Pole Position: Between Logic and Passion

I woke up to the gentle rocking of the yacht and the golden warmth of sunlight spilling through the curtains. The room smelled like salt and sun and Charles. He was still asleep beside me, one arm sprawled across the bed, the other resting just close enough to touch my hip. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, his features completely relaxed — soft, almost boyish in the absence of tension.

I stayed there for a while, watching him.

For a moment, it felt like this was our life. Like we’d always wake up tangled in sun-drenched sheets, with nowhere to be and nothing to worry about. Just us, floating in our little bubble of calm and warmth. I imagined mornings like this turning into habit — sleepy kisses, shared coffees, quiet conversations that didn’t need to mean anything at all.

But it wasn’t our life. Not really.

The dull ache behind my eyes reminded me of that. A stubborn headache, the result of hours spent spiraling last night, replaying every second of that phone call in my mind. Every clipped word. Every unanswered question. Every lie.

I had barely slept. I couldn’t.

There was something about the way he spoke, the tension in his voice, the way he said he was working — when I had heard him say those same words to the woman on the phone. It didn’t make sense. None of it did. And I hated how much it was eating at me.

I turned away from him slowly, careful not to wake him, and sat up.

I needed air.

Or space.

Or maybe just five minutes where I didn’t feel like my brain was trying to put together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

Slipping into one of his shirts that still smelled faintly like his cologne, I padded barefoot through the room and out onto the deck. The morning was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of peaceful that made the chaos in my chest feel even louder.

I didn’t know what I was looking for.

But I knew I wouldn’t find it lying in bed next to him pretending everything was okay.

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I sank down onto one of the lounge chairs, pulling my knees up to my chest. The sun had started to rise higher now, casting streaks of gold across the water. It was beautiful. It should’ve been the kind of morning I’d dream about.

Instead, it felt like I was holding my breath, waiting for something to break.

Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe he really was just handling some team crisis, and I was letting my own insecurities get in the way. But if that were true… why did he have to lie about it?

And why did it sound like he was planning something that ended exactly when our time together ended?

“Stop,” I whispered to myself, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes. “Just stop.”

I was spiraling. I knew I was spiraling. But that didn’t make it any easier to stop.

Somewhere behind me, I heard the faint sound of footsteps — slow, heavy, still sleepy. I didn’t even have to turn around to know it was him.

“Morning,” Charles’s voice was warm, slightly raspy. Too casual. Too easy.

I turned slightly, managing a tight smile. “Morning.”

He stepped closer, crouching down in front of me. “You disappeared. I woke up and thought I’d dreamed you.”

I gave a small shrug, avoiding his eyes. “Just needed some air.”