Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
And that’s the problem.
He rolls over, exposing his back, and I realize for the first time what was too dark to see last night. On his lower back, just above his right hip and tucked in among his other tattoos, there’s an illustration of a small beach cove with two distinctive palm trees bent from hurricanes and crisscrossing each other. Identical to the ones behind me. It’s our spot. Our one perfect place on earth.
Which only makes this harder.
Evan stirs as I’m wrapping my hair in a bun and digging my keys out of the sand. “Hey,” he mumbles, adorably drowsy.
“I’m late,” I tell him.
He jerks upright with a concerned expression. “What’s wrong?”
It’s only when I rub my eyes that I realize my vision’s blurry with tears. I inhale deeply, exhaling a feeble sputter of air that makes me feel a bit wobbly. “This was a mistake.”
“Wait. Hold on.” He grabs his pants and shakes them out to start getting dressed, a hurried panic evident in his movements. “What’s happened?”
“I told you we couldn’t do this.” I ease backwards, blinking away the moisture in my eyes. All I want to do is run. Get away from him as fast as I can, because every second I linger in his presence weakens my resolve.
“Gen, hey. Stop.” He grabs my hands to still me. “Talk to me for a second.”
“We can’t keep doing this.” I implore him to understand what I already know is beyond his reasoning. “We’re no good for each other.”
“But where’s this coming from? Last night—”
“I have people who are counting on me.” Desperation clogs my throat. “My dad, my brothers. We’re all working on keeping the business afloat. I can’t blow them off to hide out with you all night.” I gulp down a massive lump of sadness. “As long as we’re around each other, I can’t trust myself.”
“What’s the big deal?” He turns his back in frustration, tugging at his hair. “We had a good time and no one got hurt.”
“We’re both late for work because we stayed up all night fucking like teenagers whose parents are out of town. When are we going to grow up, Evan?”
He rounds on me, dark eyes blazing with frustration. “What is so wrong about wanting to be with you? Why do you want to punish us for this?” he demands, gesturing between us. “Why are you punishing yourself for caring about me?”
“I’ve just decided to start caring about myself more. That means being responsible for the first time in my life. I can’t do that when every time I see you I forget anything else exists. That’s why I didn’t say goodbye to you before I left. Because I knew—” I stop before the rest of that sentiment can escape.
“You knew what?”
I hesitate, remembering the pain I’d seen on his face last night when he’d confessed how much my leaving had affected him. A huge piece of me broke off and was just gone. I’d hurt him badly, a hell of a lot more than I’d realized. And hurting Evan makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t like doing it, and I don’t want to do it now, but … I’m not sure I have a choice.
“You said last night that you wish I’d told you about the showdown with Randall,” I finally say.
“Yeah …” His tone is wary.
“Well, I tried. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I stayed up all night thinking about what I’d done, stewing in my humiliation. It wasn’t a total rock-bottom moment, but it was definitely a wake-up call. It was obvious the partying had become a problem and was starting to cloud my judgment. There’s no way I ever would’ve showed up on Kayla Randall’s doorstep in the middle of the night if I’d been sober.”
I shake my head in disgust. At myself, not him. Although, I certainly hadn’t been impressed with him either, the morning after my unhinged visit to the Randall house.
“I knew you were out with the guys that night and would probably sleep in, so I waited around all morning for you to call or text,” I tell him. “And when you didn’t, I finally drove over to your place so I could tell you what happened with the Randalls.”
A frown touches his lips. “I don’t remember you coming over.”
“Because you were still passed out,” I say flatly. “It was one in the afternoon, and I walked into your house to find you snoring on the couch, empty bottles and full ashtrays all over the coffee table. There was spilled beer on the floor, all sticky under my shoes, and someone must’ve dropped a joint on the armchair at some point, because there’d been a hole burned into it.” I sigh softly, shaking my head again. “I didn’t bother waking you. I just turned around and went home. And started packing.”