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“Say what you will about the other islands, there’s no doubt Oahu’s medical care is second to none.”

Oahu: The Adventure of a Lifetime

30

DREW

I’ve lost count of the number of times Six has tried to hug me between leaving the trail and boarding this plane. He’s constitutionally incapable of believing he isn’t forgiven. I might have been able to put up with it all if I hadn’t seen my toiletry kit dumped out on the bathroom counter, my inhaler clearly visible.

I cried then, but my tears weren’t over him. I’ve always known what he is and what he is not, and any hope we had of a relationship died days ago. I cried because of me, because I’m fucked up enough to have put up with it all. And because somewhere in the world, Josh will continue to exist without me—big, beautiful, endlessly protective—and I’m the piece of shit who will never deserve him.

“What would you like to do tonight?” Six asks, tucking a strand of hair back from my face. I want to jerk away from him. I want to ask the airline attendant for a different seat. It’s only for Beth’s sake that I don’t, but I’m not sure how to keep up this charade through the final night of the trip.

“I think your parents made a reservation for dinner,” I reply. “And they want to do that sunset thing at the hotel.”

He groans. “Jesus, again?” As if the sunset is like Mount Rushmore, something you only need to see once. “We can do our own thing.”

“That would be kind of shitty to your parents,” I reply. “They probably want everyone together on the last night.”

He snorts. “Right. They want everyone together so my father can sit there and talk only to Josh? Hard pass.”

That chip he has on his shoulder, I wonder if he even means what he says anymore, or if it’s just a convenient way to blame someone else for his failings. “I’m staying with your parents,” I reply. “You can do what you want.”

And then my gaze moves past him to Josh, sitting alone across the aisle from us. He’s got his laptop out, feverishly typing.

He’s just…lovely. How did I never notice that flush to his cheeks, the way his tongue taps his lip when he’s deep in thought?

Or those hands. Jesus. Those big hands, calloused from doing God knows what and the tendons in his forearms that move as he types.

Ah, except you did notice, I think. You always noticed and you hated yourself for it while pretending it was him you hated instead.

We arrive in Oahu, grab our bags and walk out to the van waiting to take us to the hotel. Six, chatting amiably with our driver, starts to take the front seat.

“For the thousandth time,” Josh says between his teeth, “she gets carsick.”

This is what it’s like, I think, when someone actually cares about you. They remember you get carsick. They worry about your inhaler.

He catches my gaze and for a moment our eyes lock, and it’s like that moment on Kalalau Beach all over again. When I saw everything he was and he saw me back.

And tomorrow, it all comes to an end.

* * *

We check into the same rooms we had before. Six tries to pull me in for yet another hug and I push him away. “Please just stop,” I tell him and he stomps out of the room, irritated with me.

I open my suitcase but most of my nice clothes are looking rumpled and worse for wear. On a whim, I call downstairs and get them to deliver that white dress Josh and I saw in the window. For just this one night, I want to be that other girl, the one I might have been if my entire life had been different.

Once I’ve showered, I don the crisp white cotton dress—a sleeveless V-neck with an empire waist, draping loosely from my rib cage to my ankles. There’s a hint of cleavage, but it’s more girlish than sexy, and in the mirror I see a woman Josh would take to a work party, would come home to after a long day. A woman who isn’t a disaster, who’s happy with a simple life instead of a girl who’s unhappy with her complex one.

For a moment, I want to be her so bad I can taste it.

I grab my purse and room key and walk out the door at the same moment Josh does.

He comes to a stop, his eyes moving over me, head to foot. He pushes his damp hair off his forehead and releases a small breath.

“Is that the dress from the window?” he asks. His voice is like velvet.

“Yeah,” I say. I feel stupid now, as if I reached too far to be something I’m not. I shrug. “All my clothes were dirty and—”