Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
dexter
I’m hollowed by guilt.
After disappearing from the medical center, I sat in my truck, rotting in shame. Forty-three minutes later, Florence and her mom emerged. Florence’s dejected expression sliced me down the middle. I watched them drive away, desperate to follow. Anywhere but with me is the safest option.
Megan drove my truck here and got Nico to pick her up. Though the ringing in my ears had subsided, I didn’t have the energy to turn the key in the ignition, let alone make the twenty-minute drive back to town.
But I had to. This was the bed I’d made for myself, and once back at the cabin, I laid in it, alone and as far away from her side as possible.
Sleep doesn’t come, and hours later, I stare at her pillow with a cavern in my chest.
In my thirty-five years on this Earth, my emotions have never been so out of control. My mind goes in circles, spiraling deeper the longer I lay here.
The number one question: what’s best for Florence?
Texting her is the last thing I should do, but as usual, my judgment is skewed when it comes to her.
Dex: How’s your arm?
It’s almost midnight, so her immediate response surprises me.
Florence: It’s fine. I’m staying at Jo’s tonight with the girls.
Dex: Will you be home tomorrow?
Florence: At the A-frame, yes.
I swallow my indignation.
Dex: My parents arrive in the afternoon. I can set them up in the main house.
Florence: Don’t do that. I’ll stay in one of the guest rooms.
Dex: Can I call you?
I wait for what seems an eternity for her reply.
Florence: No. I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s late. I’m going to get some sleep.
Dex: Good night.
There’s no response after that.
She’s with the girls.
She’s safe.
She deserves better.
The next day, I throw myself into work. For once, Florence listens and doesn’t show. Tonight, however, there’s no avoiding her. It’s Jo and Pat’s rehearsal dinner. After clocking off early, I run errands for the bride and groom until it’s time to get showered and changed for the evening.
The group chat has been blowing up all day. Florence was pretty silent, sending the odd emoji or thumbs up. I missed her jifs—or gifs, whatever she called them. I still had no clue what they were or where to find them, but I fucking missed them.
I missed her, despite having no right to.
After my shower, I come back to find a long thread of instructions from the maid of honor, the latest regarding this evening’s dress code.
Harriet: T-minus two hours. Don’t be late, or I will hurt you. As per the bride and groom’s request, anyone not dressed appropriately will be turned away. This is a rehearsal dinner. Rehearse being fancy. No knitted sweaters, bike shorts, or flannel.
Harriet: You know who you are.
Graham: I’d like to appeal.
Booth: Rude. Who signed off on this?
Johanna: Me.
Patrick: And me.
Aly: Definitely me. Point two specifically.
Quinn: Everyone is going to look fantastic!
An hour later, my hands shake as I secure the top button on my shirt. It’s either withdrawal from not seeing her or nerves that I’m about to. I scrutinize my hearing aid in the ceramic dish on my dresser.
My phone vibrates in my pocket—this time not from the group chat.
Harriet: Presuming you and Flo are riding together?
I frown at the message.
I’m not sure what Florence revealed to the girls, but if I hazard a guess, they know everything and are pissed.
Aly’s death stare from earlier and the lukewarm coffee Quinn served me told me that much.
Jo remained pragmatic, and Patrick hasn’t uttered a word.
He’s either silently plotting my demise or completely unaware.
Dexter: She’s at her mom’s.
Harriet: False. She’s next door. I dropped her off an hour ago.
My head snaps to the window in my bedroom overlooking the driveway, with a direct view of the A-frame. The sun hangs high in the sky, and with no lights on, it’s difficult to tell if she’s inside—until I spy the goats lounging on the small porch.
She’s here.
Dex: She’s riding with me.
Harriet: That’s what I thought. Tell her she looks pretty.
I’ve slept, look, and feel like shit, yet knowing Florence is the closest she’s been in twenty-four hours stokes a fire in me. With a silent prayer, I fit my hearing aid and head outside.
Our doors open at the same time.
It’s been raining on and off all day, but when I step onto my porch, the sun is shining.
Not from the sky.
It stands across the yard, draped in a periwinkle silk dress and stealing the breath from my lungs.
Florence descends the stairs carefully. The glossy material floats around her ankles in the evening breeze, and her yellow Chucks poke out from underneath the hem, making me smile.
There’s a slight wave to her silver-blonde locks, a light dusting of makeup on her cheeks and eyes.
Other than that, she’s all freckles, sun-kissed skin, and unfiltered beauty.
Her dress snags on a plank, jerking her back. I’m there in a heartbeat.
“Let me,” I rasp.
Her eyes widen when I kneel on the step below.
I reach behind her and release the material from the nail poking out of the wood. “I’ll fix that.”
