And at first, this whole summer jaunt inland with Galen seemed like a good idea to me. Actually, it seemed like unfiltered heaven. He’s adamant that he wants to be alone with me. To make up for all the time we lost mutually denying our feelings for each other. Then the time we spent fending off Jagen’s advance on both the kingdoms. And what could be better than that? Spending private time with Galen is about a ten on my Ecstasy-O-Meter. Of course I want to steal back all of the lost time—I’d steal the time before we actually met if I could somehow bribe the universe to grant wishes.

But the bigger reason—the real reason—I think Galen wants to get away is Rachel. I know he wants a change in scenery. He wants to get away from the house they shared together. Especially from the now maddeningly quiet kitchen where she used to click around in stilettos while preparing him delectable seafood dishes. The house used to smell of cooking food and swirling Italian perfume and possibly gunpowder if you came on the right day.

And don’t I know how that feels? Waking up every day in my bedroom full of all things Chloe was like getting a daily, fast-acting injection of painful memories. Staring at my dad’s empty place setting at the table felt like watching vultures of the past circling around his empty chair. But Galen hasn’t allowed himself to start the grieving process. And this trip seems to be an attempt to keep it at bay even longer. Which can’t be healthy. And since it’s not healthy, I feel more like an enabler than a supporter.

Either way, I should go back now. I should go back and be there for Galen and tell Grom that no matter his reasons Galen needs this trip. Then express my own concerns with Galen privately. I should be there for him now and support him in front of the others, just as he would for me—just as he’s already done for me.

I’ll need to explain myself—why I left during the conversation in the first place—say something so that I don’t look like the jerk that I am. Tact hasn’t been my specialty lately. I’m thinking Galen’s sister Rayna is contagious, and she’s somehow infected me with her rudeness. But maybe tact isn’t what I need. Maybe I should try her truth. The truth would only embarrass Galen, I decide. And make him feel even more alone.