“I turned down two promotions because she didn’t want me traveling. We were supposed to get married in Asheville in October. Peak leaf season.”
I realized my hands were shaking and knotted them together.
“She left me a month before the wedding. For a guy she met at some spin class. Said she was sick of being the only person in the relationship willing to take a risk. Said I was a doormat.”
I tried to laugh, but it sounded strangled. “I spent a week drinking vodka in a Holiday Inn. Then I packed up and moved to Atlanta, took the best job I could get. I was determined to become so successful, so untouchable, that no one would ever dare call me a doormat again. Didn’t talk to my parents for six months. Ghosted all my social media.”
Brynn made a small, sympathetic noise, but she let me keep going.
“It’s not like I haven’t been with anyone since then,” I said, the words rushing out now, a desperate attempt to explain something I didn’t understand myself. “But it was always on my terms. My rules. It was safe.
“This… panic thing has never happened before. I don’t… I can’t.” My voice broke. I gestured vaguely at the room, at the rumpled sheets between us, at her. Then I dropped my head into my hands, humiliated by my loss of control. “I’m not a relationship guy, Brynn. Do you understand? I don’t do this. I don’t let people in. Not anymore.”
Brynn didn’t say anything, just scooted closer and rested her hand—warm, steady—over mine.
My first instinct was to pull away, but the heat of her skin anchored me. I stared at our joined hands, my own trembling, hers calm. I couldn’t figure out whether to flip my hand over and lace our fingers together or bolt straight out of the room.
She squeezed once, then let go, preventing me from having to decide. “Thank you for telling me.”
I had no idea what to do with that. All I could think was how pathetic I sounded, how Brynn deserved someone better, someone who wouldn’t freak out just because her life was more real than a bank statement.
She didn’t try to fix it. She just sat with me, our bodies still, the only sound the distant hush of waves on the beach.
For the first time in years, I let myself feel it. The grief, the shame, the hollowed-out space that loss leaves behind. It was awful, and it was a relief. The human heart wasn’t meant for this kind of exposure. I could handle being naked, but being known? That was a different animal—one that clawed its way up my ribcage as soon as the silence stretched a little too long.
My hand trembled. It still felt warm where Brynn had touched it. The vulnerability in the room calcified, transforming into something sharp and hostile. Every second she didn’t run for the hills, my internal alarm shrieked louder.
I needed a reset, a hard break, anything to cut through this gluey aftermath. I vaulted to my feet. The room spun for a second, then snapped into perfect, judgmental clarity.
“Shit, sorry,” I said, already regretting the way my voice sounded—raw, frayed, as if I’d chewed glass in my sleep.
Brynn’s gaze flickered. “Dean, it’s okay. Really.”
She meant it. That was the problem. The more compassionshe showed me, the more I wanted to set myself on fire. I paced a tight, nervous loop from the bed to the tiny closet, picking up clothes as I went. The room felt smaller with every step I took, like it was designed to compress me into a manageable size.
I snatched my boxer briefs from the foot of the bed and stepped into them with such force I almost lost my balance. My shirt came next, wrinkled and damp, still carrying the scent of her skin and cheap detergent. I yanked it over my head, struggling with the collar like I was wrestling a python.
Brynn sat up, arms wrapped around her knees, the sheet draped carelessly across her chest. Her hair was a mess, and her cheeks were blotched with pillow marks. The urge to look at her was overpowering. I didn’t.
“Dean, has it occurred to you that maybe you’re reacting this way because what’s happened between us is different than your usual flings? That it means something?”
I finally met her eyes, just for a second. It was a mistake. She looked exposed, still worried for me, even now. I darted my gaze away as the tendrils coiled in my stomach again and knotted up.
No! I just got it all under control again. End this now. Get out while you still can.
“No. What happened last night was fun.” My words tumbled out in a snarl. “But let’s not pretend this is more than a vacation fling.”
She flinched like I’d thrown something, but I couldn’t stop. I needed to get ahead of the next blow, the one I could feel winding up inside her.
“I mean, come on.” I gestured vaguely at the window, where the morning sun lit up the marina and the cheerfulpastel houses. “People don’t come to places like this to find themselves. They come to forget. That’s the whole point.”
Brynn’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you’re doing? Forgetting?”
I barked a laugh, hollow. “Trying to. It’s not working, though. Goddammit, this whole thing wasfake!”
She watched me with wide, stricken eyes. The crushed look on her face should have made me feel powerful. It didn’t. It made me want to crawl under the bed and wait for the world to end.
I kept talking, because it was the only way to drown out the sound of my own heart. “I’m not built for this, Brynn. The mornings after. I have a life in Atlanta—a good one. I’m going to get back on a plane, and this place will just be a story I’ll tell at a bar sometime. If I even bother.”
