Chapter 20
twenty
SADIE
As soon as we walk inside, Romy locks the door behind us and keeps the sign flipped to ‘closed’. And then she looks me up and down, taking in the oversized sweatpants and soft t-shirt, not to mention my scrubbed clean face and damp hair.
“And if that isn’t the walk of shame, then I don’t know what is,” she says, her lips twitching. “I need details. And fast.”
My phone vibrates right at that moment. She doesn’t look away as I pull it from my pocket.
Are you okay? Sorry I had to leave early. Had some things to do on the mainland. Did you eat the breakfast I ordered? Any pain anywhere? – Zach.
“Um,” I say, playing for time as I decide how to explain this. “Would you believe me if I say I was up super early this morning?”
“Nope.” She smiles triumphantly. “So who is he?” She blinks. “Or her.” Blinks again. “Or they?”
I open my mouth to deny all of the options, then close it again. The truth is, maybe I need to talk about this. I feel like I’m losing my mind a little bit. Even the message from Zach is a mess, because he disappears then sends me sweet messages?
Is it part of the game, or is it game over?
I don’t know. But he made it clear we would be friends. And I guess friends check on friends, wouldn’t they?
“I don’t even know where to start,” I admit, collapsing onto the stool behind the till. My voice sounds like a half-laugh, half-groan. “You know when something feels too big to talk about out loud? Like if you say it, it’ll sound even crazier than it already does?”
Romy leans on the counter with way too much grace for this time in the morning. “Oh, this sounds juicy. Let’s start with where you spent last night.” She tilts her head, eyes narrowing in on something at my neck. “And that hickey is definitely mouth-shaped. Who does it belong to?”
I touch the skin with gentle fingers. Yep, that’s definitely where he bit me. “Zach Fitzgerald,” I squeak.
For a second she’s dumbstruck. I could relish it, but it doesn’t last long enough.
“No way. Mr. Moody and you?” She shakes her head, like she’s trying to picture it.
“He’s not really moody,” I say, feeling the need to protect him somehow. “More… intense than anything.”
She claps her hands together like a kid watching her favorite show. “Intense? How? Like, good intense or maybe-I-should-call-the-police intense?”
I start to laugh. “Good intense. No need to get law enforcement involved.”
“So what happened? Did you booty call him? I haven’t even seen you two together.”
I twist the string on my hoodie. “It’s um… not that. Not romantic.”
Her brows knit. “But you had sex?”
I nod quickly, my cheeks pinking. “He hunted me.” The words tumble out all at once, and I finally get the satisfaction of seeing Romy completely shocked.
“What?” She leans forward looking at me like she doesn’t know me at all.
“He chased me. In the woods. Then he caught me. Like the book.”
“And you…” She waves her hand back and forth.
“Yes.”
Her mouth drops open. “Jesus. This was not what I was expecting.” She shakes her head, like she’s trying to free the cobwebs. “Okay, let’s backup. You had a primal scene together. He was the hunter, you were the prey?”
“Pretty much,” I say.
“Just like in Hunting of Red. Oh my God.” She almost blushes. “That’s stupidly hot. I need details. Where? How? Tell me everything.”
“If you promise not to use it for a vlog, I will.”
“Girl Scout’s honor,” she taps her fingers to her brow. And although I know for a fact she’s never been a girl scout, I tell her anyway.
About him running after me on the beach. About the way he touched me there. Our later encounters, at the hotel.
And then his offer.
She leans forward, rapt, as I tell her about the dress, the orders, the way I had to leave my keys in the car and run through the woods. How he chased me, caught me.
And what came next as he took me.
Romy exhales like she’s been holding her breath the entire time. “Jesus. He did that all for you. How did you feel?”
I let out a long breath. “It was so good,” I whisper. “Like stupidly amazing. I couldn’t walk afterward. He carried me back to my car, drove me to his place, showered me, fed me, then held me while I slept.”
“This is getting too much, the man knows aftercare.” She sighs, like this is her favorite thing in the world. “That’s it. I’m putting ‘needs to be showered, fed, and held’ on my Tinder profile.” Her eyes meet mine and she smiles. “So when are you seeing him again?”
My stomach tightens. There was no mention of that. Not last night, not in his notes, and definitely not in his messages.
“I don’t know that I am,” I say honestly. “Not like that. He made it clear he doesn’t want a relationship. And I have to respect that.” Because he respected my wishes. Every single step of the way.
I owe him the same courtesy.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Wait. You have life-ruining sex with him, and that’s it? No, that can’t happen. It can’t be nothing more than a one night stand.”
I shake my head, but the tiny sting behind my eyes gives me away. “Maybe it was just a friend helping a friend,” I say. “I had something I wanted, he helped me. Why does it have to be anything more?”
“Because I’ve never seen you with a guy. Not once, and despite many attempts to get you to start dating.” She folds her arms over her chest. “Which tells me you’re not the type to go for a one night stand.”
I guess I’m not.
“When was the last time you had sex? Before this?” she asks.
“Three years,” I admit.
Her mouth drops open again. “Three years? Sadie, that’s a crime against womanhood.
Thank God for Zach. Four words I never thought I’d say.
” She lets out a mouthful of air. “Okay, so this could be good. Like a transition. You’ve reawakened yourself.
