Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
The silence hangs heavy as we trudge back to the house, our unspoken thoughts suffocating the air between us. Each step feels like a betrayal, pulling me away from what I want, from him. But I signed up for this, and I know how it ends.
It’s a simple plan, but my heart’s not on board. I’ll enter through the back door into my bedroom, and Victor will creep through the side entrance a few minutes later. We’ll pretend the beach never happened—that nothing ever sparked between us.
Sadness and anxiety drag me down like quicksand with every step. I’m screaming inside, barely holding it together, wanting to say fuck it all.
Victor’s voice cuts through the tension. “I wish we didn’t have to go back,” he mumbles as we slow to a stop.
“Me either, but someone might be up soon.”
He turns to face me, his hands on my shoulders as if he’s trying to massage the tension knots out of them. “Not the house.” With a subtle shake of his head, he presses his forehead to mine. “I meant back to our lives. Because this is fucking bullshit.”
I close my eyes, savoring the moment, etching every sensation into my memory as I mourn its end. “But we can’t,” I choke out, fighting back tears. “Esme and?—”
“I know.” His throat bobs. “This is all my fault. What happened with Esme and me should’ve never?—”
“We can’t go back.” Dwelling on it hurts too much.
“You’re fucking killing me here,” he jokes halfheartedly.
“It’s too late and too messy.” But the way we’re wrapped up in each other, hearts and bodies intertwined, makes it excruciating to let go.
“So?” A hint of humor colors his tone.
A bittersweet smile tugs at my lips as I reach up, combing my fingers through his hair. “You’ve got sand in your hair.”
“I have sand in places I don’t even want to think about right now.” He grins, teasingly grazing his lips over mine.
“Me too,” I admit. Then something occurs to me out of the blue. “We didn’t use a condom.”
Realization dawns on his face. “Shit. I’m sorry, Sky,” he says, guilt heavy in his words. “I’ve always used one before—even with Esme. And I’m clean. I get tested regularly. I can show you my?—”
“I trust you,” I cut him off. “And I’m on the pill. As for condoms, I’ve always used them, and I got tested a few months ago. After all, they’re not one hundred percent.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “No, they’re not.”
The fact that I always made Ian wear one but didn’t with Victor—and have zero regrets—isn’t lost on me.
“And I trust you too,” he says softly, gliding his hands up and cradling the nape of my neck. “How am I supposed to let you go?”
“I don’t know how to do this,” I manage, my emotions choking me. “But this is how it has to be.”
I thought I could handle it. Treat tonight like a one-time thing. But I was wrong. It’s not fair. Why do I have to give him up? Esme knew how I felt, but she went after him anyway.
Victor closes his eyes, pain etched across his face. Cupping his jaw, I trace the contours with my thumbs, committing every detail to memory. The electricity between us is undeniable, the pull irresistible. I lean in and press my lips to his, pouring everything into this kiss, tasting the forbidden fruit one last time.
Our kiss shatters me, a long-overdue goodbye.
Then, I do what I know is right. I walk away. And it doesn’t matter that every fiber of my being screams to hold on. I have to let him go.
The stairs to my patio creak with each step before I stop at my bedroom door, listening for any sign that someone’s awake. Silence fills the house, and I hope it means everyone is still asleep, clueless about last night. My hands shake as I close the door behind me and lock it, letting out an unsteady breath. Stripping off my sandy clothes, I rid myself of any incriminating evidence before changing into clean pajamas and grabbing my phone.
Me
Did you get in okay? Did anyone see you?
I pace the floor, chewing my lip as I wait for Victor’s reply.
Victor
Made it in. No one saw. What about your blanket?
Shit. I forgot. He can’t leave it on the couch. Everyone will see it and know. Won’t they? It’s too risky.
Me
Hide it in the washing machine. I’ll grab it later.
Victor
OK
My heart races as the three dots appear, disappear, then reappear.
Victor
Smith and I are leaving soon.
They’re leaving? Soon as in today ? It’s only Sunday. I want to text all that, but I know better. He and Smith can’t stay; not after Victor and I had sex. We need space from each other to get our feelings in check because there’s no way I can act like everything’s normal around him. We’re supposed to pretend this never happened, but just remembering the beach makes me wet. Even before we hooked up, my heart skipped a beat from simply being near him. So yeah, I’m screwed. I didn’t think this through—how what we’ve done would change me.
