“He paid a visit to Vincent too. Don’t worry. I went with him to make sure everything stayed in a safe zone. Last thing we need is our guy in jail. Bad for the reputation, ya know? For the record, Vincent didn’t pull any tricks. He was honest. Crazy, right? Told Nathan after he ran into you at the club he came to your house in hopes for something to help get his ex-girlfriend off his mind, but you were pretty smitten with your boyfriend. I’m quoting that. Who the fuck uses smitten? Anyway, he told Nathan that he let the qualm go years ago. It was a waste of energy.”
“That’s good,” my voice wavers slightly. “Hopefully as he moves forward he can put trust into someone and fall in love. He deserves happiness.”
“I agree. So do I tell him you and your friends will take the trip?”
“I’ll get back with you in a few hours,” I say.
“Sure,” he says and hangs up.
I throw myself back on the bed. All I want to do is heal, get over Nathan, hate him! But everywhere I turn, he makes sure I can’t. It’s not fair.
* * *
Shyla’s here when I finally come out into the living room. I needed to get my cry out, get rid of the pain, even if it was for five minutes.
“So. Are we taking the beach trip?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
Aimee springs to her feet, ready to present her case. “You listen here.” She jams a finger my way. “We are recently single. I haven’t been laid in months. We need to mend our hearts and what better way than seeing some hotties with some bodies. You’re going on this trip because beach therapy is the best thing for a broken heart. Sand between our toes. Drinks in our hands. And hot guys for us since Shyla is a bitch with a fiancé.”
Shyla giggles. “I need to make sure with Brady that he doesn’t care if I go. I don’t think he would, but because of the two of you, I’ve been gone a lot. I don’t want to ride the single life boat with you two.”
Aimee sucks in a breath, spinning toward her. “I’ll have you know our boat is awesome.” She flings back to me. “You text Cody and tell him we’re going. You need this too, Brooklyn.”
Beach. Peace. Quiet. Away from reality. It all sounds really good. Except for one minor detail. “I don’t want to stay in a hotel that will constantly remind me of him.”
Shyla’s lips turn down apologetically.
“We will stay busy. If I can stay in the same house William and I made a home, you can do a resort that you’ll make memories in with us. It’s a vacation we all need. Shyla because she’s been dealing with us. Me because my ex-boyfriend is a whore. And you because you need to get your mind off an asshole.”
She’s right.
Me: We’ll go. Send all the information so we can be prepared.
Cody: Will do.
Me: Why is he doing this?
Cody: Presumably his way of apologizing and letting go. You’d have to ask him.
Yeah. That’s not happening. I’ll just go with Cody’s reasoning because the last thing I need or want to do is talk to the man who accused me of being paid off.
Screw that.
THIRTY
Our oceanfront hotel is beautiful and right on the boardwalk. Cody said Nathan changed the room from the penthouse to a two-bedroom executive suite on the nineteenth floor and I’m glad he did. Although the beauty of the place reminds me of him, I think being in a penthouse would devastate me more than I already am. There are two rooms, both with king-sized beds—that evoke memories of being in Nathan’s arms—and a balcony that overlooks the shore.
Knowing that the design, both interior and exterior, had to be approved by him…this is a lot to try and look past. Everything has Nathan’s touch, and then there’s the floor-to-ceiling windows that remind me of his home.
“I don’t know what I want to do first,” Aimee says coming in behind me as I stare blankly at the bed. “Beach, shop, bath, pool. The options are endless and our days are numbered,” she whines throwing herself backward on the bed. “This place is beautiful.”
I blink. “Yeah,” I whisper.
“You okay?” Shyla asks, stepping up beside me.
“Yep!” I fake my cheerfulness and set my bag on the tan chaise lounger. “We should grab something to eat.”
Shyla eyes me skeptically, but lets it go as she sits on the edge of the bed. Shyla gave us the rooms and took the couch because, honestly, the couch looks enticing too.
“Yes! That’s a grand idea,” Aimee says, springing up. “That bagel I ate before getting on the plane has worn off. I’m starving.”
“I say we find a pub. Nothing fancy. Drink and eat, and then walk on the beach,” Shyla suggests.
And that’s exactly what we do. About two blocks away is a little hamburger joint that has an open patio looking over the beach. We watch people enjoying their day as we sit in the shade, drinking our margaritas and enjoying our food.
* * *
We stayed on the beach with our toes in the sand for a few hours before moving to the pool. Today has been relaxing. Aimee was completely right—don’t tell her that. Once we got out and about, thinking of Nathan came less and less until we made it back to the hotel and I was left to drown in my thoughts again.
Not ready to shower yet, I change, grab my e-reader, and make myself comfortable outside on the balcony in the silence. Except I can’t concentrate.
Me: Thank you.
Two simple words hold so many different emotions attached to them. Heartache, happiness, appreciation, and sorrow. Our chemistry was intense, our flame bright. I would say our future could’ve held something great, but I can’t. He never trusted me.
Nathan: You’re welcome. I hope you girls enjoy.
Warm tears begin stinging my eyes. Accepting we’re over, even when I called it done, has been difficult. Love freaking sucks.
Nathan: Make sure you go to Newman’s. They have the best food around. And just down the street is a chocolate factory.
Me: I see Shyla buying out a chocolate factory in my near future.
He doesn’t respond immediately. With this trip I’ve slipped into a relapse, wishing everything was different although I know nothing could be the same. This trip. This hotel. It’s all him.
Nathan: I’m sorry for the way things turned out.
Me: Yeah. Me too.
Nathan: Have a good weekend, Brooklyn.
Wiping away the tears that have slipped down my cheek, I don’t respond and tuck my phone under my leg.
Yeah. Love definitely sucks.
THIRTY-ONE
Turns out, Aimee is just as excited about the chocolate factory as Shyla. Who knew? When I told them about it, they immediately looked it up online and found out they give tours. Of course, we’re booked on one because it’s chocolate and who the hell can deny the power of it?
“We’re going to be late,” Aimee glances to her phone.
“We have an hour,” I reply.
She looks at me with disappointed disgust. “We don’t know what’s between here and there that could catch our attention. What if there’s a souvenir shop that sells dildos?”