In a sudden torrent, every feeling I had for this woman three months ago in that bar crashes into me again, only with more intensity than ever. “Theresa, listen to me,” I breathe. “We need to talk. I need to explain everything to you.”
“Fuck you and your ‘explanations,’ Ryan. I’m done with men full of excuses and fucking explanations. If you want to tell Josh and Kat what I told you at the bar and ruin my entire life, simply because it makes you feel like some sort of superhero-protector to your sister, then let the chips fall where they may. That says more about you and your poor judgment and massive ego and lack of empathy and lack of faith in love than it could ever say about me and some stupid, illusory crush I might have had months ago on my boss whom I’ve never even once hung out with outside of work, by the way. But right now, whatever you’re gonna do or not do, I’ve got a job to do and, by God, I’m gonna do it to the best of my ability because I’m proud of how good I am at my job—really fucking proud!” Her eyes suddenly fill with tears. “The only thing I ask, out of basic decency, is two things: please don’t tell anyone we had sex, please, because it would be very embarrassing to me and I especially don’t want it getting back to Josh and Kat and making things awkward and strange for them at their wedding and future events; and, two, this entire week, please be polite and conversational toward me so as not to raise suspicion, but, otherwise, leave me the fuck alone!”
Oh my God. She’s out of control. She hates me. She absolutely hates me and it’s killing me. “Theresa. Hang on. You’re acting like a fucking loon. You gotta let me—”
Without another word, she flips me off, juts her chin, opens the door, and marches out of the room.
I stand stock-still for a minute, my heart racing. I can’t follow her—she’s heading to the lobby to meet the Faraday group. Should I... what the fuck should I do? I don’t fucking know. All I know—literally the only two things I know at this moment are: one, I want her, now more than ever, and, two, before this week is over, no matter what the fuck I have to do, I’m gonna make that woman mine.
28
Tessa
As I walk along the winding pathway toward the main lobby, I can’t stop chastising myself. What the hell is wrong with me?I fucked Ryan Morgan? And then I flew off the handle and lost my mind and screamed at him afterwards? Talk about poking the snake. Shit! Why didn’t I let the man talk? Strength comes from silence more than anything else, not shrieking and crying. Damn! He obviously wanted to say something, so why didn’t I let him do it? Maybe, whatever it was, I could have used it to convince him to keep his stupid mouth shut this week.
Crap! I never should have gone to his room. I had important work to do, and yet I chose to spend an hour, smack in the middle of guests’ arrivals, to play Hide the Pierced Salami (and Magical Fingers and Talented Tongue) with Kat’s freaking manwhore of a brother? Inexcusable! By definition, a girl’s not supposed to see her one-night stand (or, in this case, her one-afternoon stand), ever again, and here I’ve dipped my toe into the casual-sex pool for the first time with a man I’m going to see all week long here in Hawaii and also at least once a year for the rest of my life in Seattle? Gah!
My phone buzzes with an incoming text and I pull it out as I continue walking toward the lobby. The driver for Uncle William, Jonas, Sarah, and Sarah’s mother is moments away from arriving. I reply to say I’ll meet them in the lobby and then continue scrolling through additional texts. There’s a text from Marnie letting me know the Morgan group has hit the private beach for some fun in the sun. More scrolling and I see an inquiry from Reed Rivers about the wedding reception—something about a surprise musical guest he wants to arrange as a gift to Josh and Kat. I reply to Reed saying no problem, we’ll talk about it when he gets here.
As I cross the threshold into the spacious lobby, I shove my phone into my bag and scan the place. Phew. There’s no sign of the Faraday party yet.
My phone pings with a text and I pull it out again. “Hey, Crazy Girl!” Charlotte writes. “Can u talk now? I’ve got 30 minutes before hopping my flight. If not now, talk tomorrow?”
I tap out a quick reply: “Hey, Nut Job, can’t talk now. Sorry. Tomorrow good. Lots to tell you!” I press send and bite my lip. God, I’m dying to tell Charlotte about the whole Ryan situation. She’s gonna lose her freaking mind when I tell her. Shoot. I can’t resist dropping a little hint. “This Crazy Girl’s got a crazy story to tell you when we talk!” I write. “I HAD SEX! (Cue the fireworks, champagne bottle uncorking, and a choir singing!) And, guuuuuurl, it was gooooood. Best sex of my life! I’m not gonna tell you who it was who made me see God (four times!!!) until we talk (because I want to HEAR your shrieking reaction!!!), but let me just say this: the guy’s a blast from my past and a complete asshole and I had no idea he’d be here but he is! I shouldn’t have done it, but I threw caution to the wind and fucked him on a complete whim, for no other reason than I wanted to get laid! Yeehaw! I think you might be on to something with the whole meaningless sex thing. Woooheeeeee! Good stuff! Talk to you tomorrow. XO T.”
29
Ryan
Iscan the private beach. White sand. Turquoise water. Palm trees swaying in a gentle breeze. And all of it bathed in glorious, Hawaiian sunshine. There’s a crowd of Morgan-related folks snorkeling just beyond the shore break, and a whole bunch more, including Josh and Kat and Dax and his two buddies, frolicking in the waves. It looks like Coco and Keane are burying Zander in the sand up to his neck, and Mom and Dad and a whole mess of Morgans are hanging out in a cabana.Paradise.
If ever there was the perfect place to try to pull myself together and calm myself down, this would be it. Jesus. The last couple hours have been an emotional and physical roller coaster like nothing I’ve experienced before. How the hell did Samantha turn out to be T-Rod? And how the motherfuck did things with T-Rod veer in a matter of minutes from her banging me like a mad monkey to her screaming at me with tears in her eyes that she wanted me to leave her the fuck alone?
Fuck! My head is spinning. What I need is an impromptu session with my lifelong therapist to figure my shit out. I search the beach and quickly find him, all by his lonesome, reclined on a lounge chair in bright blue swim trunks, a bucket of beers next to him and a book in his hand.
“Hey, Bee,” I say as I take the lounge chair next to my big brother.
Colby looks up from his book. “What took you so long? Mom said she texted you to come to the beach over an hour ago.”
“I took a nap.” I indicate the bucket of beers next to him. “Hand me one of those, would you? Whatcha reading?”
Colby shows me the cover of his book:Hillbilly Elegy.
“Dad was reading that on the plane. Is it good?”
“So far, yeah. Interesting.”
The unmistakable sound of our sister squealing with glee wafts through the air, and we both look toward the sound in time to catch Josh bounding into the ocean with a bikini-clad Kat in his arms.
“Looks like Kat’s feeling a whole lot better these days,” I say. “For a while there, I thought the poor girl was gonna barf up a baby.”
“Look at her belly in her bathing suit,” Colby says. “So damned cute.”
“Yup, she’s a cutie patootie, you might even say,” I reply, doing my best Keane impression, and we both chuckle. “You gonna go in?” I ask, motioning toward the aquamarine ocean.
“Nah.” Colby indicates his left leg and I glance at it, taking note of the long, angry scars running down his thigh and shin—and, just that fast, my mind flashes back to the horrible night mere months ago when my big brother lay unconscious in a hospital bed with my family huddled around him, all of us praying he’d make it through the night.
“I thought swimming was supposed to be good for the leg?” I say.
