Was I supposed to believe in real love? The only people I’d ever seen who had found lasting love were my parents. And they were so odd, so strange. I was certain no one else would ever, could ever make a fit that perfect. Not me, for sure.
I should believe in love, now. I’d seen April and Lissie find love, even Matthew and Maya, another one scarred by their awful father. And their mother was happy now, too. I should believe it could happen.
But I didn’t. Not for me.
Love brought pain and heartache and loneliness and loss. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t be the one to break Jack’s heart when this thing between us finally imploded. I already knew how mean I could be to him. I couldn’t take his tender heart, already broken over his past and finally healed, and risk it again. He might not survive. I might not survive hurting him.
The night was growing soft as dawn light came in the windows.
Our weekend was at an end. The plane would take us home in the morning. I had been forever changed, but this time spent together? This would stay here, on this island, in this hotel suite, and we would go back to our lives in Brooklyn. He and I? We’d return to our friendly enemy status. He’d call me hippie girl, and I’d call him jackass. We’d tease and rib each other but know, deep down, that we cared.
It would be good. It would be better.
It would be safer. No one would get hurt.
I eased out of the bed and went to take a shower. I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I packed up my things and got dressed, putting on my yoga clothes.
I went out to the deck, under the Caribbean dawn, with the scent of sea and flowers in the cool morning air, and I worked through my yoga routine. I worked hard and precise, looking to find meaning in the familiar and comforting motions.
When I was done, I was calm. Centered. I settled into my meditation and fell deep into beingness.
“When I woke up, you weren’t in bed with me. I thought you were gone,” Jack said, standing in the door to the deck some time later. The sun was bright. Another perfect day.
I let my breath go and stood. I was calm. I was centered. “No, I just needed to do my yoga practice. It’s been quite the weekend.”
“Are you okay?” He looked concerned.
I smiled, brightly. Calm. Centered. “I’m brilliant.” I went up to him and kissed him, soft and gentle. Loving. He pulled back, puzzled. I rubbed his neck. “Shall I call for breakfast while you pack your things to leave? We should probably get to the airport soon.”
His mouth fell open, then closed. “Yes, okay.”
So, that’s what he did. And that’s what I did, and when we ate, I kept the conversation light and happy. And I kissed him. I kissed him as much as I could because what happened in The Virgin Islands stayed in The Virgin Islands, and I was going to taste the last little bit of his kisses that I could before we got onto that plane and went home.
He was my heart, and I couldn’t let him go until the last minute, so I clung to him until the very moment that the plane took off. No longer on the Island. And then, I pulled back, suddenly bereft and exhausted, and closed my eyes, pretending to sleep until I did actually sleep.
When we landed in Brooklyn, I tried to remember who we had once been to each other. Before. I was hippie girl and he was jackass. I tried to maintain the level of cutting wit and dry humor. I didn’t kiss him anymore. I didn’t hold onto him the way I wanted. I laughed and joked. I wasn’t sure if I got it right, but when he dropped me in front of my apartment, I leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, short and impersonal.
“Thanks for the trip, Jack. It was great. I guess favors for you don’t have to be painful.” I saw the hurt flash through his eyes, but I didn’t let it sink in to me. Not yet. I couldn’t let him see how deeply I felt about him. “See you around,” I said and slipped from the car, grabbing my bag before he had a chance to get it from the trunk for me, and then, I ran up the stairs to my apartment and unlocked the door and pushed inside, finally.
I avoided looking back to see his pain, although I could feel it from where I was, as if there had been a string tied between our two hearts, and his hurt traveled along it to mine. And oh, how it hurt.
I made it halfway up the flight of stairs to my apartment before I collapsed on them, folded my head into my crossed arms, and sobbed.
Chapter Fourteen: Jack
A week later, I stormed into Duke’s bar. The door made a satisfying bang as I slammed it closed.
“Hey!” Duke yelled from behind the bar. “Don’t break my bar, jackass.”
I didn’t apologize. I glared at Duke, pointing with one accusatory finger. I couldn’t find words, I was so enraged. I stalked up to the bar.
“What did I do?” Duke looked completely baffled. “I’ve been on my best behavior, ask Lissie.”
“Not you!” I spat. “Your sister-in-law.”
Duke just looked confused then. “What the hell did April do? I thought you were getting along great with your sister.”
“Not that one. The other one.”
Duke rolled his eyes and turned around to pour me my favorite whiskey. When he placed it in front of me, he said. “You know I don’t have any other sisters-in-law.” He counted on his fingers then held up his pointer. One finger. “Nope, just April. But technically, you’re my brother-in-law. Well, by marriage. Step brother-in-law?”
“You know I don’t mean April.”
“You mean Mona then? Nope.” He shook his head. “I am not related to her at all. Not even by marriage twice removed. Not even a hint of sorta related to her like this family always gets up to. No secret families or new marriages or elopements.” He cocked his eyebrow. “Unless . . .”
“Unless, what?” I took a big gulp of whiskey. It wasn’t strong enough. I drank a bigger gulp.
“Unless you wanted to make her my sister-in-law by marrying her. Stepsister-in-law to be more accurate.”
The whiskey burned down my throat before it settled hot in my stomach. A litany of swears broke from my lips.
“Well, that’s an interesting reaction.” He acted like he wasn’t that interested in the details, wiping at a bar that was already clean, but I knew he loved knowing what was happening. He was a gossip.
“Stop fishing.”
“Hmm. That drink went down pretty fast. Do you need another one, or . . .” he left it hanging.
“Or what, damn you?”
“Or do you need to talk to someone about what is obviously getting you all worked up.”
“Another one.”
He made a face like he’d thought I wanted the other choice, but he got the bottle and filled me up again. I took an angry swallow.
“It’s Mona.”
He raised his eyebrows. He’d already figured that part out.
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“Bartender’s oath.”
“There is no bartender’s oath.”
He shrugged and wiped at the bar again. I nearly snatched the bar rag from his hand and threw it in his smug face.
“Dammit. Mona and I, we . . .have something.” I swore. “Had something. When she did that favor for me, was my date for that work weekend, we . . .”