Me
When are you heading out?
Victor
In a couple of hours. Waiting for Smith. He’s still with Liv.
Of course Smith is. He’s probably saying his goodbyes, holding her and making love to her—like I wish Victor was doing with me right now.
Me
I’ll miss you.
Victor
I’ll miss you more.
Doubtful. He’ll move on from me—from this—whatever this is or was. But me? I’ve set myself back years, once again pining over the one man I can’t be with.
When we say we’ll miss each other, we’re not only talking about him leaving Cape Cod. We’re talking about the rest of our lives. As if I wasn’t already depressed. Ugh.
I know last night shouldn’t have happened. The timing sucks, with barely a day passing since his and Esme’s breakup or my “break” with Ian. If anyone finds out, I’m fucked. Toast. My reputation? Gone. Ian will hate my guts, and all my friends will judge me. Even worse, I’d let my family down. My dad’s already spent a ton of money on this wedding.
Victor once called me out on my obsession with what others think of me, saying it kept me up at night. Spot on. I need validation from others, especially the people closest to me. That’s why no one can ever find out. But it’s more than that. My heart breaks for what Ian’s birth mom did to him, leaving a huge hole in his life. I know exactly how that feels. So am I really ready to do the same thing?
I pore over Victor’s last text three more times, then chuck my phone onto the mattress in frustration.
Slipping into the bathroom down the hall for a shower, I scrub and scrub, but I can’t wash away the memories of his hands, his kiss, his smile, his eyes…of him making love to me. As much as I deny it, I still want him. And that’s a huge fucking problem.
My gaze lands on the massive diamond on my left hand, and a strangled cry escapes my throat, muffled by the towel in my hand. I’m torn between my love, passion, or—who are we kidding?—my obsession with Victor and my commitment to Ian, the one who was supposed to give me that fairy tale ending and normal life I’ve always craved.
It really sucks that Victor and I can’t be together, that we don’t have a future. But as amazing as it was, he’s not my happily ever after, and I’m not his. We both know that, even if it’s hard to accept.
Everything between us, everything we shared and felt, it’s all just memories now, left behind on that beach where we had to say goodbye.
Esme is waiting outside my bedroom, her eyes red and nose blotchy from a night of tears. Panic surges through me as I approach her, my discarded pajamas clutched in my hand. “Hey, E,” I say, closing the bathroom door behind me and securing my robe ties tighter around my waist.
“Can we talk in your room?”
“Um, yeah, sure.” My heart hammers in my chest. I’m freaking out. Does she know? She can’t. Victor would’ve warned me with a text or something. But I left my phone in the room, so I can’t check. Does she sense anything? Do I look as guilty as I feel?
As we enter the room, our eyes are drawn to my blanketless bed like magnets. “What happened to your comforter?” she asks.
“It’s in the wash. Spilled wine on it last night.”
She nods, her expression unreadable as she stands timidly, hugging herself.
“You’re up early,” I say, setting my pajamas aside and perching on the edge of my bed.
“Couldn’t sleep.” Her eyes wander my room as if searching for something.
“Hungover?” I wince, empathizing with how she must feel after last night’s drinking.
“A little.”
I want to ask how she’s feeling after everything with Victor, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t have the right to play “concerned friend.” Even mentioning his name feels like a betrayal. “Have you eaten? We can?—”
“Victor’s leaving. Did you know?”
Why would she think I’d know that? Tempted to lie, I hesitate. What’s one more, right? “No, I didn’t.” Just yesterday, I suggested asking them to leave so we could have the girls’ trip we planned. Now that idea feels cruel. I can hardly meet her eye, let alone commiserate over her breakup that I’m not all that mad about.
“Whatever. If he wants to leave, he should leave.”
“I’m so sorry.” God, I sound like the other woman. Because I am the other woman, and I’m not all that sorry. The devil on my shoulder tells me that she had this coming, that she had to know Victor and I would find our way back to each other. But the angel on my shoulder reminds me that I used to be a good person, and a good person wouldn’t do what I did under any circumstances. In Esme’s eyes, and probably everyone else’s, I’ll always be the other woman. Doesn’t matter that I wanted him first.
