Chapter 31
Now
Port of call: Kauai
Itinerary: shuffleboard on top deck
It’s midafternoon the next day when Liam and I join my family on the top deck for a far-too-competitive game of shuffleboard.
Liam claims he’s never played before, but either he’s an expert hustler, or he really is good at everything.
“Of course you’re good at shuffleboard,” I say, brushing a windswept curl from my eyes as Liam adds another three points to his already overwhelming lead.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Liam says, not taking his eye off the puck as he lines up his next shot with mathematical precision.
“I’m just glad you’ve put all your energy into curing cancer,” I tell him. “Otherwise, you’d probably be in a jungle leading a cult somewhere.”
He nods sagely. “True. It was either oncology or cult leadership. Bit of a toss-up really.”
I snort out a laugh, watching as he earns a whopping seven points, solidifying his already massive lead over Jonah.
Liam shoots me a look as he pretends to blow smoke from the tip of his cue like it’s a smoking gun and I full-on giggle.
Oh God.
I have a crush, I think. I have a crush on my husband.
“Is there anything he’s bad at?” Jonah asks, eyes narrowed with frustration. I haven’t seen him look this pissed since he found out the florist got the wrong shade of peonies at his and Ben’s wedding.
I scrunch up my face in thought. “I’ve heard figure skating isn’t his strong suit. Oh, and one time he put too much garlic in his lasagna.”
Jonah’s face drops, looking genuinely disappointed. “God. That’s it?”
Liam takes his next shot, but this time he misses.
“Don’t tell me you did that on purpose for Jonah’s fragile ego?” I whisper.
Liam’s eyes sparkle, catching a column of sunlight. “You know I like winning too much for that.”
“So you have no excuse?”
“Actually, I do. I was distracted.”
“By?”
He looks me up and down with unguarded want.
“Me?” I press a palm to my chest in mock shock. “Whatever did I do?”
“You had the audacity of having those legs in those shorts.” Then he leans in close enough that only I can hear him say, “If I wasn’t about to crush your brother in this game, I’d already have taken you back to the room and had you show me how good you are at handling my shuffleboard stick.”
I smirk. “It’s called a shuffleboard cue, but nice try. I guess you can’t really be good at everything.”
“I’m good at the important things.”
“Like?”
His index finger slips inside my belt loop, pulling me close. “You know which things,” he whispers, giving me a lingering look before turning his attention back to the game.
Don’t get sucked into his Liam Spell, I remind myself. After all, this is temporary. A vacation fling. One that will eventually wash away like the sand between my toes, and I need to be able to let it go when the time comes.
But that’s the problem. I went into this thinking that I could sleep with Liam and control the outcome. That I could control my feelings. But I can’t. And maybe there’s a part of him that can’t either.
I think about last night. The warm, searching press of his mouth as he’d opened me up, unbuttoning me with his lips, then his tongue, then later his hands. How good it had felt. And how badly I wish it hadn’t.
I wish the kiss hadn’t been so tender.
If it had been desperate and rushed—like how we’ve been fucking—I could chalk the whole thing up to lust. To two people with a sexual history being lulled into a familiar pattern. Something to do with pheromones and mutual dry spells and closure.
But that’s not what it was.
The kiss had been consuming. Utterly romantic. The kind of kiss that undoubtedly meant something. The kind of kiss that will hurt me in the end.
* * *
My ovaries are doing inconvenient little flip-flops as Liam shows Henleigh how to use her cue to aim when my phone rings from inside my pocket. I pull it out and see Abby is calling.
This time it’s my stomach that flips. Shit. I forgot to text her back.
I excuse myself to the other side of the deck, far enough away that I can’t be overheard, and answer the call.
“Hey,” I say, leaning against the railing, slightly breathless.
“Finally!” comes Abby’s familiar voice. “I was worried you fell overboard. Or maybe you and Liam fed each other to the sharks.”
“Nope,” I say with forced levity. “No shark casualties yet.”
There’s a brief pause.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “You sound freaked out.”
Damn. She’s good.
“I’m not,” I lie.
“Roslyn, where are you? Is he there? Find a way to use the word pizza casually so I know you’re alright.”
I bite back a laugh at the use of our old code word, briefly wondering if I can get away with lying to her, just to keep the secret a little while longer, at least until I can figure out my own feelings, but Abby knows me too well to fall for that.
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “Actually…” I grip the railing like I’m afraid I might fall overboard, then say in my most please do not freak out voice, “I’m sleeping with Liam.”
Silence follows. An uncomfortably long silence.
