I chose to push everything away.
God, I hope he didn’t.
Abandoning the window, I enter the bathroom, sighing with relief when the sink spills water.
Washing my eyes and mouth, I look into the oval mirror.
Go to sleep.
Deal with this in the morning when you both have rested.
Before I know it, I'm crossing the tenantless living room,heading toward the double doors, pushing aside the pale blue curtain. My feet burrow into cold sand once I'm beyond the house. He’s still on the phone, his back facing this direction.
The wind and waves delay announcing my arrival, letting me hear him. What I hadn’t expected to hear was his voice—full of fear.
“Bo, I wouldn’t make it… losing her again.”
Suddenly an unwelcome intruder upon his privacy, his soft-spoken words, I rear back, hesitating to approach.
He inhales, his hand on his hip, listening. I have no idea what Bo would say or what he’s seen his friend go through.
“She’s bruised,” he says, like he can’t handle it. “She’s got fucking scars all over her. They weren’t there before. I don’t know how to ask her. I don’t know how I’ll keep myself from going insane when she tells me. If it was them…”
Idefinitelyshouldn’t be here.
Turning, I retrace my steps to the cottage, winded by the confessions he never meant for me to hear.
The rawness of his desired gaze, laced with something I couldn’t quite place while we were in the motel room, makes sense now.
To avoid unraveling, I survey the property from this angle.
The waterfront cottage is nestled in a secluded sanctuary of forgotten sequoia trees. The wooden planks that form the house share the same color as the sand caught between my toes. Each cerulean shutter evokes memories of our honeymoon, a place I envision even in my dreams.
I drop down onto the single step that leads into the house, watching him lower the phone, completely still, a picturesque statue amid limitless beauty. Even at this distance, I see the way his chest expands, preparing to return to me.
It’s utterly terrifying… this moment.
Not knowing how this night will end after all the meaningless days we’ve wasted.
Halfway up the beach, his strides slow to a stop, finally seeing me under the windchime awning. Rather than wait for him, I join him on the sand, my hands clenched to hide the shaking.
“I thought you wanted to sleep,” he says.
I shake my head. “No, I want to walk… with you.”
It doesn’t matter that we’re hours away from the sunrise.
When water dances upon my ankles, reality sets in.
The Atlantic separates me from the life I lived not even a whole day ago. Madrid is there. Reykjavik. Victoria, Isaac, that frigid complex of people as scarred as I am. Returning to New York felt impossible, yet I'm here, walking on the beach with the man who sacrificed everything to free me from this place.
Xavier is quiet, his thoughts visibly inward as he hovers a few steps back.
There is so much to say.
Neither of us seems to be able to start.
He knows nothing.
