Chapter Nine: …Letting Go

When you find an unfamiliar car in your driveway and a random pair of shoes on your front porch, most people would be confused or even possibly scared. Most people would want to know what the hell was going on. Most people would be concerned – most people who weren't Dan Scott, anyway.

When Dan pulled up to the place he was calling home for the moment, he was a little put off by the unknown car in his driveway, but mostly, he was peeved that it was in his spot. As he walked to the door, he noticed the foreign pair of women's shoes cast off to the side of the front entrance. He figured it was one of Nathan's friends who had shown up to an empty house and decided to go walking on the beach. Or it could have been one of Dan's many pesky female neighbors who always "checked up" on him wearing clothes as flimsy as that reason to drop by. But frankly, he didn't care – as long as he didn't have to see the owner of the shoes, as long as he didn't have to talk or be social at the moment, he was fine with whatever trespassers came by.

Because for once in his life, Dan Scott wanted to be alone.

It was odd really. Over the past few weeks, few months, few years actually, that was all his mind had been bitching about. Being alone. Having no one – no one who really wanted to be around him, no one who didn't see him as a monster. But now, caged within that solitary fate, he craved the quiet that solitude could provide. He needed to reflect. He needed to heal. He needed to get the hell away from his son and his aggravating girlfriend.

They were so happy together, so content with one another, and for once, he didn't want to destroy that. But not saying the first thing that came to his mind when Haley had said, "I'm so ridiculous sometimes," jokingly to Nathan had nearly killed him. Not attacking took so much restraint – a trait which Dan never had much of.

He had tried. He really did try to be nice, pleasant even. But he was exhausted, and he longed for someone who he could be himself around without apology. Without regret. Without fear that they would leave him standing all alone.

Karen couldn't even do that, he reminded himself, wincing slightly at the memory that had been scorched into his mind the prior evening. When he had realized that sobering thought on the drive home, he decided that it was just better to be by himself. Give up. Let go of fleeting wishes. For so long, he had been struggling in troubled waters – slashing and violently grasping at everyone in his life just so that he'd have someone to hold onto no matter how miserable they were. He didn't want companionship at that price. Not anymore.

The truth was that he didn't do well alone, but he needed to get used to it. It was the only time he wasn't hurting anyone. It was the only time he didn't need to pretend to be someone he wasn't. It was just easier this way, he repeated to himself. It was just easier.

He walked to the back porch, silently considering his ill-fated destiny. He hoped that the beach could distract him for just a moment, a moment where he didn't have to continue running these thoughts over and over through his mind – grinding and shaping and smoothing them into polished and definitive truths.

And when he saw her there, the car-and-shoe culprit, the person he said he didn't care about as long as she didn't bother his peace, he laughed. A small, tongue-in-cheek laugh because it was just that ridiculous.

It was that ridiculous that he ever thought he would have peace without her.

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He walked down to the beach quietly, cautiously, almost afraid that she would flitter off like a skittish bird at the first sign of his presence. She was looking up at the sky intently, and he wondered just what she was thinking about. She was just shielded enough by the early evening shadows to cast doubts on any of his speculations. But he figured whatever she was thinking about was intense by the growing hole her toes dug into the sand.

Her head went back down, her eyes probably skipping across the water. He saw her shoulder begin to move, to rotate her around, and he immediately fixed his eyes on the crushing chutes of water as they slapped against a long pier of rocks a few feet away from his coastline.

He sensed her stop, halt in slight shock. He felt the air change between them as she gasped lightly in recognition. And he heard words slip from his own mouth before he could even register them. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

His face didn't move to greet hers. He was too afraid she would flee if he attempted to pin her down with a stare. He just waited, taking in whatever of her he could from a distance.

She sighed softly and turned back around. "Yes, it is," she breathed, barely above a whisper. But he could hear it loud and clear. It felt like the ocean air had carried the words only to him, and they crackled all the way over, charged with expectation and…

Longing. Longing for something she felt she shouldn't and couldn't have, and it nipped at his insides to know that she thought he was a lost cause – that even though a part of her was attracted to whatever formed between them, that side would never win out.

"What are you doing here?" he barked, no longer scared to look her way, but still having no desire to read her face. He wouldn't like what it said.

