I tell myself it’s all make-believe, that it’s just my idle thoughts running wild, sparked by one small measure of desire for the first time in my life. But all the explanations and logic don’t change a thing.
I still wake up wet and wanting him.
I still take one look in those blue eyes and dream of feeling his body move, slow against mine.
HONK!
There’s a loud noise. I snap back to reality to find a car speeding past me to overtake. The driver shakes his fist at me and flips me the bird. I glance down. I’ve slowed to twenty miles an hour, drifting along the highway lane.
Way to go, Carina, I scold myself. Twenty-six years old, and you’re daydreaming like a horny teenager. Get your mind back on the road before you wind up dead in a ditch!
I turn my thoughts back to the task ahead of me: my first trip back into my old life since fleeing home in the middle of the night like a fugitive. I feel a shiver of nerves as Beachwood Bay recedes further in the rearview mirror, and I get closer to everything I’ve left behind.
I don’t know what to think. I can’t hide away forever, not even in my new apartment above the bar. I wish my past could magically be wiped clean, but there are too many commitments and practicalities calling me back. My old friends are texting all the time impatiently demanding when I’ll be back from my so-called spa retreat. Then there’s the simple fact that I need to pack up for real this time: I barely threw a handful of outfits in my case when I left, and despite the ancient washer-dryer in the apartment, I need my old wardrobe and toiletries back again. Suzie’s baby shower seemed like the perfect time to face my past and put things to rest for good, but now that I’m on the road, every instinct in my body screams at me to turn around and drive back.
Back to Beachwood, to the safety of the little new apartment. Back to days of not wearing makeup or blow-drying my hair. Back to hiding away, out of sight of the world.
Back to Garrett.
By the time I pull into the drive back at my old house, my stomach is tied up in knots. It looks bigger somehow than when I left: looming up above me in a towering structure of stone and beams. The front lawn is perfectly manicured, the street buzzing with the sound of hedge-trimmers and leaf-blowers.
For a moment, it feels like the last ten days haven’t happened. Nothing’s changed.
Nothing except you, I remind myself.
The driveway is empty, just the housekeeper’s old Honda in the garage, so I take a deep breath and open the front door.
“Hello?” I step cautiously inside, feeling a first shiver of panic. I know I lied to Garrett about coming back here alone. He was just looking out for me, but it seemed overdramatic to need an escort back to my own home. Now that I’m here, I realize what a bad idea this is, walking in unprepared. If Alex is home…
But there’s nothing but silence. If he was here, there would be a briefcase thrown carelessly on the chair in the foyer, his wallet and keys on the console. There’s no sign of him.
I let out a breath of relief.
I fetch moving boxes from the storage closet and take them upstairs to the master suite. I start in my closet, then move onto the bathroom, my shoes, accessories: filling the boxes with the trappings of my old life.
I thought I’d feel elated to have my old things back again, but instead, I find myself worn out by the measure of my life. All the money I wasted on designer clothes, all the time I put into hunting down the perfect pair of flesh-toned pumps; that navy dress I wore just the once. As I fill the boxes with things I’ve barely touched in months, I wonder what I’m going to do with it all now—as if it will even fit in the tiny closet of my new apartment.
Then I reach the bedside table and see the note propped there for the first time.
I stop.
It’s a handwritten page, in Alexander’s masculine scrawl.
They need me in Berlin for the next two weeks. It could be longer. We’ll talk about everything when I return.
I lower the note, everything suddenly becoming clear. That’s why I haven’t heard from him again: he’s out of the country. He’s put me aside like an errant child, to be dealt with later, when he has the time. He assumed I’d come back, that I’d be waiting for him.
He doesn’t know it’s done.
I swallow back a flash of panic, anticipating the struggle still ahead.
You can do this, Carina. You’re strong enough to leave.
The voice comes unexpectedly: not the cruel, taunting voice of my insecurities, but something calmer and strong. And sounding suspiciously like Garrett.
You know it’s the right thing, the voice calms me. Follow your instincts.
It works. I take another breath and force myself to think clearly. When Alex comes back and sees my things packed up, he’ll know it’s over. He may have delayed the inevitable, but he hasn’t avoided it.
I won’t take it back.
Downstairs, I let in the movers I scheduled, and point them to the boxes stacked neatly in the hall.
“Delivery to…Beachwood Bay?” one of the guys asks, checking his clipboard.
I nod, watching them load up the truck with all the boxes of my clothing and winter coats. The china from the kitchen, my skis and scuba gear. I wonder what the hell I’m going to do with it all.
I feel a sudden flash of recklessness.
“No, wait,” I call. “Change of plan. Those can go to Goodwill.”
He frowns. “You sure, lady?”
“Yes!” I exclaim, my heart pounding. “Just put those cases in the car. The rest can go.”