My only response toJack’scomment was to flash my middle finger.
“Come on,” he said as he knelt down and offered a hand.
I didn’t take it.Whatdid he play me for?Ahorny fool?
I was only one of those things, thank you very much.
“Just leave me here to die,”Igritted out. “Goeat your fucking pizza or do whatever it is you do when you’re not driving me crazy.”
Jack’s voice was soft. “I’mnot leaving you here,Roar.Comeon.Letme help you inside.”
“I can get inside just fine,”Ihissed.
The sunset painted him in oranges and pinks, matching the blaze in his eyes. “Rest, ice, compression, and elevate,” he murmured as he prodded around my ankle. “Doesyour ice maker work?”
“Yes.Itworks,”Iclipped asIswatted his hand away. “I’mperfectly capable of dealing with a sprained ankle.”
“Hang tight.Letme grab a bandage andI’llget it wrapped.”
“Go home,Jack,”Isnapped.
“Why are we sending the hot guy away?”
I gasped at the new voice that carried across the wind.Iwhipped around to make sureIwasn’t hallucinating.
Whitney andWillowwere craned over the balcony, staring down at us.
Jack looked up at them. “Doyou know them or shouldIcall the cops?”
Before he could answer, the girls bolted down the stairs and ran across the yard.Iscrambled up to my feet.Momentarilydistracted by the surprise,Iforgot all about my ankle.
I squeaked the momentIput pressure on it and nearly fell again.ButJackwas faster, catching me with strong arms underneath mine to keep me upright.
The war between my head and my heart had escalated into a bloodbath.Jackwasn’t at fault for everythingIhad been through over the last year.Butafter surviving it,Iwasn’t about to do something reckless.
Pretending thatIcould commit to more than a quick fuck would have been cruel to both of us.
I didn’t have to linger inJack’sarm for long.WhitneyandWillowtackled me in a hug, pulling me free from the tumultuous feelingsIwas drowning in.
“What are you guys doing here?”Imurmured into their shoulders.
Whitney pulled away first, giving me an “are you kidding me?” look. “Youdon’t get to quit.Sorry, but that’s not your decision to make.”
I tensed.So, they were here to convince me to write another book.
Out of everyone,WhitneyandWillowshould have understood whatIwas going through.Therewas writer’s block, and then there waswriter’s block.
It was like a baseball player getting the yips or a gymnast getting the twisties.Somepeople could overcome it.Forothers, it was a career ender.
I had come to terms with the fact thatI’dnever step up to the plate again.Ididn’t need someone to drag me back into a game.
“It’s not that simple.I’mdone.Ilost my publishing deal.”
Whitney rolled her eyes. “Youdon’t get to quit onus.So, yes.Wehopped on flights and rented a car and drove out to”—she glanced around—“wherever this non-island island is.”
“If you’re going to have a mental breakdown and midlife crisis, you should at least do it with margaritas,”Willowsaid. “Ibrought a blender.”
I laughed, becauseIdidn’t know what else to say.Ishouldn’t have expected anything less. “Idon’t even have beds in the house.Iliterally threw them all away.”
