If we fuck again, then there’s a chance feelings might get involved—on either side. On both sides. And that’s a risk I just can’t take, especially not when it feels like I already did develop feelings for her in the one night we were together.
Beyond that, I’m still reeling from the fact that my ex married my brother. I’m still trying to make peace with the fact that I tried to stop their wedding and failed.
And now, three months have gone by, and I haven’t spoken to either of them—normal where Ford is concerned, but strange not having my best friend around anymore in Tatum.
My phone has rung plenty. Most of my siblings want to know how I’m dealing with this suspension. Maybe they even have news about our father.
But I don’t care. I don’t want to hear it.
I just wanted to escape all of it for a month, and that’s how I wound up here.
I could tell her that. I could confess everything to her. Maybe it would even feel good.
But the risk of it being exploited—or worse, the risk of being rejected because of it—isn’t one I’m willing to take. Not with some stranger.
“We never talked about how long you’re staying on the island,” she says, clearly trying to make conversation.
“You’re right.”
“That’s not an answer. They comped me all of April. I fly back to Chicago on April thirtieth. What about you?”
Of course she does. Of fucking course. Jesus Christ, the way fate is at play here is actually unbelievable.
“I’m here for the month, too,” I finally admit.
“You said that you were here to lay low. Can I ask why?”
I shake my head and clench my jaw.
“You can trust me, Archer,” she says. “You can pretend to hate me, or you can give in to this pull that’s between us. Don’t act like you don’t feel it too just because you don’t like why I’m here.”
I’m silent, mainly because I don’t have a jab off the cuff to throw at her after her words tilt me off my game. She’s right. There’s a pull between us. But it doesn’t matter.
Nobody knows the real me anyway, and it’s not like I’m going to open up to some vacation fling. I’ve spent so long being the black sheep of the Bradley family, being the guy who loves baseball over football, that sometimes that feels like my entire personality.
But there’s a hell of a lot more to me. Things only Tatum ever got to see.
I like helping kids, and I want some of my own someday—so I can create my own legacy in order to erase the one I was forced into by birthright.
I keep people at arm’s length because I’m terrified of being used.
I carry wounds with me that make me feel like I’m unworthy of love, especially because of my father.
I make light of things I don’t want to deal with.
I feel like I’m losing what identity I did have after I lost Tatum and now baseball, all because of my father.
I want to be closer to my siblings, but I don’t know how to turn to them, and especially not when Ford betrayed me the way he did.
I pretend I’m not lonely and I’m fine the way I am.
I’m not.
We arrive at the Queen’s Staircase, and we learn it was carved from limestone in the late seventeen hundreds. We hear about why it was built and take in the gorgeous views. On this excursion with us are one family of six, one family of four, two couples, and then the two of us.
We hear about some of the pirate legends, but not enough to satisfy the reason why I booked this tour in the first place, and then we have a bit of time to go shopping before we need to make our way back to the bus.
I don’t particularly want to shop, and I find myself alone at the top of the staircase. I stay there, taking in the view, living in the moment, experiencing it all.
