Chapter 53
“I Hate That It’s True” - Dean Lewis
Pierce
The plane touches down on the private airstrip in Belize, and I feel my heart grow physically lighter.
Palm trees flash past the windows, signaling that we have entered paradise.
We’re here for Heath’s bachelor party, and I plan to let myself go this time.
I can practically taste the margaritas already.
Rhett stands up from his seat, stretches, and claps me on the shoulder. “No thinking about work for the next four days, mate.”
I ignore him and stick my phone in the pocket of my laptop bag. While I have brought my computer, it’s for emergencies only—namely, times I need a distraction even a tropical paradise can’t provide.
What he doesn’t know, which I intend to keep that way, is that work isn’t the biggest threat to us having fun together. That would be a certain five-foot drama queen with black hair, and she’s not even here.
Before the gala, I was doing fine. Okay, fine might be a stretch, but I was surviving, helped along by my mission to bring down Mr. Carrow for what he did to her.
Since the gala, however—since seeing her up close, talking to her, smelling her perfume, fighting with her—my head’s been a fucking circus, and she’s the ringmaster.
I can’t fall asleep without thinking about her.
She invades my dreams, waking me frequently during the night.
She’s there every time I’m grabbing a coffee or taking the elevator or choosing a tie.
I can’t even shower without remembering how it felt to press her against the cool tiles, her skin supple and slick beneath my hands. I need this break like I need oxygen.
“Hey.” Heath stops next to my seat, his thumb tucked beneath the strap of the bag on his shoulder. “You good?”
I force a big grin and stand to join him. “I will be once we locate the booze.”
He gives me a sideways smile before following Rhett and Slate to the door of the plane. “Let’s go then.”
* * *
The next few days pass in a blur of sun, sand, and rum as we celebrate Heath’s upcoming nuptials.
We’re staying at a private island resort, and each villa has its own dock and personal staff.
It’s the perfect place to unwind and let everything plaguing me back home slip away.
Beneath the palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze, it’s almost possible to forget that I’ll be seeing her in just a few days.
Until Rhett brings it up, of course.
“You gonna be okay, seeing Maeve at the wedding?” he asks.
We’re sitting under a cabana on the beach, legs stretched in front of us, a pitcher of margaritas on the table—more tequila than anything else.
Our flight leaves in the morning, and if I’m being honest, I’m not ready to go back.
Work doesn’t hold the same appeal it used to, even if it’s the only thing keeping me afloat right now.
Rhett kicks my foot, reminding me he asked a question, one I’d rather swallow a gallon of seawater than answer. I open my eyes and shoot him a look, not bothering to lift my head from the back of the lounger I’m reclining in.
Heath and Slate’s eyes feel heavy on me, because apparently the entire world wants to know how Pierce and Maeve will handle being in the same room after all this time. None of them know about the gala, it seems.
“Of course I’ll be okay.” I take a sip of my drink, but the ice has all melted, leaving it lukewarm and watered down.
“That’s good.” Rhett nods, but I can tell he’s not about to let it go yet. “It just seemed like maybe there was something between you guys.”
I narrow my gaze. “There is something. It’s called ‘hate.’”
Heath chuckles from the other side of the cabana. “Yeah, okay.”
Pinning him with a look, I say, “What’s your problem?”
He holds up his hands, but his smile hasn’t entirely disappeared. “Nothing, man. I just think you might be a little delusional.”
“What makes you say that?” I keep my tone as cool as possible, but I’m starting to feel uncomfortably hot despite the canvas umbrella over our heads.
Heath shares a glance with Rhett and Slate that makes me shift upright in my chair. “Come on, Pierce,” he says, dangling his hands between his knees. “Anyone can see that the two of you have a vibe.”
My brows bunch together as I look at him, trying to figure out what we did that gave us away. How much do they all know?
Rhett laughs and slaps me on the shoulder. “Relax, mate. It’s cool. Why do you think we came up with the challenge in the first place?”
I toss back the rest of my cocktail and set the glass on the table. “This is fucked up.”
“I think you’re the one who’s fucked up,” Slate says, lifting a beer to his lips. He’s shirtless like the rest of us, but in addition to a set of abs that must have taken years to refine, he’s also sporting a chest covered in tattoos.
Shaking my head, I turn my gaze to where the waves are lapping at the shore. I had been doing so well not thinking about her, but now the memories are crashing back like breakers against rock.
I can still smell her perfume when I close my eyes, still picture the way her face heats when she gets mad, still hear the tiny gasp she makes when I grab her hair.
Something aches in my chest, and I’m starting to regret ever coming on this trip.
I thought it would help me forget, but now the echoes of her are louder than ever.
When she left, I didn’t just lose the woman I loved. I lost my best friend. And being around the rest of our friends has only driven that truth home.
“You like her, don’t you?” Heath’s voice is quiet.
I keep my eyes on the ocean as I consider my reply.
Do I tell them the truth? They already suspect it.
Proving them right won’t change anything, but maybe they can act as a buffer between us at the wedding.
Although with Maeve as the maid of honor and me the best man, I’m not sure there’s anything that can prevent the destruction that’s about to happen.
Taking a deep breath, I pinch the corners of my eyes with my thumb and index finger. “Unfortunately, it’s a lot worse than that.”
“I knew it,” Rhett exclaims. I shoot him a glare, and he coughs to cover his glee but does a piss-poor job of it.
I force the words out before I can change my mind. “I love her.”