“You’re what?” she finally cries.
“We’re having sex,” I say, the irony not lost on me that we had a very similar conversation nine years ago.
“Is this what you meant when you said we’re getting along? Because I’m getting along with my accountant, but it doesn’t mean we’re fucking.”
“We have been getting along,” I insist.
“Clearly,” she says with a laugh. “How did this happen?”
“I don’t know, we just like started kissing? I guess?” I think back on the day we’d snuck into Bella’s cabin, but suddenly the details are hazy. A collection of blurry moments all frayed around the edges. “It was only supposed to happen once, for closure,” I add.
“And did you get closure?” she asks.
I look over my shoulder at Liam, now carrying one of the twins on his shoulders, the breeze lifting the ends of his hair. My heart flutters in my throat.
“Not exactly,” I say.
She hums affirmatively. “To be honest, I’m surprised it took you so long.”
“You are?”
“I mean I knew you would eventually get back together. There’s no way you two were just over each other,” she says. “But I expected this call days ago.”
The view of turquoise ocean in front of me is suddenly indistinguishable from the blue sky on the horizon and I have to lean against the railing to stay upright.
“We’re not back together,” I say, shaking my head as though physically trying to dislodge the words.
“So you’re still figuring things out?” she asks, and I hate the hopeful lilt in her voice, the one clearly itching for me to tell her that everything is going to be okay.
“There’s nothing to figure out,” I say stiffly. “We’re just having sex.”
“Right,” she says, and I can hear the hollow note of disbelief in her voice.
“We are,” I insist. “I need to get laid.”
“And the only available person was your soon-to-be-ex-husband?”
“I mean, yeah. Sort of.”
She sighs. “Honey, if you need to get off, I’m happy for you, but is that really what this is about? Getting laid?”
I try to reach for one of the excuses I’ve been storing up. It’s just until the ship docks. We’re getting closure. It’s just sex. But the words sound as hollow as they are weak.
When I don’t answer, she gently asks, “Do you still have feelings for him?”
My limbs tighten, skin feeling hot and prickly in the midday sun.
That’s the problem, I think. I thought if I just made enough rules, built enough boundaries, I could protect myself from my feelings, from getting hurt. That it won’t crush me when this comes to its inevitable conclusion.
But I know, now more than ever, that’s not true.
And yet I feel trapped. Stuck between wanting more—wanting him—and knowing that good sex and a few meaningful conversations aren’t enough. They don’t fix our problems or guarantee that things will be any better in the future. Or even if there will be a future.
It’s not like Liam’s asked to get back together, or begged for a second chance.
Which is probably for the best.
I think about all the second chances my mom gave.
How she let the same men who broke her heart back in over and over again, claiming they’d changed, that love was nothing without second chances and forgiveness.
But they never did change. Sure, maybe they bought roses the day after a fight, or showed up in the middle of the night with tearful promises to be better, but then a week or two later they were always back to repeating the same behavior, leaving my mom more brokenhearted than the first time.
I’ve always blamed and resented the men she dated for the instability in our lives.
For breaking her heart, for being the reason we were always moving and never had any money.
But now, as I think back on all the nights I spent holding my mom while she cried over men who didn’t care that she would have burned down the world for them, I wonder if maybe it was just as much my mom’s fault as it was theirs.
If maybe she broke her own heart by repeatedly trusting men who never deserved her trust. Who never changed. Who never did better.
I watched it happen time and time again. And I won’t make the same mistake.
“What does it matter if I still have feelings for him?” I say with renewed stiffness. “It’s too late for us.”
“But why?” Abby asks, a beat of desperation coursing through her voice. “Why does it have to be too late? I mean it’s not like you’ve told anyone or filed. There’s nothing stopping you from—”
“Abs,” I interrupt, a hard edge to my voice. “It’s over. This isn’t a romance novel. There isn’t going to be a grovel or a grand gesture. My life isn’t like yours. Our marriage fell apart, and we didn’t save it. That’s that. So just stop, okay?”
As soon as I hear the words, I know I’m being unfair. Abby’s been nothing but a supportive friend to me and she doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my frustration.
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me,” I say, tone softening. “But I need you to know that it’s over. He hurt me and I hurt him and a few days of hot vacation sex doesn’t change that.”
A heavy beat passes, and I worry I’ve upset her. Finally, she says, “Okay. I trust you. I just…” She pauses and I can hear the hesitancy in her voice. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Me either,” I say, almost mournfully.
But it’s too late. I’m already hurt. And I’m only going to get hurt again.