Focus on Thomas, groveling on his knees, with that ring we chose in the palm of his hand. He won’t grovel if he knows he hurt me, and he won’t grovel if he knows I’m jealous...he’s only going to grovel to someone he’s legitimately scared he’ll lose. I drag my heels back and forth over the sand and begin to type.
Sorry, was out late last night. Hope you’re well.
It’s a blow-off response, the one I might send if it weremewho had dumped him. As ifhewas the clingy, somewhat psycho ex I was trying to keep calm so that he wouldn’t break into my apartment and boil my cat. And obviously it’s a lie, but saying, “Sorry, I was in bed by eight” doesn’t screamI’m having the best time without you.
Thomas
Do you have a minute to talk?
The crash of a wave drowns out my laughter, which is more bitter than amused. I’m not bottle-feeding him while he pulls his shit together.
Sorry, I’m on a road trip and we’re about to take off, but we can catch up when we’re back at school. Take care.
I close my eyes and picture Elijah, who stood on the deck watching as I walked this morning, making sure I didn’t go in.
Yes, it’s a ploy, the way I’m blowing Thomas off.
But there’s a part of me that actually doesn’t want him to come. That wants to hoard every second with Elijah Cabot while I still can.
22
ELIJAH
She’s facing the ocean, her ponytail blowing in the breeze.
“Hey,” I say, dropping into the sand beside her. I’m on her right and that bruise is staring me in the face. I clench sand in my fist and let it pour out. Bud Walsh is going to pay a price for throwing that remote.
“Hey,” she says, closing her phone. “I heard from Thomas.”
Why does she want this asshole back so badly? How is it that Easton, who never took shit off anyone, is sweating this guy after the way he treated her? The Easton I knew had way more pride than that.
“What did he say?” It’s a struggle not to sound surly.
Her laugh is tinged with bitterness. “He wanted to talk. He says he’s lonely. I said no.”
Good. It’s about fucking time you stood up to him. “So you’re done with this bullshit?”
She raises a brow. “You mean the bullshit where I pretend we’re together to make him jealous? Hell no. I just refuse to hold his hand while he sorts out his feelings. And...” She shrugs, leaving the thought incomplete.
“And?”
She wraps her arms around her knees and turns, grinning at me. “I don’t want you to think for a moment that I’m enjoying this trip, but...”
“Nothing you’ve said or done has led me to that conclusion, Easton.”
Her eyes crinkle, a suppressed laugh. “But there are pieces of this experience that I like, and that I’m probably not going to get again. Like...Thomas and I never, ever go to the beach because it’s not his thing, even if we areata beach. So I want one last hurrah.”
My irritation was settling. Now it’s back in full force. “Why does he get to decide everything?”
She shrugs, crossing her legs in front of her. “Every trip we take is because someone is payinghimto be there, not me. I’m just tagging along so I sort of feel like I don’t have the right to insist. And I hear myself wanting to bitch about visiting a museum and I sound like Kevin and Sean.”
And there it is.
Growing up, she had freedoms no other kid got, but she also had two junior criminals for brothers, her dad stumbling drunk and half-naked in the front yard, and a former beauty queen mother who’d flirt with anyone who walked past.
Letting this asshole decide she’ll go to a museum rather than the beach has nothing to do with the fact that she’s simply tagging along.
“Never going to the beach is a pretty significant sacrifice, and this is the first time you’ve even mentioned it.”
