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I abandon the orange on the island, taking my phone back out onto the deck. The fresh air wafts off the ocean. I inhale and exhale a large breath. I’m not sure I'll survive not experiencing the early morning air here, no matter how much Adelaide’s happiness means to me.
I’ve thought of nothing but this text for the past nine hours, and still, I’m torn as to whether seeking out Lilah is a good idea. My sensible and rational side tells me nothing good can come out of seeing her face-to-face. Even knowing that, a part of me is pulling me in her direction, telling me I need to hash it out with her in order to be done for good.
There’s nothing I want more than to leave her one hundred percent in the past and cast away the many what-ifs that have plagued my mind over the years. It took me years to want to date someone else after Lilah. I wasn’t a monk during those years but sleeping with a woman and trusting a woman enough to open up to her, giving her the power to hurt me, are two entirely different things.
Adelaide is the first woman I opened up to, but not completely. She knows hardly anything of my past in Virginia. She’d never understand what it was like growing up there. I’ve never admitted to her the terrible things I did in the name of survival, nor would I now. She knows me, but she doesn’tknowme the way Lilah does. Truth be told, she knows James. I’m not sold she could look at me the same if she knew me as Jimmy.
“Fuck,” I yell to the seagulls circling above.
I plop down into the lounger and pull my phone from my cargo shorts pocket. Scrolling through my contacts, I hit Tripp’s number.
“This better be good,” he answers.
“Sorry, man, is it morning where you are?” I ask, mentally calculating what country he should in right now.
“Nah, man. But when you party until six a.m., does it really matter?”
I chuckle. “Guess not. Listen, I’ll make it quick. The PI I hired found Lilah. She’s living in Kansas. That had to be her that I saw on the news.”
“Wow. Kansas, huh? Seems way too down-home for her lifestyle.” There’s rustling and murmurs from a woman's voice, then a door clicks shut. “So what are you gonna do?”
“I think I need to see her.”
I hate the way my stomach pitches when I say the words out loud, as if some sick part of me is actually looking forward to the idea. This is a means to an end, nothing more.
“Agreed,” he says. “Just make sure you remember why you’re there. Don’t get sucked into her vortex again.”
“No worries.” And I mean those words. It took every last miniscule of willpower in me not to hunt Lilah down the first couple of years. I have no interest in putting myself through that torture again—not when it would jeopardize my future with a wife who cares about the life we’re making.
“I know this is going to be hard, man, but I wouldn’t encourage you to do it unless I really thought it was best for you. Lilah’s been like an albatross around your neck the entire time I’ve known you. You’re close to ditching that albatross, and I, for one, couldn’t be happier.”
“Me too.”
I’ve always wondered if there’d be a day I no longer thought about my past and the what-could-have-beens, letting calm and peace settle over me and the rest of my life. Yeah, seeing her will be tough. But I'll get the closure I need to finally move forward without the weight of what Lilah and I once shared weighing me down.
“All right, man, I won’t keep you. Sounds like you had company,” I say after a short stretch of silence.
Tripp chuckles. “That’s okay. A rock god like myself can only handle so much pussy and booze.”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “Yeah, poor baby.”
“You call me if you need someone to set your head straight after you see her.”
“Thanks.” I hit End on the call and reflect for a moment.
A minute later, my phone vibrates in my hand. Adelaide.
Guilt swarms me like barbed wire. Knowing what I’m planning to do and why I’m keeping her in the dark. She won’t understand that I just want to be able to give her all of myself, and I can’t do that without closure from Lilah.
“Hey,” I answer.
“You’re not going to believe it!”
She must still be in traffic because she’s screaming through the Bluetooth of her car.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, noting the edge of hysteria lacing her voice that only comes when she’s really worked up about something.
“I just got a call and I have to do re-shoots in Vancouver forThe Bully.”
