I’m not some patient you’re seeing at the free clinic, sweetheart. I don’t need you analyzing me.
Her eyes burned. As if her interest somehow insulted him. As if his feelings were none of her business.
I didn’t say anything about Renee’s visit because it doesn’t have anything to do with you.
So he “dealt with it.” Full stop. He didn’t need her help. He didn’t want her interference. And the more she pushed him on a personal level, the more he clammed up and withdrew.
She rolled over and thumped her pillow.
Part of her appreciated that he was strong enough to handle things his own way. She admired his quiet confidence, his uncompromising principles, the matter-of-fact way he assumed responsibility not only for himself or with her but daily in his job.
But how could she be with someone who wouldn’t be open with her, who wouldn’t talk to her about what was important in his life? Who didn’t value her thoughts and ideas.
Although... Another poke. Another toss. She hadn’t been completely open with him, either.
She shot a look at the room’s clock, the numbers glowing softly in the dark—3:00A.M.
Well, that figured. After the robbery, this was the time when she would wake, heart pounding, mind racing with worry. In the quiet stretches of the night, with no outlet or distractions, her anxieties became overwhelming. Inescapable.
Except with Jack. She’d slept with Jack.
She flopped onto her back, staring up at the shadowed ceiling.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t, apologize for leaving, for going back to her real life. But Jack was right. Shehadavoided talking about it. She’d told herself she didn’t want to spoil their remaining time together by focusing on its end.
But that was an excuse. The sneaky little truth, the one she hesitated to admit even to herself, was even more humiliating.
She didn’t know what her leaving meant to Jack.I love you, she’d said.
And he hadn’t said it back.
He acted like he loved her, at least in bed. He was a passionate, demanding, inventive lover. Outside of bed, well... He was guarded. Private. Cool.
But she knew he had the capacity to love. Underneath the expressionless face, his deceptively relaxed stance, he was decent and caring. She’d seen the way he did his job, the way he interacted with the Fletchers, his gentle courtesy with Tess, the smile he always had for Taylor. The way he made time and room for that skinny, affection-starved cat.
She was tempted to believe he could make room for her, too. On his boat, in his life, in his heart.
But then what?
The robbery had not broken her. But it had shattered her life in two, into Before and After. She’d put her plans, her career, her dissertation, on hold. She’d left her little student apartment and her family.
Caught up in the wave of fame and publicity, in the stress of writing another book, she’d nearly lost herself, her breath and her balance.
Dare Island had been her escape.
Jack had been her salvation.
He had kindled her heart again, given her the courage to love, to reach, to feel. To grow.
Writing the book had been another step in the healing process, a slender narrative bridge connecting her past and her future. But now she had to step onto that bridge. She needed to go back, to fit together the pieces of her old life with her new understanding. She was overdue for a meeting with her advisor. She missed her mom and Noah.
She wanted to go home.
She tossed and turned until dawn.
***
“DID YOU ANDJack have a fight?” Jane asked Lauren the next day.
