“So you thought having Jackspyon me was the way to go?”
“It wasn’t like you were picking up your phone,” he snaps, losing a little composure.
“And why do you think that is?” Hot tears spill down my cheeks. I wipe them away roughly, turning to Jack. “Is it true?”
“It’s complicated,” he says, voice strained.
“Yes or no, Hartman.”
“Yes.” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But let me explain.”
I laugh shortly. “What was the deal, the Green Street job in exchange for keeping me from embarrassing the family?”
“You don’t understand. Let me just—”
“I understand perfectly.”
I inch away from him, from both of them. My elbow throbs. My back hits the kitchen door, and I nearly collide with an incoming server. In the chaos, I scoot by him, cutting off whatever excuse Jack was trying to come up with.
The dining room sprawls in front of me. It’s still full of diners, each table spilling over with chatter and laughter. Ten minutes ago, I was so in love with this place, so proud of the decor and curated art and carefully collected fixtures. It felt like something I built with my own two hands. Now, though, the magic is gone. It looks dark in here, and crowded, and I can see all the messy parts we couldn’t hide or smooth away.
Jack catches me by the elbow. “Poppy, please. Listen to me.”
“I thought you believed in me. I thought you cared. Maybe even—” I stop, pressing my lips together.
“I do,” Jack says quietly.
I’m making a scene in a restaurant, again, only this time my heartreallyisbreaking. Jack always had a backup plan. All the praise, all the encouragement, was just to keep me from spiraling. To keep me in one place, in one piece, until Jack could prove his point and Dad could collect me like a runaway pet. A disobedient child. An incapable loser who needs a hand to guide her everywhere.
I look at him. From the first moment in that bar, I thought he saw something in me that no one else had ever noticed, much less challenged. He didn’t coddle me. He didn’t treat me like a doll. He pushed against all of my assumptions about myself, to the point I hopped on a plane to see if I could prove him right.
I was never running away from New York. I was runningtoFlorida. To a place where I could be me, completely, for the first time in my life.
To Jack.
Memories of the past months crowd my mind. They’re stripped of color, of substance, as flimsy as tissue paper.
Was all of it a lie?
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper.
I barely make it outside before I lose the last shred of my composure. The warm Florida night feels like a balm against my bare skin.
I swallow another sob. The lagoon is up ahead, dark and lush under the moonlight. My gaze snags on the outline of the houseboat. My things are there, mixed up with Jack’s. Gator is there, probably asleep on his sweater. Our medications are in the same cabinet above the tiny bathroom sink.
My lip wobbles. I bite the inside of my cheek swiftly, the dart of pain easing the deeper hurt inside for a moment.
It’s so beautiful here, so serene and quiet. I never knew how much I craved quiet until I came here. Now, I just want to disrupt it. I want to be a hurricane, tearing through town without a thought to anyone.
I take off my shoes and hurl them into the lagoon.
“Good arm,” Jack says.
I turn, breath catching at the sight of him. I’m torn between shoving him into the water and burrowing against him while pretending the last half hour of our lives never happened. His chef’s jacket hangs haphazardly, as if he tried to unbutton it and gave up,ripping it open instead. Even in the dark, I can see the heightened color on his face, the almost catlike gleam of his eyes.
I don’t bother trying to decide on their shade of green.
“You lied to me.”
