AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER TWELVE
By the time I’ve stomped halfway home shame is definitely winning out over pissed and my lips are raw from my gnawing. The full moon is even glaring at me.
I basically told him he was his mom. A shitty thing to do. I mean, he lied, but I lied more—and to his face.
The bungalows come into view across the silver-hewed beach. Both are in darkness. I should take that as a sign. Get back to being an island. It’s what I do best.
If I pack now, I’ll probably be able to get outta here before he gets back. If he comes back. It’s not like picking up another woman tonight is completely out of the realm of possibilities for him. It’s something I’d do, and we’re—we’re built the same. Just the thought makes me want to punch something.
A gust of warm salty air flicks my hair around my face, and I stop dead. A tiny white feather has somehow gotten tangled in it, bright against the red strands. The hairs on the back of my neck lift. I side-eye the moon in all its grumpiness and pluck it out, releasing it into the balmy, night breeze.
“It’d be kinda cool if you could tell me what the hell I’m supposed to be doing here, Flynn?”
I click my tongue against my teeth. Nothing but crashing waves and rustling palm trees. I’m not sure what worries me more—that I’m talking to a dead guy, or that I actually expected an answer.
This place is making me crazy.
Regardless, the moon still seems to be throwing a whole lot of reproach into its glare. I stomp on. Maybe the feather wasn’t a sign from Flynn, but a reminder from the universe. Dan was right about me. I’m not capable. He was just doing to me what I’d have inevitably done to him when he fucked me over. That’s what he told me the day I caught him with his tongue down someone else’s throat. Someone like me needs to be on my own. His words when he got me sacked from my own band.
Maybe he was right.
Before I’m even nearly ready I’m at the bottom step of the bungalows.
Sonnie told me things—personal things—and I threw them back in his face the first chance I got. I clearly just don’t play well with others. I straighten my spine and take the steps up my side of the porch. Getting out before someone really gets hurt is the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting on my bed beside my packed backpack staring at my second white feather of the night—long enough for me to have talked myself into, and back out of, staying in Clua a few hundred times. I found the feather on the packet of blister Band-Aids Sonnie bought for me when we first met. What are the chances?
I’m pulled from my useless staring by the yellow porch light illuminating the darkness outside and the sound of next door’s door opening. The hurt that flashed over Sonnie’s face when I said those things—when I lashed out—crowds my mind. I flick my gaze to the white feather then to the design wrapped around my forearm.
Maybe I’m not built to play well with others. But I’m not built to hurt them either. Sonnie deserves an apology. Before any other feather-inspired ideas can sway me, I’m off my bed and out of the bungalow.
I knock once and blow out a breath, my fist trembling where it’s hovering in front of the worn wood. Seconds pass. Maybe he’s not alone. Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to me. Maybe I should just leave him alone.
Before my knuckles meet the wood for a second time, the door opens.
The sight of him never gets old. Forearm resting on the door jam above his head, the other hand on the handle, low-slung jeans, no shirt, mesmerizing artwork, but absolutely no dimples. In fact, his jaw is tighter than I’ve ever seen it, his eyes cold enough to turn the twisting of my insides into all-out knotting.
I swallow hard, and to my absolute horror my eyes sting with one crystal clear realization—I wanted this to work—I really fucking wanted it to work. I clear my throat and force back my shoulders. Words refuse to form.
His chest expands, but nothing gives. Not his jaw and definitely not the coldness radiating from him.
Just walk away. It’s for the best. Walk. Away.
My heart crashes louder than the waves on the beach, louder than the crickets and the rustle of palm trees. And way louder than all the words we’re not saying. I’m not sure what’s worse in the whole balance thing. It sucks being hurt, but it sucks more to have done the hurting.
I nod. It’s the only thing I can do that won’t lead to a big, fat, ugly tear escaping. I’m not sure who I was kidding.
His fingers twist through mine as I turn to go. There’s a reason I stopped putting myself out there. And this ache in my chest, this tension in the back of my neck is exactly it. I shake my head but let him tug me back around to face him.
I suck in a breath to say something, anything to make his dimples come back. To tell him how much he hurt me. To apologize for hurting him. Anything. Everything.
His mouth on mine cuts me off before I get any of it out. Hard. Rough. And about as desperate as I feel.
I should probably pull away. Probably stop this before it damages me, him, both of us, even more.
A choked moan is as far as I get before my arms snake around his neck, and my lips part against the stroke of his tongue. I breathe in his scent. Sandalwood, citrus and Sonnie.
His kiss turns demanding, his fingers fisting in the thin material of my tank. I tighten my grip on the back of his neck and press my body to his, lift onto my toes to get closer, to kiss him back harder. To show him all the things I’ve no idea how to say.
