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“You look like you’ve had an epiphany,” Monique said. Her eyebrow perked up as she waited for me to share it with her.
“I think…I think I have.” The emotions settled into me like the wood pieces of a puzzle, making the picture complete. It was worth the risk of loving Adam. If I didn’t, I was going to suffer the same heartbreak, and I’d be the very thing I hate. I’d be my own villain. I couldn’t have that.
“You have to tell them to turn the plane around,” Monique said with hushed excitement. Her hands grabbed mine as she smiled. Genuine happiness beamed across her face. I felt regret for the judgmental thoughts from the beginning of the flight.
“Don’t be silly, Monique. This isn’t a romantic comedy.” I shook my head and suppressed a laugh. Instead, a smile tugged at my lips. “The pilot won’t turn the plane around because he’s a romantic at heart. When the plane lands, I’ll catch the next flight back to the island.”
She leaned forward. “I’m so happy for you.” She pulled me into a hug. Her hand hit my shoulder. I winced, but she didn’t notice in all her excitement.
My stomach dropped, because I still had to find Adam and ask for forgiveness. “Me too, I just hope he’s happy to see me after I broke his heart.”
“If it’s love, he will be,” she whispered.
God, I sure hope so.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT
abby
Once I made up the decision to return back to the island, and more importantly, Adam, time seemed to move very slow. I was even more anxious and nervous to pour my heart out and ask for forgiveness for being so stupid.
Shortly before takeoff, my phone vibrated with a text message.
Adam: Does your heart hurt like mine does? If so, good. You did that to us both. Despite all of this, my only regret is that I should have tried harder to convince you not to go.
My heart plummeted and soared at the same time. I had so many responses to his short text, but I kept them to myself. Life was not a romantic comedy. No one would clap for me when I got off the plane, but I was an underdog. We didn’t need that.
Instead of responding to Adam, I left him on read. The only part of our whole story that would mimic a movie was our ending. The last five minutes where the man says he screwed up and begged for forgiveness, that was about to be me. In person. I sent a text to Christine. Within seconds, the typing bubble appeared.
Me: Where will Adam be in a few hours?
Christine: Does this message mean what I think it does?
Me: Please answer the question.
I didn’t have time for Christine’s meddling or for girl talk. I didn’t want any of that; I had enough of it from my seatmate. I wanted Adam, I wanted to make up, and then I wanted him inside of me. In that exact order.
Christine: Likely on the beach. He took the rest of today off. We all did. I think you leaving really upset him.
Me: I’m about to fix that, but don’t tell a soul, not even Wells.
Christine: Your secret is safe with me.
I nervously sucked down my third coffee as we took off. By the time the flight landed, I was a nervous wreck. I was on the verge of tears, and I thought my heart might stop beating from working too hard. That’s how I knew I had made the right decision; my responses were because I cared that much. How could I have walked away from him?
The taxi ride from the airport to the resort was quick. With my bag slung over my shoulder, and the taxi driver twenty dollars richer, I stepped foot out on the beach. From behind my aviators, I searched for Adam’s broad shoulders and tattooed body. I walked up the beach and focused on taking deep, calming breaths. My emotions spiked at every stray thought that crossed my mind.
I knew he wanted me to stay, but what if he was just saying that? What if he didn’t actually mean it? The self-doubt was absolutely tortuous.
He better mean it.
I spotted a broad set of tattooed shoulders and the muscular back that I knew belonged to Adam. He sat on a beach chair, leaning forward with his head in his hands. His feet were buried in the sand. His body seemed to fold in on itself, as if he was defeated. Guilt gnawed away at my insides. His body language told me everything I needed to know; it reassured me that I made the right call coming back to him.
I walked behind his chair and dropped into the empty chair next to him. I picked up the beer that was in his cup holder and took a sip.
“Where’s mine?” I asked as I held the beer up. I faked confidence and composure while inside I was a fucking shit show. Our proximity had me feeling so happy I could cry—and I never cried from happiness.
His head shot up, and his eyes met mine. They were so intense that I could feel their heat from here. It was like sitting under a second sun.
