You Were Mine (Rosemary Beach #9)(50)

I’d thrown a chair across the room at the cheap hotel I’d been staying at and shattered it. Then I’d put my hand through the Sheetrock before falling to my knees and sobbing. My next step had been to drink. I’d had to numb the pain. Bethy wouldn’t want me to come back and get her, like I planned. I’d destroyed her. I’d destroyed me. I couldn’t face her.

But never had I blamed her. She’d been so young and scared. Her father was hardly ever home, and she worked a job to help pay the bills. I hadn’t been listening to voice mails, afraid to hear what my parents had to say. As a result, I’d ruined my life.

I needed to tell her the truth about why I left. Now.

“Bethy, if I had stayed here, my parents would have sent me to Yale. I would have spent more than four years there. On holidays, they would have made me go with my family to Boston. Then the summers would’ve been spent at the law firm in Manhattan. My days at Rosemary Beach were over.

“So I had to run. If I ran away and found a way to become independent from them, then they wouldn’t have any power over me, and I could come back and see you. Then, when you turned eighteen, you could come with me. That was the only answer I could find. I didn’t want to lose you.”

I watched her face as she listened to me. I had tried to explain this to her so many times. But this time, she was listening to me. Finally.

“As for the pregnancy, I wasn’t using the phone my parents paid for. I left that behind. I was saving money to get my own. I was going to call you as soon as I had it. But I was worried about you, and after a month, I used a phone in my hotel room to listen to my voice mail. That was when I got all your messages. My world fell apart in that room.”

Bethy let out a sad laugh and shook her head. “We were so young then. Do you even remember those kids? I forgot how it felt to be them that summer.”

I hadn’t. “We may have been kids, but what I felt for you was real. It never changed or faded. Not once.”

We sat there, neither of us speaking, as the sound of the cars on the street and the neighbor’s music above us filled the silence between us.

I watched her, and she stared off at the wall, lost in thought. So much had changed since that summer when she’d walked into my life and lit it up.

“What I said when we were on the island—I was wrong,” she said, swinging her gaze back to me. “I was terrified because I had done the things we had done and not once felt guilty about it. I hated myself for not feeling guilty. But I do want to live my life. Walking through it numbly is lonely, and you’re right, Jace wanted me to live.” She paused and closed her eyes tightly. “I think, that is, if you want to, I think I’d like us to see each other more. Not exclusively, just casual. Maybe. If that would be something you would want to do.”

Not exclusive? Fuck. I controlled my reaction and kept my expression neutral. She was offering me an olive branch, or at least a very small twig, but it was something. It was better than what we had right now. “Yeah, I’d like that,” I replied.

She smiled, and the relief in her eyes made everything worth it. “Really?” she asked, as if I was going to change my mind.

“Absolutely.”

She looked around awkwardly with a silly grin on her face, then glanced back at me, unsure. “Is it OK if I . . . hug you?”

I held my arms open. “Come here,” I told her, and she waited a split second before she wrapped her arms around me.

I inhaled and held on. Dipping my head down, I ran my nose up her neck and grinned as she shivered.

I wasn’t her number one, but that didn’t change the fact that she was mine.

Bethy

If a guy were to order takeout and rent a movie, would you be interested in joining him?

I grinned down at the text message. Since our talk the other night, Tripp had sent me a couple of random texts but nothing else. I hadn’t been sure if he was busy or if he was just testing the waters. This text cleared the air a bit.

I put the golf cart into park so I could respond.

Depends on the guy asking. I have standards.

After I pressed Send, I tucked my phone into my shorts pocket and jumped down to unload the leftover stock. My shift was at an end, and the sun was setting, so the course was closed. The last group had just finished up.

When my phone vibrated, I quickly pulled it back out.

He’s tall, extremely good-looking, great smile, knows you like the chicken fettuccine alfredo at Gambino’s, and intends to have that and a glass of white wine waiting for you when you get to his place.

I laughed out loud, then looked around to make sure no one saw me smiling like a loon at my phone.

Sold, I typed. I’d go anywhere for that fettuccine.

His response was fast.

Score. See you at seven?

I replied: OK.

I tucked my phone back into my pocket and got to work. I needed a shower and a change of clothes before I went over there. I smelled like suntan oil and sweat. Not to mention the beer that had spewed all over me earlier. Occupational hazard of working as a drink-cart girl.

I managed to get everything unloaded in record time and get out of there without Aunt Darla asking where I was off to. She didn’t approve of Tripp, and although she was holding something against him that happened years ago, I wasn’t sure she would let that go. I would deal with her when I had time.

I made it to my apartment, took a shower, and changed into a pair of leggings and a top that hung off one shoulder. It was comfortable and cute. I didn’t want to dress up to watch a movie at his house. That seemed like I was trying too hard.