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My mind keeps trying to arrange all of it into something I can hate cleanly.

I’m not coming back.

Chapter thirty

Exit

Paul

Imake it to the bathroom door, one hand on the frame, towel loose around me, and stop.

For one ridiculous moment, I think I can leave like this.

Not naked. I haven’t lost that part of my mind yet. I’ll dress enough not to get arrested. Enough to put some distance between myself and Clint’s closed door before either of us has to deal with what just happened between us.

Then I look down.

My sticky hand. The mess drying on my skin.

No, there are still limits to my capacity for denial.

I step into the bathroom and shut the door as quietly as possible.

The shower hisses to life, too loud in the still house. I stand outside the spray for a breath, bracing myself against the vanity like water is another kind of confession.

I wash quickly, mechanically, refusing to make ceremony of it. Soap. Water. Hands that do not linger. Evidence gone from my skin, if nowhere else.

Clint is still on my tongue. That does not wash away.

When I step out, the mirror is fogged, thank God. I dry off, slip into my room and dress without looking at myself.

Clint’s door is still closed. My body wants to pause there. To knock. To call his name through the wood.

I don’t know what apology would be large enough.

I’m sorry for Bentley84. I’m sorry for the months of silence. I’m sorry for getting close enough to let all of this hurt you.

The best thing I can give him right now is my absence.

That thought hurts more than it should, which is how I know it is probably true.

In the living room, Renny’s photos watch from every surface.

“I’m sorry.”

Don opens the door wearing travel clothes and a facial expression usually reserved for men who say they’re between jobs.

“Oh, good,” he says. “The fugitive returns.”

I stand outside his doorway with damp hair, yesterday’s shirt, and absolutely no prepared excuses.

“Can I come in?”

“That depends. Are you here to apologize for abandoning me at the pier or dish on all the terrible things that happened without me?”

Don’s face changes when I don’t say anything.

His eyes narrow. “Oh, honey.”