Beautiful Terror (Burn It All Down Duet #2)

35. I Woke Up Like This

CHAPTER 35

I WOKE UP LIKE THIS

MARGAUX

T immy insists on accompanying me to meet my high school friend and her wife, promising he’ll be on his best behavior.

I’m hesitant. “If you do anything to ruin their trip, I will make it my life’s mission to destroy you,” I say. And I’m serious. It might sound dramatic, but if he creates a scene or makes them uncomfortable in any way, I’ll never forgive myself.

“I promise,” he says, gazing deep into my eyes. “I wouldn’t fuck anything up for your friends. I promise I won’t drink too much, and everything will be fine. We’ll have fun.”

After much deliberation and a few days of well-behaved Timmy, I agree that he can come with me. I sigh. “Okay, but I’m warning you.”

He nods. “I understand. You can count on me.”

I book us a hotel right in the middle of downtown so we can stay the night rather than worrying about making the long trip back to the other side of the Cay.

Timmy dresses nicely to meet my friends, even making an effort to put on a collared shirt and jeans.

We meet them at a rooftop bar where we enjoy mai tais and seafood appetizers while reminiscing about high school and their Vegas wedding.

Timmy follows through on his promises, at least for the time being, entertaining them with funny stories about life in the Cay and what it was like growing up here. He’s charming and funny, and my friend’s wife banters with him. We’re all in stitches several times.

Later, we visit a nearby hotel and have fun playing pool. We drink hard seltzers and Fireball from the convenience store located in the lobby.

Timmy starts to get a little weird, telling me he thinks my friends are sexy, but it all seems to be in good fun.

Later in the evening, we say our goodbyes and agree to meet up the following day.

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” I say to Timmy, taking him by the hand.

We start walking, but then Timmy’s mood shifts without warning.

“You don’t have to be such a fucking bitch,” he says out of nowhere.

“What are you talking about? I thought we were having a nice evening,” I reply, beyond confused.

“Well, you always want to end the evening early. You’re so controlling.”

“What would you like to do instead?” I ask. Sure, the evening has run its course and I’m getting tired, and neither of us certainly needs any more to drink. But if he really wants to go to one more place, I guess I’d be down.

By now, we’re at the neighboring hotel—another sprawling resort—this one painted an iconic purple color.

“Fuck you!” he yells at me.

He storms off, leaving me outside the hotel.

Confused and tired, I take a seat on the edge of the landscaped garden in the hotel’s sprawling driveway. I’m anticipating he just needs to let off some steam and he’ll return and collect me.

But he never does.

I wake up, and I’m sprawled in the garden of one of the fanciest hotels in the Cay, the one where Timmy left me.

It’s still dark out, and the nearby porté-cochere is a hive of activity with the valet team picking up and depositing vehicles for arriving and departing guests.

I’m so confused, and then I remember I was waiting here for Timmy. I must have fallen asleep.

Mortified, heat rushing to my cheeks, I stand up and dust myself off.

A lady sees me and walks over. “Are you okay?” she asks, her Kiwi accent unmistakable.

“Uh yeah,” I say. “I think so.” My cheeks flame hotter.

“Why were you lying in the plants?”

I’m so embarrassed.

I play it off casually. “Oh, I had a little argument with my fiancé and I was waiting for him to come back. I must have fallen asleep.”

“Do you need help getting anywhere?” she asks, the concern in her tone palpable.

“No no. Thank you though,” I say quickly. “I’ll order an Uber. My hotel is just down the street.”

She nods, her expression gentle, her hand on my arm.

“Okay then. Take care,” she says, as I climb into the Uber and head to our hotel.

When I get there, Timmy is nowhere to be seen.

I call him, and he doesn’t answer.

I text him:

Me:

Timmy. Answer your fucking phone.

Where are you?

About five minutes go by, and then my phone buzzes.

Timmy:

Sorry. I went to sleep in the truck.

I was mad at you.

You hurt my feelings.

For fuck’s sake.

Me:

I woke up in the fucking plants at the hotel where I was waiting for you. The place you stormed off from.

Timmy:

Sorry, sorry. I’ll be right there.

He comes back, slightly sheepish.

After a while, he speaks up. “I went to Romeo’s club,” he says, a cruel glint in his eye.

“No you didn’t,” I respond, calling him out. “There’s no way…”

He looks down. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just messing with you.”

The rest of the early hours of the morning are uneventful.

The next morning, I text my friends and tell them a little of what happened, without going into too much detail.

As I’m getting ready, Timmy pulls me to him, where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.

He looks into my eyes. “Margaux, I’m so sorry,” he says, his tone soft. “I know I’ve been fucking up lately. It wasn’t right to leave you alone at the hotel. I’m sorry. I really mean it, I’m going to do better. I’ll follow through on all the things I’ve promised—I’ll be consistent with my therapy, I’ll get my medication adjusted. And I want to cut back on drinking—I really think that will help with everything.”

I hug him back, ever hopeful. But the little voice in the back of my head reminds me: This isn’t the first time you’ve heard him make these promises.

After checking out, we drive over to meet them at a waterfall nestled in a stunning botanical garden in another part of the island.

Timmy seems to have recovered from his tantrum and is in high spirits. His eyes sparkle as he points out a bunch of native plants, and his enthusiasm is contagious.

When we reach the waterfall, my friends are drying off on some nearby steps, the sun casting a golden glow over the scene.

Timmy wastes no time hopping into the water, donning a mandatory life vest, and swimming around with a huge grin on his face.

“What happened last night?” my friend asks, with Timmy well out of earshot.

I fill her in.

Her eyes widen. “Oh my god. You woke up in the plants? He just left you there?”

“Yeah,” I sigh, trying to shrug it off. “He does this kind of shit. I was worried about bringing him, but he was fine until after we left you guys. Then he got upset with me over nothing. I expected him to come back, but he never did.”

She shakes her head. “Wow,” she says, probably unsure of what else to say.

After Timmy is done swimming, we meander our way back through the gardens and check out a cute farmer’s market at the entrance to the facility.

We take a couple of group pictures, and then I hug my friends goodbye and wish them safe travels.

Their visit could have been worse—much worse—if I put it into perspective.

Sure, I would love to not have woken up sprawled in a garden of plants at one of the nicest hotels in Sunset Cay.

I would have loved for Timmy not to have started an argument and slept in his truck for a few hours—if that’s even really where he was.

But nobody was hurt, and most importantly, my friends’ trip wasn’t ruined. That’s the most I can ask for when it comes to him.

With Timmy, I’ve learned to count my blessings—wherever I can find them, and no matter how small they may be.