He opens his eyes and looks at me.
I freeze.
There’s no denying exactly what I’m in the process of doing—sneaking out without saying a word to him. Being a coward of the highest order. I hold my breath, waiting for him to ask me where I’m going, or maybe tell me to get my ass back to bed. Devan does neither of those things.
He shuts his eyes.
Loss reaches up and slaps me in the face. I suspected my feelings were one-sided, but this just confirms it. He doesn’t want a messy ending, either. He’d rather I slip out of his life, never to be seen again, than to awkwardly let me down easy. That’s a good thing. That’s what I wanted.
So why does it feel like someone wrapped their fist around my throat and is squeezing for everything they’re worth?
Numb, I turn and stumble down the hallway. I stop in front of the desk with the hotel stationary on it, but what could I possibly write that wouldn’t come off as either begging him for more or shitting on what we’ve shared? Except… Did we really share anything at all if this is how it ends?
This is what I wanted.
Maybe, one day, I’ll actually believe it.
Besides, it’s better for both of us if Devan never knows that I feel like I left my heart back in that bedroom with him. He’s too strangely honorable; if he knew, he might try to make things work just to avoid hurting me. I don’t want that. I want to be with someone who chooses me. Not someone who is only in my life because they were thrust there by my parents’ death.
Leaving this hotel suite shouldn’t be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
And yet…
By the time I make it to the street and flag down a cab, my chest feels like I’ve strapped a boulder to it. Too heavy, too tight. Everything hurts in a way that has nothing to do with what Devan did to me last night.
It doesn’t matter. All pain fades with time. Even this. Maybe especially this.
I just need to get my head on straight and realize that I didn’t really fall in love with Devan McGuire. Time will help gain perspective; I’m sure of that. But I don’t want to wait, so I’ll just have to go to the next best thing. Distance.
I stop by my apartment long enough to shower, change, and pack a small bag. I flip through my passport, looking at all the stamps from so many different countries. Surely the solution to these horrible feelings inside me lay in one of them.
But first, I have a stop to make.
Two weeks and three countries later, I have to admit I miscalculated. Nothing helps. Not the cold, not the sun, not the gorgeous locales that have always soothed me in the past. Certainly not the lingering constellation of faint pain on my hips. I don’t even feel like taking pictures for my social media, and I had so many comments asking where I was and if I was okay, I had to write a freaking statement in the notes app and let everyone know I’m taking a short hiatus.
In short, I’m miserable.
How the hell does the loss of a man who wasn’t even in my life to begin with hurt so much? I never realized how much I felt Devan’s silent presence, even if I only saw him one night a year. There was just this belief that if I ever really needed him, he’d be there. I might have learned to fight my own battles, to banish my army of personal demons, but in the moments when my resolve wobbled, Devan was there to ensure no harm came to me.
I don’t have that strange sort of safety net anymore.
Turning twenty-six is going to be a nightmare.
I close my eyes and lean back against the lounge chair. The gentle sound of the waves do nothing to calm me, even though the sun, sand, and ocean have been a foolproof mood-boost every other time in the past.
Without thinking about it, I pick up my phone and check my email. And there it is, right at the top. An email from my attorney letting me know that the trust fund is officially under my control and suggesting we make an appointment to go over everything as soon as possible.
It’s over.
“Of course it’s over.” I almost delete the email, but that’s as childish as hiding under the covers and hoping a thin sheet is enough to protect you from the monsters in the dark. The real world doesn’t care about your fears or hurts. It kicks you in the teeth and then carries on, dragging you behind it whether you’re ready to move on or not. Clinging to the past won’t accomplish a single damn thing but making everything hurt more.
I scroll through my email. There’s one from my therapist, gently checking in after my birthday. I respond to that one, letting her know I’m doing okay and rescheduling my appointment for this week. Again.
I’m not ready to go back to New York.
Which means I need to book a flight. Running never helped me solve anything; something I should have remembered before I ran from Devan that morning. The more time and distance I get from it, the more I wonder if I misread the entire moment. Yes, he didn’t call me back or chase me, but from the comments he made, he’s already very aware of what he perceives as a power imbalance between us. He might not be my guardian anymore, might not be the executor of my trust, but maybe those factors came into his decision to let me go. Maybe he was trying to respect my decision.
Damn it, this is a mess. I’ll never know because I don’t even know where Devan lives. I have his phone number, but it feels
