CHAPTER 15 Archer Bradley
Excursion
It’s a big fucking resort, so why I keep running into the same person remains a mystery.
But there she is at the activities counter just as I approach. She’s wearing a flowery sundress and a straw hat that’ll keep the sun off her shoulders as she goes on one of the many adventures offered on this island.
I wanted to plan some sort of excursion for this afternoon, mostly to get out of here and away from her, but she’s here already. Probably with the same idea. Probably booking whatever it was I came here to book just to slap us right back together again.
She thanks the person at the desk and turns to leave, and I’m up next. But not before her eyes meet mine.
She tilts her head a little. “Where you off to?”
“None of your business.”
“I’ve heard great things about the snorkeling trips,” she says. I have to hand it to her, the ability to ignore my petulance is something to be admired.
“I’ll be sure to book something else, then.”
A faint smile graces her lips, and I have the strongest urge to pull her into my arms and kiss her. But that’s more about the physicality of what we did than actually having feelings for her. I can’t trust her intentions, and that means I need to stay away.
Troy told me to lay low while I’m suspended, and I need to keep out of the headlines, sail through these forty games, and get back on the field where I belong.
In bed with Millie is not where I belong.
I wait for her to leave before turning to the clerk behind the desk.
“How can I help you today, sir?” she asks.
“I’m looking to book an excursion. I’d like to learn more about the history of the island.” There, history. Perfect alternative to snorkeling.
It’s fine. I have a month here. I’ll find time to snorkel.
“We have several tours to choose from. One of our most popular is the Queen’s Staircase. Gorgeous views, and you’ll hear stories from the guide about the island, local history, and pirate lore.”
“Pirates?” I repeat. “Sold.” Pirates are fucking awesome.
“Wonderful. The next one leaves in…” She checks her watch. “Twenty minutes from the Coast Tower main lobby, or I can book you in for nine, eleven, or one tomorrow.”
“The one today would be great.”
She taps some keys on her keyboard, asks for my room number, and that’s that. I’m all booked.
“The bus will have a bottle of water for you, so all you need are walking shoes, sunscreen, and extra cash or a card for souvenir purchases.”
“Thanks.” I nod, and then I head toward the Coast Tower so I can find the guide and board the bus for my fucking awesome pirate excursion.
But when I get to the lobby, there stands fucking Millie.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
“Oh, Christ,” she mutters. “Queen’s Staircase?”
“Of course. I thought you chose snorkeling.”
“No, I told you to choose snorkeling so I wouldn’t have to run into you on this one,” she says.
“Right.” I blow out a breath.
Of all the goddamn excursions either of us could have chosen, and there were upwards of thirty, we ended up picking the same one. What are the chances?
One of the guides says, “If you’re gathering for the Queen’s Staircase, come on over.”
A group of maybe fifteen or so people gathers nearby, including both Millie and me. We don’t even have time to back out of this.
“Welcome, welcome,” she says. “I’m Patrice, and I’ll be your guide today along with Ricardo, our bus driver.” She nods to the front, where I spot a minibus outside waiting for us.
It doesn’t look big enough for all the people gathered here, but we follow Patrice outside to the van after she checks each of us in. I’m toward the back of the line, and Millie is a few people in front of me. Perfect. It’ll give other people the chance to snag the seat next to her.
Yeah…it doesn’t work out that way. There are two open seats when I board, and I’m about to slide into the one that isn’t next to Millie when the bus driver turns to me. “Sorry, that one’s saved for Patrice.”
Right.
My eyes meet Millie’s, and she’s next to the window. She frowns at the same time I do, but I take the seat beside her anyway. I don’t have a choice.
Patrice points out various highlights of the island as we drive toward the staircase, and I’m doing my best to ignore the sweet scent of flowers as well as not doing that whole man-spreading thing with my legs since I don’t want to accidentally bump into her legs, which I can’t seem to take my eyes off of.
I keep thinking about how every time we fucked, it was not with her legs wrapped around me. And that seems somehow…wrong.
Fucking hell, I want it again.
But I can’t. It’s too big of a risk, and not just because I’m supposed to be laying low, and I don’t want to be the reason she goes viral.
If we fuck again, then there’s a chance feelings might get involved—on either side. On both sides. And that’s a risk I just can’t take, especially not when it feels like I already did develop feelings for her in the one night we were together.
Beyond that, I’m still reeling from the fact that my ex married my brother. I’m still trying to make peace with the fact that I tried to stop their wedding and failed.
And now, three months have gone by, and I haven’t spoken to either of them—normal where Ford is concerned, but strange not having my best friend around anymore in Tatum.
My phone has rung plenty. Most of my siblings want to know how I’m dealing with this suspension. Maybe they even have news about our father.
But I don’t care. I don’t want to hear it.
I just wanted to escape all of it for a month, and that’s how I wound up here.
I could tell her that. I could confess everything to her. Maybe it would even feel good.
But the risk of it being exploited—or worse, the risk of being rejected because of it—isn’t one I’m willing to take. Not with some stranger.
“We never talked about how long you’re staying on the island,” she says, clearly trying to make conversation.
“You’re right.”
“That’s not an answer. They comped me all of April. I fly back to Chicago on April thirtieth. What about you?”
Of course she does. Of fucking course. Jesus Christ, the way fate is at play here is actually unbelievable.
“I’m here for the month, too,” I finally admit.
“You said that you were here to lay low. Can I ask why?”
I shake my head and clench my jaw.
“You can trust me, Archer,” she says. “You can pretend to hate me, or you can give in to this pull that’s between us. Don’t act like you don’t feel it too just because you don’t like why I’m here.”
I’m silent, mainly because I don’t have a jab off the cuff to throw at her after her words tilt me off my game. She’s right. There’s a pull between us. But it doesn’t matter.
Nobody knows the real me anyway, and it’s not like I’m going to open up to some vacation fling. I’ve spent so long being the black sheep of the Bradley family, being the guy who loves baseball over football, that sometimes that feels like my entire personality.
But there’s a hell of a lot more to me. Things only Tatum ever got to see.
I like helping kids, and I want some of my own someday—so I can create my own legacy in order to erase the one I was forced into by birthright.
I keep people at arm’s length because I’m terrified of being used.
I carry wounds with me that make me feel like I’m unworthy of love, especially because of my father.
I make light of things I don’t want to deal with.
I feel like I’m losing what identity I did have after I lost Tatum and now baseball, all because of my father.
I want to be closer to my siblings, but I don’t know how to turn to them, and especially not when Ford betrayed me the way he did.
I pretend I’m not lonely and I’m fine the way I am.
I’m not.
We arrive at the Queen’s Staircase, and we learn it was carved from limestone in the late seventeen hundreds. We hear about why it was built and take in the gorgeous views. On this excursion with us are one family of six, one family of four, two couples, and then the two of us.
We hear about some of the pirate legends, but not enough to satisfy the reason why I booked this tour in the first place, and then we have a bit of time to go shopping before we need to make our way back to the bus.
I don’t particularly want to shop, and I find myself alone at the top of the staircase. I stay there, taking in the view, living in the moment, experiencing it all.
I spot Millie as she climbs the stairs, snapping photos on her phone of every last fucking detail of this place. How can she even enjoy it when all she’s doing is taking pictures?
I take a short walk in the opposite direction to get away from her, and that’s when I hear the distinct sound of a woman yelling, “Oh shit!” followed by a bit of a shriek.
I turn around and find Millie on the second stair on her ass as she holds onto her ankle. She’s rocking back and forth, and she’s definitely trying not to cry.
Ah, fuck.