2. Chapter 2
Thea
Ican’t believe my purse got stolen. Well, I guess I can. I wandered pretty far from my hotel to a cafe that was super shady. What I really can’t understand is why no one cared to help me.
“Stop, thief!” I yell at the wisp of a black hoodie before it rounds the corner of a market.
I’m not sure, but I think the thief laughs.
Or maybe it’s the hundred people around here laughing at my stupidity while not even bothering to intervene.
It’s up to me and I don’t stop running, not even as men catcall at me.
Not helpful!
I’m not dumb. I have a PhD. Unfortunately, it’s not in world travel and what to do when the worst happens.
I press my palms to the skirt of my dress to avoid being more of a spectacle than I already am and turn the next corner into an alley, only to catch sight of his shoe before it disappears. All black. Even the sole. Who wears all black in Mexico?
Oh, that’s right. A thief. And what idiot chases after said thief in sandals?
This one.
It’s a foolish endeavor, and I am a fool. That much has been proven many times in the last forty-eight hours. Footsteps pound behind me, but I don’t look back. Only forward. That’s my new life motto, which has apparently come with a price.
The footsteps catch me, and I brace for impact, but they only pass. A man the size of The Rock sprints by me, yelling after the thief.
I speed up with the renewed hope that someone has come to my rescue.
The man and the thief must be light years ahead because the next street I turn down leaves me staring at nothing.
Well, that’s just great. I’m alone in a foreign land without a phone or money, subject to my surroundings—exactly what my aunt feared would happen.
I tell my feet to slow, but it’s like they finally figured out what to do and they won’t stop. I want to run forever. Maybe I can run back to California.
The street opens into an inlet, and I take in my surroundings. The Rock is only twenty yards ahead. He’s no longer chasing anyone, standing perfectly at ease near a rickety fence, gazing down the sheer cliff face at the ocean. The view is as serene as it is daunting.
Maybe he wasn’t helping me. Maybe he was running from a bad date or felt the urge to daydream by the sea. He doesn’t seem like the daydreaming type. Until two days ago, I wasn’t the “make impulsive decisions that will wind me up in a foreign country by myself” type either.
He doesn’t turn toward me as I approach. “I lost him.”
My chest deflates and my body sags against the rickety fence. I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically. At least he tried to help. The world isn’t all bad. “Thank you anyway.”
“Don’t lean on that.” He yanks me back from the fence, a bit brusquely. I stumble over loose asphalt and right myself as he turns away.
That’s all he’s going to say? “Wait.” I step over the patch of broken road and follow him. “Did you at least see where he went?”
“Yeah.” He points directly into the ocean.
I take another glance down, expecting to see a man swimming in the blue water with my hot pink purse. All I see are docks littered with people and fishing boats.
The prospect of finding the thief is grim.
“I don’t suppose you have a boat handy?” I ask, allowing the barest glimmer of hope to lace my words.
The man turns to fully face me, and I get my first good look at him.
His light green eyes are nearly the color of the ocean, a direct contrast to his tanned skin and dark hair.
He looks like he eats nothing but chicken for three meals a day and works out just as often.
His lips turn down in a frown. “I do not have a boat.”
That’s a shame. “Right, of course. Who has a boat these days? It’s not like you can carry them around in your pocket. Such a hassle.”
He lifts a concerned brow as if he’s worried for me.
Then he seems to decide he doesn’t care about my potential insanity and turns, walking toward the darkening alley.
The sun is going down, and I’m alone. Fear clutches at my throat, and I make my decision quickly.
He’s the first decent person I’ve met this trip, and I’m in desperate need of help. I can’t lose him.
“Can I use your phone?” I ask, catching up to him.
His eyes cut to me, surprised to see me there. “No.”
“Why not?”
He stops. “Is there a reason you’re following me?”
“That man stole my phone. I’m lost, and I need help.”
He crosses his very muscular arms across his chest. “I’m not a very helpful person.”
I hate to point out the obvious, but… “You literally just proved the opposite.”
“Lapse in judgment.” Each word comes out in a gruff, unfriendly tone.
“Can you at least give me directions to my hotel?”
A lock of his dark brown hair droops over his forehead, and he shoves it back, huffing a low, irritated breath. “Where are you staying?”
“Um…” I scratch the back of my neck, which is suddenly too warm. “It was the uh Tuacahn Suites… or maybe it was the Flamingo Resort. It was something with a bird.” Why can’t I remember?
“You don’t know the name of your hotel?” He looks at me like I’m an idiot. I’ve been getting that look a lot lately.
“My, uh, ex booked it. Then he broke up with me. But I wanted to take the vacation anyway. I only got in last night, and it was dark.” My reasoning does nothing to wipe the judgment off his face.
I clap my hands, remembering something very helpful.
“I pinned the location on my phone!” I reach for my purse and freeze.
“That’s great… for the guy who now has your phone,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
His attitude grates on my nerves. “Hey, I didn’t ask to be mugged.”
“I could have told you that would happen, lady.”
“Lady?” That feels like an insult.
“You’re in a bad part of town—”
“I didn’t know that!”
“—all alone,”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
“—and drawing undue attention with your bright dress and frilly laugh.”
“Frilly?” Now he’s just being cruel.
“You might as well be wearing a neon sign on your forehead saying steal from me.”
Ouch. “You’re kind of rude.”
“I know,” he retorts. The therapist in me appreciates his brutal honesty. I’m just not used to being on the receiving end. Usually, I’m helping my clients recognize areas of their life that could use a change and gently guiding them along that journey. His way is a little less effective.
“Well, if you could just go back in time and warn me, that would be great.”
He shakes his head and dodges an overflowing trash can as he resumes walking. The putrid smell hits me, and I cover my mouth and nose with my hand.
I stay right beside him, no matter how fast his freakishly long legs move. I’m basically running after him, in my favorite white sandals that are now brown and dusty, and I’m unfortunately very physically aware of my need to pee.
“Please. I need help.” I’m not above begging. It is, in fact, my only option at this point. “My passport was in there.” My heart races as the reality sinks in. My entire life was in there…
My chest constricts, and I struggle to draw in a breath.
I can’t go home without my passport, and if I can’t get home…
“Not my problem.”
“You’re right.” I pinch my bracelet, twisting it around my wrist. “I’m nobody’s problem.” The realization rams me like a freight train. I was supposed to be here with Scott. He was supposed to be here to hold my hand. To love me and take care of me. But I’m alone. And I always will be.
No, no. I reach for something, anything, a grounding object to focus on instead of the rising panic. A dust-covered tennis shoe lies next to my feet, and I pick it up, squeezing it between my palms, but it’s not calming me. It’s doing the opposite. It’s alone and discarded. Like me.
I never should have taken this trip, never should have tried to prove I am better off without him. Look how wrong I was.
My vision blurs, and I try to stop the flood. It’s too late. Tears race down my cheeks, and I sob.