And I want to live while I'm still here.
"You're sure?" he asks, eyes searching mine for hesitation, for doubt, for uncertainty.
I meet his gaze, steady as a rock, and I nod once, slow and deliberate.
Callum takes a deep breath.
"Sophie—sweet girl—would you do me the exquisite honor of going out on a date with me?"
Smiling, I lean forward and kiss his cheek again, lingering a little longer than necessary, and murmur my answer in his ear.
"I'd love to."
Chapter Twenty
Paul
There's a long crack running through the ceiling of this shitty mold-scented motel room I now call home. I’m lying on the uncomfortable bed, where I’ve been for the last couple of hours, hearing the room on one side of me blasting their television, while the room on the other side seems to be using the motel for its pay-by-the-hour pricing.
It was the best I could do with the time I had. By the time I had pulled myself off the sand, it was too late to book a room at the Holiday Inn, so I had to settle for this.
Maybe I’m punishing myself.
I had stayed at the beach, completely lost in my own head, as the sky went from lavender to black, no moon, just an inky sky. The air turned biting and sharp, the chill settling down deep in my bones, and my legs went numb from sitting in the sand. I couldn't move. After I finally stopped crying, I stared at the water, watching the waves, half tempted just to let them carry me out.
I pointedly ignored the incessant buzzing in my pocket until my phone mercifully died. Elise, no doubt, and I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to see anyone.
Well, that’s not true. There is one person I want to see, but I guarantee she would rather never see me again. Not after what I'd done to her, not after the way I shattered her and everything around us.
So, pathetically, I lay on this shitty bed, taking in the sad state of my life.
And I think about Sophie.
God, Sophie...
Her beautiful face is always radiant and sweet. Her joyful laugh, the one that could make you smile no matter what mood you were in. I chuckle lightly whenever I think about the way she would take the hottest showers known to man and then still complain that they weren't hot enough. If it wasn’t boiling her, it was too cold.
I think about the way she only liked strawberry jam, and how she still cut the crusts off her bread, and how she hated orange juice with pulp so much she'd gag just looking at it. The way she'd still wear a million layers in the middle of the summer, but needed the bedroom to be arctic to fall asleep. She used to burrow under no fewer than five blankets and still press her ice-cold feet against my calves to warm them.
Sophie,I close my eyes and hold her close in my mind. Her voice, the scent of her shampoo, the feel of her pressed against me in sleep, her soft skin, and her silly humor. I try to hold onto the memories, but it feels as though they’re slipping away like sand through my fingers.
Because the reality is that I don't have her. I chose not to have her. I doused my life in gasoline, lit the match, and walked away before I could watch it burn. I told myself I couldn't handle the weight of it, that I wasn't strong enough, that I was doing the right thing for her and for me.
I have no one. I have nowhere to go.
Can't go to my parents' house—they hate me for cheating on Sophie.
Can't go to my friend's house—they hate me for cheating on Sophie.
Can't go to my office—not allowed back there for two months.
Can't go to my old apartment—for obvious reasons.
This town used to make me feel invincible, unable to step into a bakery or a coffee shop or the hardware store without someone calling out my name, "Pauly! How you doin', all-star?"
They would pull me in for hugs, shoulder claps, talking about our high school football team, about my parents and how proud they are of me, about how they knew I'd grow up to be successful. Some even saw me as a potential Mayor one day. I had a bright future ahead of me.
I was their golden boy, and this town used to be mine.
