Page 162 of Wild Thing
I rummage through one of the kitchen cupboards until I find two wine glasses and set them on the counter, watching as Taylor twists open the bottle with ease.
She pours generously, then nods toward the wide kitchen window, her gaze following the horizon. “This place has a killer view, Dyl.”
I follow her line of sight, letting my eyes rest on the vast stretch of ocean beyond. She’s right. The view is breathtaking, particularly at dusk, with the sky painted in streaks of amber and violet.
My new two-bedroom apartment overlooks the shoreline, perched three floors above the bustling esplanade filled with cafés and restaurants.
It’s the perfect place to start over. Or at least pretend I can.
Moving house is a task that sucks, even in the best of times. But moving across state lines has been an entirely different level of misery, one I hadn’t quite prepared for.
Thankfully, Taylor was here to help finalize the move from White Point to Miller’s Bay. I suspect, though, that her willingness to help has more to do with making sure I don’t spiral into an abyss of self-pity.
Which I'm not doing. Not yet anyway.
We walk out onto the balcony, glasses in hand, and lean against the cool metal railing, silently watching the sunset. The sky looks like spun sugar, a breathtaking blend of colors.
The last time I saw a sunset like this was at the beach cottage with Brax.
My chest tightens at the memory.
“You’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?” Taylor’s asks, as she takes a sip of her wine.
I want to lie, to tell her no, to say I’m moving on. But I’m trying this new thing called honesty, and I owe her the truth. “Every second of the day.”
“Have you heard from him at all?”
I shake my head, staring down at the wine in my glass. “No.”
Taylor sighs and reaches out, giving my back a gentle, reassuring rub. “Men suck.”
A lazy smile tugs at my lips. She’s not wrong.
“What about Zack? Heard from him?”
“No,” I reply. “But I didn’t expect to. The breakup was… rough.”
I lean over the balcony, letting the breeze cool my face as fragments of that awful conversation surface in my mind.
“So, how do you feel now that you’re here?”
I turn and survey the half-unpacked living room.
Leaving White Point was an easy decision, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t painful. Some might call it running away, and maybe it is. But I couldn’t stomach the gossip, the side-eyes, the endless judgment. Small towns thrive on scandal, and I’ve given them one to last a lifetime.
“I feel… good.” I answer finally.
“Nervous about starting your own consultancy?”
“Funnily enough, no.” I reply, realizing it’s one of the few things I don’t feel nervous about.
“And Marie’s been supportive?”
“Super supportive. She was sad to see me go, but she understood," I answer. "She knows why I had to leave."
It’s taken many sessions with Dr. Crowe to unravel the trauma from what happened with Steven. For so long, I told myself that what happened to me was my fault. That I deserved it. I’d convinced myself it was punishment for the affair I had with Brax—that it was karma, retribution for being a whore.
Admitting this was the breakthrough I never knew I needed.