Esme’s lips curl into a faint smile, looking like a shadow of her usual vibrant self. “I know. And thank you for being there for me last night.”
A lump forms in my throat as I fight back tears. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“No, I do. You’re a great friend, Sky.” Her eyes move from my bed to the pile of clothes on the floor—the ones I wore to the beach last night. They’re covered in sand. Every muscle in my body tenses up as I wait for whatever question she might throw at me. Time seems to stand still as the room fills with tension and unease. This silent conversation between us. “So anyway,” she finally says, her eyes slowly shifting to lock with mine, like she’s trying to read my mind. “I’m going back to bed to sleep off this hangover.”
“Are you going to say goodbye to him?” I don’t know why I’m asking. Maybe it’s out of guilt, or maybe it’s because I want her to have closure. Maybe it’s a little of both.
She shakes her head, a look of sadness flashing across her face before it’s gone. “No.”
“Okay, well…I’ll guess I’ll see you later?”
She nods, giving me one long look before leaving my bedroom.
An hour later, I find myself in the kitchen, sipping my coffee and trying to act normal. My eyes dart to Victor, who’s whipping up protein shakes with Smith before they head to the airport. I quickly look away, afraid that if I stare too long, my feelings will be written all over my face. Victor and I have been careful all morning, only stealing furtive glances at each other when we think no one’s watching. Liv seems too wrapped up in Smith to notice, but I can’t risk it. Everyone’s here, except Esme, who’s been holed up in her room since she left mine.
I haven’t been alone with Victor since the beach, and it’s driving me crazy. I crave one more secret moment with him, to feel his touch and hear him whisper my name, to run my fingers through his silky hair.
“The car’s here,” Victor announces, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I jump at the chance to be close to him, pouring the rest of my coffee into the sink where he stands. As our shoulders brush, a spark of electricity shoots through me, and I breathe in his scent. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, the longing between us is palpable. But the spell is broken when Liv walks in, her timing impeccably awful. “We’ll walk you guys out,” she says, oblivious to the heat between us.
With my heart lodged in my throat, I trail behind the group as we leave the house. The morning breeze carries the scent of saltwater and damp grass, and the sun warms my face, but I barely notice. My mind is consumed with the thought of saying goodbye to Victor. Liv and Smith, hand in hand, walk toward the waiting car, while I hang back on the porch, fidgeting with my phone. I send Esme a quick text, just in case she wants to say goodbye, but a part of me hopes she doesn’t come down.
Me
They’re about to leave.
The text changes from delivered to read, but Esme doesn’t reply. I hug myself, trying to keep it together as Victor throws his bags into the ride-share’s trunk. This is it. He’s leaving me—Cape Cod, I mean.
No, I had it right the first time.
Liv and Smith are making out like there’s no tomorrow, which I guess is technically true since she’s moving to California as soon as we get back. I wonder if this is it for them or if they’ll try something long-distance. It’s weird to think they’re the last couple standing.
My gaze shifts back to Victor, who’s looking at me with his guard down, like he wishes we were doing what Liv and Smith are doing right now. Me too. I want to run to him, jump into his arms, wrap my legs around his waist, and crash my mouth against his. I want to spill my guts, telling him everything I’m feeling—the doubts, the fears, all of it. But I don’t dare move from the porch, the words stuck in my throat, weighed down by promises and responsibilities.
Instead, I touch my heart, feeling it race beneath my fingertips, a quiet sign of what I can’t put into words. Victor does the same, and for a moment, it’s just us. Nothing else matters. He’s right here with me, but then his eyes drift past me, and I tense up.
The scent of Esme’s lilac perfume floats in the breeze. I turn, finding her standing in the doorway looking angry and hurt, her arms crossed tight, her body stiff. The silence between us is deafening, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Her eyes drill into mine, accusing me without a word. Did she see the moment between Victor and me? Or is she hurting from her broken heart? I’m too chicken to ask.
A car door slams behind me, the engine roaring to life. I want to turn around and watch him go, but I don’t. Not with the sharp look Esme’s giving me.
“Esme,” I start, but before I can say another word, she shuts the door in my face, the sound echoing like a gunshot.