My heart ping-pongs in my chest as her perfume invades my senses. Despite my better judgment, my hand falls to the back of her calf. It’s like a hit, her silky skin enough to get me through the evening but not enough to feed the hunger.
She swallows, staring down at me. Her fingers twist together, spinning the dainty ring.
“Dex, stand up. Your pants will get dirty.” That’s the first thing she says to me. Her voice is steely, shoulders rolled back, so unlike my girl. My doing.
It sickens me she’s pulling away—because I did. I’m torn down the middle of wanting to pull her into my arms and telling her to run, to save herself from a future of disappointment or heartbreak.
I don’t budge. “Harriet told me to say you look pretty.”
Her lips corkscrew. “Okay…”
“You’re not.”
She blanches.
“You’re a vision, Florence. I couldn’t look away if I tried. Wherever you go, my eyes follow. So fucking beautiful, it hurts.” I squeeze her calf. “Pretty doesn’t cut it.”
“Dex,” she whispers, eyes sparkling.
“Can we—”
“We’re going to be late,” she cuts me off.
The sparkle extinguishes. She escapes down the stairs, leaving me on my knees.
Dragging my feet over the gravel, I meet her beside my truck.
“Do you want to drive?” I ask tentatively.
“No, thanks.”
Our gazes lock across the bench, and though I don’t want to, I look away, readying myself for the painful twenty-minute drive to the bar. This isn’t us, treading on eggshells and chatting politely.
Five minutes into the ride, the air is stagnant.
“Do you want the radio on?” I say, filling the silence as I glance over at her.
“It’s okay.” Her eyes dance over the horizon.
Flashes of cerulean blue break through forest green, the bay peeking through the tree line. There are only a handful of cars outside Shirley’s. I cut the engine, and before I can speak, Florence steps out of the truck.
I scramble out of my seat, not bothering to shut my door before I’m striding after her.
“Florence,” I shout.
Her pace increases, sneakers scuffing over the gravel. My next move is sadistic, but I’ve always lacked self-control around Florence. I circle her arm and spin her to face me. Whatever argument she had primed disappears when I smash our mouths together, needing one last taste.
It’s brief, beautiful, and brutal.
She shoves at my chest, but I only give her an inch.
“No! You don’t get to kiss me.” Her body shakes, nails digging into my forearms.
Despite her anger and fire filled eyes, she doesn’t step away. The toes of our shoes come head-to-head.
“I can’t do this, Dex.” She jabs at my chest. “You push and pull until I’m left disorientated and my heart bruised.”
Her expression wrecks me. “Come back inside, Little Sadler.”
That nickname—one I’ve used for years—flips a switch.
“Don’t call me that!” she shouts.
Shocked, I release her, mouth working around my words. “I didn’t know it bothered you.”
“It didn’t until you started calling me Trouble and baby and making me think—think this was more.” She sniffles. “I deserve better than this. You said it yourself.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” My booming voice bounces off the brick building.
“It’s what I’ve told myself over and over for months.
You deserve flowers, a whole field full.
You deserve the happy ending and everything that comes before that.
I want to be the one to give you that—” I swallow, staring out at the blueberry fields. “But I can’t.”
“Dex, you already are that man. Or were.” Anguish mars her beautiful face.
“You’re also a vault, and I’m beginning to think you’re never going to let me in.
The more you keep from me, the more my mind gets carried away, thinking the worst.” Tears shine in her eyes.
My heart splinters. “You left me at the hospital.”
“Florence.” I go to pull her into me, but she shuffles away. “You had your mom. I did what I thought was best for you. I wasn’t in any fit state to look after you.”
“Why does everyone think they know what’s best for me?” She points a finger at me. “I didn’t need you to look after me. I just needed you next to me, and you ran. You keep running. You won’t tell Patrick. I’m giving everything and only getting a grain of sand in return.”
My head falls forward.
“I’ve waited, Dex, and it’s time you decide what you want,” she whispers, her words tight, a lot like the fist squeezing my heart. She forces a watery smile and smooths out her dress. “This weekend isn’t for that, though. It’s for Pat and Jo.”
With a tired smile, she steps inside the bar, leaving me petrified, a stone statue, as if I’ve stared into the eyes of Medusa. Every nerve ending screams at me to go after her, yet I stand here, paralyzed by her ultimatum and my inability to tell her exactly what I fear.
Once my emotions are wrangled, I join the party. Watching her greet her family, I notice her hand covering the inside of her forearm or keeping it turned inward—hiding her tattoo.
It unlocks a new fear, one so terrifying, I’m not sure I’d survive if it came true.
Losing Florence is my new nightmare, and right now, she’s slipping through my fingers.