“Wanna tell me what this is all about?” he finally asks.
My heart swells at his gentle tone, and the story spills out through my cries before I care to second guess. I pour memory after memory until I’ve recounted everything I can think of.
The texts, the timing of them. Levi and my messy past. The undeliverable responses and disconnected calls. I try to list everyone I’ve given my number to in the past while, even going so far back as the yoga instructor I met before Christmas. Establishments that might have my number saved in databases, like coffee shops, the museum, and Pulse Fitness.
When I broach the subject of the unmarked packages starting to arrive, his eyes darken.
“Why haven’t you told anyone? Called the police?”
I huff a brisk laugh. “And tell them what, exactly? I have no evidence to go on. Nothing to prove who this is! And I haven’t told Liza or Amantha because of how stressed out it would make them.”
“So you chose to suffer in silence?” he all but growls. I can tell Brandon isn’t angry atme, despite his tone.
“I did what I thought was best,” I whisper.
“Oh, Kate.” He pulls me against his chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. You’ve already been through so much… I wonder, though…” Brandon yanks out his phone, and before I can ask what he’s doing, he copies one of H.Y’s numbers into his phone and presses “Call.” “If your number is somehow blocked, mine won’t be.”
I huddle closer.
But Brandon receives the same disconnected beep that haunts me every night. He shoots a text—undeliverable. He curses, face illuminated by our phone screens.
“I’m just so angry with myself.” The words bubble out of me, and I suddenly realize they’re true. The simmering emotion I’ve felt for months is only now becoming recognizable.
“What for?”
“Maybe if I hadn’t given out my number to a million men in the last decade, I wouldn’t be dealing with this now,” I whisper. “If I wasn’t so messed up, none of this would be happening.”
Fresh tears cloud my vision.
I suck in a breath when Brandon’s finger lifts my chin. His face is the softest I’ve ever seen it.
“You can’t blame yourself,” he murmurs. “And don’t assume responsibility for someone else’s actions.”
I brave a weak smile.
Even after discussing the issue for another hour, we’ve gotten nowhere. Despite this mystery being nowhere near solved, the lines edging Brandon’s eyes seem deeper the later the night grows. Guilt slithers into my belly that I’ve stolen sleep from him, but I’m so grateful he’s here right now.
I slide off his lap, lying on the sand. Grit presses into my back,coats my shoulders, but I don’t care. He follows suit, laying his head close enough that his wavy hair brushes my cheek.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For all the years I never reached out. For the time I’ve wasted.”
“We’vewasted,” he corrects. “It wasn’t just you, Kate.”
I pluck up enough courage to swipe a grain of sand from his brow. He catches my hand, pressing a light kiss to each of my fingertips. I melt with each pass of his lips.
More tears threaten to leak into the sand, and I swallow.
My knee-jerk reaction is to fight the rising tide of emotion. Flee. Shatter this tension with silly truths and dares.
But I force myself to stay put.
Because for the first time, I’m convinced that I won’t drown. I clutch Brandon’s hand as each wave of remorse washes over me.
And I cry.
I cry for the years I’ve spent fighting. Spent running.
I cry for each night I fell asleep beside someone who didn’t love me.
