Good Girl Complex(Avalon Bay #1)(107)

What the fuck am I doing here?

My eye twitches. It’s been doing that for two days. Alana told me she’d shown Mac the post I’d written, but wouldn’t elaborate much on her reaction, except to say she didn’t chuck the phone into the street. It’s been an hour since the time I’d asked to meet, though, and with each passing second my hope evaporates. Somehow, I’d gotten into my head this plan was foolproof. Mac would see my sincerity and thoughtfulness, and of course she’d forgive me.

This was a stupid plan. Why did I think pouring my heart out on a website she built to drag dumbasses like me would be romantic? I’m a joke. Maybe if I’d gone after her that night at the party, I wouldn’t be standing here with the seagulls, which are circling as if they’re mobilizing for an assault. I kick a mound of sand in the air to remind them of their place in the food chain.

Seven fifteen.

She’s not coming.

Maybe I shouldn’t have expected to win her over with one grand gesture, but I never thought she’d blow me off entirely. It knocks the wind out of me like a punch right to the center of my chest. The boardwalk lights flicker on as the sun dips behind the town.

She’s really not coming.

Accepting my fate, I slowly turn back toward the way I came, and that’s when I see a lone figure walking toward me.

I careen into a full-blown panic at the sight of Mac approaching. She’s only ten yards away now. Five. She looks stunning, her tall, slender body wrapped up in an ankle-length blue dress with a low V neckline. I haven’t forgotten a single freckle or the way her eyes have little flecks of blue in their green depths. The crease of her lips when she says my name. Seeing her again, though, it’s wiping the dust off the window.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” I tell her, trying to keep my composure. I got her here. Last thing I want to do is scare her off, even if every ounce of me wants to hold her one more time.

“I almost didn’t.”

She comes to a stop, keeping a few feet of distance between us. Those three feet feel insurmountable. It’s strange how I can read her less now than the first time we met. She’s impenetrable. Not giving anything away.

Too much time passes where I’m lost, remembering what it was like to feel her hair between my fingers, and she gets impatient.

“So …what’s up?” she asks.

For days, all I’ve done is rehearse how I’d do this. Now I’m here and everything I’d planned to say sounds like some corny bullshit. I’m dying here.

“Look, the truth is I’m gonna be bad at this no matter how I say it, so I’m just gonna say it.” I take a deep breath. Now or never, asshole. “I’ve regretted every day I was too chickenshit to tell you the truth. I was selfish and stupid, and you have every right to hate me. I’ve had nothing but time to think about how to convince you I’m sorry and why you should take me back. Honestly, I don’t have a good reason.”

Mac looks away, and I know I’m losing her because this is all coming out wrong, but I can’t seem to stop the words from tearing out of my mouth.

“What I mean to say is, I know what I did was wrong. I know I destroyed your trust in me. That I betrayed you. I was careless with something very precious. But, damn it, Mac, I’m so in love with you and it’s killing me that you’re still out here, out of reach, when I know in my soul I can make you happy again if you let me. I’ve been a bastard and want you to love me back anyway. It’s not fair. I should have to suffer for how I hurt you. I fucking am suffering. But I’m begging you to put me out of my misery. I don’t know how to be without you anymore.”

I’m out of breath by the time my jaw snaps shut, the delayed message finally making its way to my brain, saying Shut the hell up. Mac wipes at her eyes and I have to lock myself down to stop from reaching for her. Seconds pass as I wait for her to respond. Then the cold, dead silence when she doesn’t.

“I want to show you something,” I blurt out when I sense she’s ready to bail. “Will you take a walk with me?”

She doesn’t budge. “What is it?”

“It’s not far. Please. It’ll only take a minute.”

She ponders my offer for almost longer than my nerves can tolerate. Then her head jerks in agreement.

I hold my hand out for hers. Instead, she walks ahead of me.

We go a little ways down the beach, where I coax her up to the boardwalk in front of her hotel. It’s still a gutted shell, though the debris has been hauled away. On what’s left of the veranda, two matching rocking chairs sit looking out on the water. Flickering candles line the railing.

Mac’s breath hitches. Slowly, she turns to meet my earnest gaze. “What’s this?” she whispers.

“First time you brought me here, you told me that you pictured guests sitting out here in rocking chairs, sipping wine, watching the waves roll in.”

She looks up at me with the thousands of tiny lights of the boardwalk shining in her eyes. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

“I remember every word you’ve ever said to me.”

Her gaze returns to the veranda. I can feel her softening, the stiffness of her body melting away.

“Mac, when I picture my future, I see myself old and gray, sitting in a rocking chair on a porch. With you beside me. That’s my dream.”