Maybe he’s the guy you use to start your libido up. Like a jump start.”
I frown, not liking the sound of that at all. “I didn’t use him.”
She tips her head to the side. “Do you want more from him?” she asks.
The question catches me off guard. I stare at her, trying to find the answer somewhere in my half-empty brain. “I don’t know,” I say finally. “I think I went into it wanting exactly what he offered. Something physical, simple, no promises. But now…”
Romy raises an eyebrow. “Now it doesn’t feel simple?”
“No,” I admit, the word barely a whisper, thinking about the way he took care of me. The way I didn’t feel alone for the first time in forever.
“So what do you want?” Romy says again. It feels like she’s digging so deep it hurts.
I rub my thumb along my chin. “I thought I wanted uncomplicated,” I say quietly. “But it turns out I don’t want that at all.”
Romy leans over the counter, bumping my shoulder with hers. “Welcome to the club.”
I give her a wry smile, though I’m not sure I want to be part of this club. And then I send a message back to Zach, because we’re not playing games anymore.
I’m fine. Thank you for breakfast. And the clothes. And last night. I hope you have a good day. – Sadie
There. A message a friend would send a friend. That’s good isn’t it?
Even if it hurts my heart just a little bit.
ZACH
“It’s not abnormal to experience some level of bright lights and vision loss after physical exertion,” Dr. Rogan says to me. “And sex is physical exertion.”
“But I was rested. The floaters started when I woke up.” And I’m shit scared they’re coming more often.
“There’s still so much we have to learn.
The effects of body chemicals, of the heart, of brain patterns,” he tells me.
“But please try not to worry. It’s not a sign that you’re deteriorating, and it’s certainly not a sign you should refrain from any physical activity, including sex.
Just keep an eye on it, and if things don’t improve, let me know. ”
I nod, feeling sheepish, because when I woke in the middle of the night I was convinced that was it. I was going to go into a downward spiral quickly, because I wanted her too much.
“And I can still drive?” I ask.
“Did you drive here?”
I nod. “My vision cleared up after a bit.” I waited for the floaters to go before I got in the car. “But what if it gets worse while I’m driving?”
He steeples his fingers together, looking at me carefully. “You should still be able to see enough to pull over safely. The visual field tests we’ll run regularly will tell us when it’s time for you to give up.”
Because it will happen. That’s what he’s telling me. Eventually I won’t see clearly enough to drive.
Or work. Or see the face of the woman I can’t stop thinking about.
And truth be told, I’m still thinking about her two hours later as I drive off the ferry and back onto the island. And I take a left instead of a right, because that way takes me past the bookshop.
Fuck, I’m an idiot. She says she was fine. But I was the asshole who let her wake up alone because I’m too fucking proud to let her see me panicking.
Through the window of the shop, I see her laughing with a customer. And my eyesight is still good enough for me to see she’s changed into a pretty green dress.
Laughing, head tipped back, eyes soft, hands flying in the air as she talks.
She looks alive. Electric. Untouched by the war I feel in my chest.
It should feel like relief. Of course she doesn’t need me. I gave her what she wanted. The fear of the hunt, the pleasure of the capture, the aftercare.
My job is over.
So why doesn’t it feel finished? I grip the wheel a little tighter, jaw locked, eyes fixed forward because looking at her again will crack something I’m actively trying to hold together inside of me.
She’s not mine. I made that clear. I made it clear for her own good. I left her alone in my fucking apartment for god’s sake. There’s no clearer message than that.
So why is she laughing while I feel like I can’t breathe?
I spend the rest of the day doing everything I can not to think of her. I run – on the treadmill, because the beach is way too full of her – and then I have a conference call with Larry to go through where he’s at with the investigation.
I even help Autumn when she calls to talk through Sadie’s plan for where each piece of art will go on the Art Trail, which does fucking nothing to help me from forgetting her, but at least I’m distracted by my sister’s constant chatter and need for me to tell her she’s doing good. Which I do.
By night time I’ve run out of distractions. I stare at my bed, hating how empty it looks without a riot of flaming hair and a soft, warm body. I look at the shower and remember how good it felt to clean her all over. And then I grab my keys and phone, knowing I have to get out of here.
So I drive to the only place I feel like I can breathe.
When I pull into an empty space on Main Street, I shake my head at how unhinged this is. The whole town is asleep, or getting there. The ferry is docked for the night, even the Salty Dog is winding down, a few late night drinkers spilling out to make their way home.
And then there’s me, staring up at a window like a lovesick teenager. I don’t even know what I want from this.
Her curtains are closed, but I can see a soft light shining through the gaps in the fabric, something flickering, like she’s watching the television.
I sit there for an hour until the light goes off, and the one in the next room flicks on. The bedroom, I guess. The curtains aren’t closed yet in that room, and when she moves into view it knocks the air out of my lungs like a fist.
Red hair down. A tank barely covering her shoulders. She leans forward, presses her face to the glass, like she’s looking for something.
But she doesn’t see me.
Good. Because if she did, I don’t know who’d break first. All I know is that I shouldn’t be here. I can’t be here.
Yet I can’t stay away.
She steps back, disappears, the curtains finally dragged shut. The knot in my chest stays tight.
I sit another minute, letting the shame mix with desire. Then I drive back to the hotel in silence.