She laughed quietly, a small, brief huff exiting her chest through her lips. "It's nice to see you too Dan," she said grinning, with a small glint in her eye and no apology.

"Well, excuse me. I guess I'm just used to seeing you run the other way," Dan said, but he couldn't quite muster the venom to send the message to her heart. In fact, the words came out almost as a private joke between old companions, old lovers.

"That's not fair," she stated simply and truthfully, but the small grin still played on her lips.

It wasn't. She was right. The comment wasn't fair, but…

"A lot of things aren't fair," he said, finally turning his gaze to rest on her brunette eyes. And he could sense the silent agreement behind them and the injustice that went along with the whole situation between them.

A giant chunk of rain came splashing down from the bright blackening clouds above. It crashed into the sand leaving a small but noticeable mark. Karen lifted her hands up to her shoulders, spreading her fingers and palms to feel the slight drizzle begin.

"Do you ever feel like rain is the theme of this relationship?" Dan asked dryly as a lump formed in his throat at the beauty of watching Karen touch the rain.

"It has rained a lot," she commented, looking straight into his eyes for a moment. "But rain's not a bad thing," she said. Looking away, she smiled at a thought and added, "Do you remember that party senior year? You know? Who was it…" she searched for the name.

"Brett Atwell's beach house," Dan offered.

"Yeah, Brett's party. Do you remember? It started to rain and everyone ran for cover. Everyone but—"

"But you," Dan finished, interrupting her trip down memory lane with an intense, raw stare.

She looked away, back towards the beach and the ocean. He followed her gaze to the waves that were swiftly becoming more treacherous as the rain began to intensify.

"I used to love the rain," Karen spoke slowly with a wisp of the past.

"Used to?" Dan couldn't help asking.

She paused, weighing her words. "I still do," she said, the ocean air once again carrying the full impact of the words to Dan. "I always will." She turned to look at him, the lump already in his throat doubling as he saw small tears mix with the rain running down her cheeks. "But I can't spend my time out here anymore." The words breaking with waves of regret and disappointment. "I have other responsibilities now."

He didn't know what to say because sometimes there just aren't words. There aren't words to express how a heart realizes the sad truth that no matter how you feel, life and choices and the past always get in the way. That no matter how much he felt for this amazing woman standing in front of him and no matter how much she felt for him, it just wouldn't work.

He didn't know what to say because sometimes there just aren't any words. So he nodded in acceptance.

"I'm going to get going, ok?" she whispered hoarsely, the emotion ripping at her throat as she rushed past him towards the house, her shoes, her car, and her ultimate departure.

He stood still, frozen in the moment as she whisked herself away. And when she was far enough, he answered her with a small, "Ok."

The rain began to beat hard into the raging waters and the sand and grit floating in the air bit as his eyes for what felt like forever.

Until…

"Dan?"

The voice echoed delicately through the air. It was so hesitant and so fair. So Karen.

He twisted around to see her walk closer to him. Her dark hair curling as the falling waters attacked. Her chestnut eyes swimming with tears, feelings, and one impulsive intent.

You better shut your mouth
And hold your breath
And kiss me now
And catch your death

Oh, I mean this
Oh, I mean this

Her lips were on his before he could rationalize what was happening – not that he could if he wanted to and not that he wanted to at all. He only wanted to kiss her back, drink in her flavor, remember how this felt.

A second just before there was no turning back, she pulled away. Reaching for his cheek softly, remorsefully, she spoke the words he knew had to come. "That's enough." She jerked her hand back, separating every last touch. "It's over," she said more to herself, and looking up at him, "I mean this."

And she did. Even with the pain doubting her voice, she meant it.

She walked away. This time for good. Standing there in the hard rain, a strange sense overtook him. He felt comfortable for the first time in a long time. He felt comfortable in his own skin because he knew he wasn't alone. Even though they weren't together, he would never be alone.

It was raining outside, a light dance of delicate water and sand dancing in the atmosphere. The world was changing around him with each drop, each impact, and for once he felt changed too. There were new marks left by erosion and decay, by heartache and lose, but he could feel some of the grief wash away into the unyielding ocean. The weight of loneliness was lifted, and for the first time, he was touched.