She checked her watch and headed inside to do the only thing she could think of.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
MASON
Mason had spent the last hour wandering the island, trying to get cell signal so he could call a boat to get them out of here. Yeah, the vacation planners probably couldn’t book them a charter until morning, but he didn’t care how much it cost. He was cutting this vacation short.
Asshole move.
He cringed at the whispering voice. Cringed because it was right. Was he really going to drag Gemma home early because his feelings got hurt? He’d already stomped off. Wasn’t that enough childish behavior for one day?
It was like when he was a kid, and his parents fought, and he’d crawl out the window. Down the fire escape. And then run. Run as fast as he could.
And what good had that running ever done?
Did it help his mom? No, it just let Mason block all his feelings, so he could go home later, when they were making up, cuddling and cooing, and tell himself that’s how it was all the time.
That his dad never threw shit around their tiny apartment.
That his mom never cried quietly in the bathroom with the door locked.
That the neighbors never called the cops, and the cops came by and his mom said everything was fine, her husband never touched her, and then the cops would go away and his dad would start yelling again.
“Do you see what you did? All that crying? Don’t you ever think about anyone but yourself? Mason’s gonna be a star. You know that? A goddamn star. What if his coach found out the cops were coming by? You think foster parents are going to pay for private hockey lessons? Think of him. Of Mason.”
Mason pressed his hands to his ears, wincing, as if he could still hear his dad shouting.
And that had nothing to do with Gemma. Nothing to do with why he was out here, sulking.
When he heard a motor, he stopped walking. He squinted and made out a small craft pulling up to the dock.
Right. The daily delivery.
He looked down at the phone in his hands. He’d been trying to get a boat, right? Surely he could offer enough to make this guy drive them to the mainland.
Was that what he wanted?
No.
He clenched his fists. He was being an asshole, hiding out here. And he’d be a bigger one if he ended Gemma’s vacation early just because they’d had a misunderstanding.
That was on him. He hadn’t been clear, and now he had, and she’d said no, and that was her right. No matter how much it hurt. No matter how sure he’d been that there’d been more between them.
Like he’d been sure twenty years ago.
Fuck.
His chest seized as the memories hit. How it’d felt that day, whenhe’d told Gemma it hadn’t been a dare and she’d said it was fine. No big deal. Just a kiss.
He’d been hurt. Which was ridiculous considering what he’d let happen to her. His friends tried to protect him by hurting and humiliating Gemma, and he’d weakly protested… and thenhe’dbeen hurt when she said it was no big deal?
He was doing that again, wasn’t he? Hadn’t learned anything.
No, he had learned something. He’d learned that he’d made a mistake twenty years ago. Gemma hadn’t scared him off then. He’d left. He’d hurt her and then felt hurt himself when she brushed it off.
Because he’d been a stupid kid. Confused and conflicted and scared.
Was he doing that again?