“Why is that unfortunate?” Slate asks.
The rest of us give him a look.
“Have you met Maeve?” Rhett says. “God, it’d be like trying to bed a wildcat.”
“Okay, I’m done with this conversation.” I push to my feet, but Rhett yanks on my arm.
“Come on, mate. I was only joking. You have our sympathies.”
I roll my eyes and sink back onto my lounger. “Fuck your sympathy. I’d rather have your beer.”
Slate tosses me a bottle from the cooler next to him. “Have you guys fucked?”
Twisting off the cap, I smirk and shake my head. “Fucking seems to be the only thing we’re good at.”
Rhett whistles, but I ignore him.
“Turns out, I’m not what she wants. So”—I take a long swig—“here’s to forgetting.”
Heath drags a finger through the sand at his feet. “That’s bullshit. You guys would be good together if you both pulled your heads out of your asses long enough.”
“Hear, hear,” Rhett chimes in.
“Try telling her that,” I mutter.
“So she dumped you? We didn’t even know you were together,” Rhett says.
I scratch at the label on my drink. “She didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Fuck,” Heath whispers.
You don’t know the half of it.
“Sounds like she was scared,” Slate says.
“Among a lot of other things.” I lift the bottle to my lips again and take another long swallow. It’s already half-gone, but it’s going to take a lot more than beer to make me forget.
“So what happened?” Heath asks. I imagine him relaying this entire conversation to Walker when we get home tomorrow, and I wonder if Maeve has told her anything about us.
I shrug and realize I’m still carrying a mountain of tension in my shoulders. “The usual. She freaked out and left. Went exclusive with Ansley.” The last of my beer goes down smooth and cold.
Slate hands me another one. “You go after her?”
“Fuck no.” I shake my head and drop the bottle cap in the sand. “I’m not a complete idiot.”
Several beats of silence pass, until I finally scan their faces.
“You think I should have gone after her?” I say, incredulous. “She made me look like a fool.”
Heath runs a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “What if it’s what she wanted?”
I know what he’s doing, but I don’t need him projecting his own relationship onto mine. Maeve and I are not him and Walker. “It doesn’t matter. I’m better off without her anyway.”
“Dude, you’ve been depressed as shit for months,” Rhett says, backhanding my knee. “You should make your move.”
I shake my head. “Love makes you weak, and I’m sick of it.”
Heath coughs, and I realize what I’ve just said may have come off as offensive. We’re here celebrating his upcoming wedding, after all.
“Sorry, mate. I didn’t mean—”
He cuts me off with a wave. “I don’t think it’s love that makes you weak. It’s giving up on the person you love.”
I don’t even bother fighting the frown etching itself onto my forehead. I didn’t give up. I fought like hell.
“How did you feel when you were with her?” Slate asks.
My gaze drops to the white sand as if it can provide the answer to his question. “Good,” I finally say. “Happy.” Like I was on top of the fucking world.
“Like you’re high?” Rhett prompts, and I toss him an annoyed look over my shoulder.
I’ve never taken half the shit he has, so how the hell am I supposed to answer that? “I guess?”
“Does she make you a better version of yourself?” Heath asks.
“What is this, the fucking Spanish Inquisition?” I’m half-joking, because I know they’re just trying to help. “Yeah, she did.” Of course she did.
The memories come, and I’m powerless to stop them. I’m nothing but a small sailboat, caught in a storm too far from shore.
Making her laugh, and the absolute bliss that came with knowing that I was the one who caused it.
Tugging her close to my side and feeling like the luckiest bastard in the world with her on my arm.
Listening to her on the verge of tears and vowing to myself that I’d do anything possible to keep her from ever being hurt again.
Carrying her in my arms, the heat of her body against mine like a slice of heaven on earth.
I never thought I’d experience something like this. I always saw myself in a marriage like my parents’—a mutually beneficial partnership with someone who was little more than an asset. Love was never part of the equation.
But Maeve had to go and fuck it all up. She couldn’t be content with just my body; she had to feed on my heart as well. If I’d been stronger, if I’d kept my feelings out of it—
“Then that’s worth fighting for,” Slate says.
I glance up. I almost forgot I’m not alone. “I did fight.” I was on my fucking knees for that woman, and she still left.
“No, man.” Heath shakes his head. “You pulled back to protect yourself.”
“Fuck you,” I say. “You don’t know what I did.”
“You pulled out of the challenge.” Rhett points his bottle at me. “You let her have it so you wouldn’t have to see her anymore.”
I scoff and kick at the sand. “What should I have done instead, wise one?”
“Stuck around. Showed her what she was missing,” Slate offers.
Maybe they’re right. Who the fuck knows? I thought I was doing the right thing by staying away. I thought it was what she wanted, but maybe a part of me was also trying to keep from getting my heart ripped out again.
“It’s too late anyway. She made her choice.” Tipping my head back, I drain the last of my drink before setting the empty bottle in the sand.
Rhett laughs. “Who, Preston?”
I give him a look that says obviously and catch the fresh beer Slate tosses me.
“They broke up, man,” Rhett says. “You didn’t know?”
The world spins faster as I process this.
“Apparently he proposed, and she turned him down, then broke up with him,” he adds.
Sinking back in my seat, I sip my drink without a word. Maeve isn’t with that bastard anymore? I can’t tell if I’m relieved or pissed by this revelation. She told me they were endgame. I have so many questions, but one screams louder than all the others.
Why the fuck didn’t she come back to me?