If anyone will know what the fuck happened last night, it’s her.And maybe she knows where my purse is.
It takes me twenty minutes to get to Alana’s house, navigating all the pitfalls of the sidewalk while shoeless.My head is pulsing with the beat of my heart, and the sunshine of this damn island paradise is doing nothing to help it.
I could use a coffee and a massive glass of water, and probably some food, but here I am, without a fucking clue where any of my personal belongings are, and I certainly wasn’t going to see if Miles was awake to ask him.
Up until about a month ago, we couldn’t even be in the same room together without it turning into a massive argument, making it so fucking awkward for all our friends.I took the decision-making away and just stopped coming to parties I knew Miles would be at.I stopped hanging out with the guys, sticking only to the girls, but now that has proved almost impossible since they’ve all coupled up.
Miles and I needed space, and it’s not like I could bring Isaac with me because that would have only made things worse.Even with things settling down, I still don’t dare bring Isaac around; he’s not welcome, and I totally understand why.
I stop in front of the little cottage where Alana lives behind The Pipe Dream, letting out a hard sigh and wishing my life wasn’t such a disaster.
But I brought it on myself, and even though I would love to blame Miles for it, it’s not all his fault.He might have left, but I hooked up with his former best friend, possibly the shittiest thing in the world.And I have no defense for that.
I’m a horrible person.
I knock lightly at the cottage door and wait, wondering if Alana and Flynn are even here.They’re probably out surfing already, so I lift the doormat up and find the key waiting.
Pushing it into the lock, I hear the click and let myself in.
“Alana?”I call out, hoping I’m not walking in on them doing god knows what.Those two can’t keep their hands off each other.
And when she doesn’t answer, I quickly move down the small hallway toward the kitchen and find my purse sitting on the island.
I breathe a sigh of relief, snatching it up as I fish through it for my car keys before leaving and climbing into my car.
As the door closes and the engine starts, my throat grows dry, scraped raw by my hangover and the obvious yelling I was doing last night.Visions of flip-flops and plastic cups dance in my head, and here I am again, regretting my life choices.
I swallow hard, fighting back the sting of tears that burn my nose and coat my eyes as I pull my phone from my purse.The words on the screen blur into blobs as fat tears slide down my cheeks, lost in my thoughts and the feeling of heartbreak that just doesn’t seem to ease with time.
There are a million messages from Isaac, missed calls and multiple notices of him pinging me for my location.
He knew I was at The Pipe Dream.It’s not like I lie to him about where I’m going to be.I even asked him to come with me, but he declined.
But I guess not answering his text sent him into a panic, and rightfully so.I would have responded the same way.But more than that, it’s because Miles was there, a jealousy still lingering heavily.
Sometimes it feels like I’m just a pawn in this relationship, used to piss Miles off that Isaac won.It’s a disgusting thought, but the jealousy still runs so deep, especially after the band kicked Isaac out.
And once they did, things took off for them, booking as an opening act on a massive U.S.tour and leaving the island behind.
Me included.
But Isaac was there, and I guess our mutually broken hearts linked us, finding comfort in each other when the world felt like it was against us.
I swipe at the tears, despite their attempts to gather hard and fast.Warring with the thoughts that cloud my mind, I put the car in reverse, beginning to back up as my phone begins to ring.
Seeing his name on the screen causes my stomach to churn; a tightness pulls, and I can feel the tension wafting through the gentle breeze of the island air.
“Hey!”I answer with far too much enthusiasm for someone who is nursing a hangover.“Sorry, I spent the night at Alana’s.”
The lie falls so easily from my lips, and heat engulfs my cheeks, the sunburned shade of pink moving its way down my chest.
“Yeah,” Isaac quips.“Did you lose your phone?”His question is asked rhetorically, laced with sarcasm.
“No, just fell asleep.I should have texted you.Sorry.”
I’m not sure what else to say because the lie that spilled from my lips so easily could turn into a disaster.One small mistake could make it all come crashing down.
Pulling up the message app as Isaac exhales hard down the line, I shoot off a text to the group chat with the girls.
