Page 6 of Tell It To The Waves

“Look at me, August.”

I turn to face her; her face mirrors mine, sadness and confusion. “You didn’t have to leave me too,” she whimpers out.

Closing my eyes for a second, trying to hold the tears at bay. I can’t look at her when I say it. “You became a piece of them. I had to.” I open my eyes and they land on her engagement ring.

“You didn’t want it anymore.” She looks down at the ring.

“I know,” I mutter, the words feel like a lie on my tongue.

“I tried to force myself not to come, but when I saw you yesterday. That’s all I've been thinking about. I had to talk myself out of coming so many times yesterday. And I could hardly sleep last night, because I had to see you before you vanish once again.” Baylee stands up. “No matter what, August, I’ll always love you and want the best for you. I’m sad that this place won’t be a piece of your family anymore. Something your father fought so hard for.” She turns around and makes her way to the front of the cottage, not looking back. Just like I did all those years ago.

There on the patio, I cry like I did when I left. So hard my chest hurts; I can’t take a deep breath. Hiccups overtake my body, and I feel like everything is crushing down on me. Theweight of it all is becoming unbearable; this place is trying to take me under.

The urgency to get out of here crawls up my skin.

Making my way back inside, I throw the blanket off the sofa, looking for my phone. Hitting the screen, I have a text from a number I don’t know.

Hi. Just wanted to let you know I should be arriving about ten thirty.

I look at the time and it’s ten twenty-eight. “Shit.” Running to the bathroom, I look for a toothbrush. “Yes!” I call out when I find a brand new one under junk in the cabinet. The toothpaste has seen better days, but I use it. Hurriedly brushing my teeth, I use the restroom. As I’m pulling up my pajama shorts, there is a knock at the door. “Damn it.”

Finding my shorts still wet, I drop them where I left them last night, not having time to change.

Roaming my hand over my hair, I try to push the frizz down before opening the door, and when I do, I feel like my world has turned upside down.

CHAPTER FOUR

Standing in front of me is the last person I wanted to see here…or ever. Bodhi Westmore. His body is as tall as my doorframe, his blue eyes showing anything but friendliness. I feel like a fish out of water, my mouth opening and closing, as he just stands there. He doesn’t seem shocked to see me because he knew, when asked to come here, who he would see.

“I don’t think I want to work with you. Please have Mrs. Williams find me someone else.” While I say that last word, it hits me: her soon-to-be son-in-law is fucking Bohdi. I can feel my hands sweating, the back of my neck becoming slick with perspiration. I don’t need this.

I back up to close the door, but he reaches his foot out, stopping me.

“Nice shirt.” He doesn’t smile; there is no kindness in those eyes.

Right there and then, I want to die. I want to go with my parents. Because here I am, thirty years old, standing in my childhood beach cottage, looking at the man who broke me, who didn’t come after me, while I’m wearing his old shirt.

“Move your foot, Bohdi,” I clip out.

“It’s Bo, August,” he says with such contentment as his gaze looks right through me.

My eyes squint at him. He hated to be called Bo.“Why’d you cut a cool name in half?”He’d always said that when people called him Bo. “Well, Bo.” I draw the letter “o” out. “I’d like a different agent.”

“It’s only Kate or me, so you pick.” His eyes finally focus, but now he’s looking me over.

“Okay, then I’ll do this alone. It can’t be that hard. I’ll post the listing in some groups and see what I get. Now, move.” My stomach feels like there are butterflies in it, flapping their damn wings.

I can’t help the way my eyes trail his face, taking in every feature, even though my brain knows them all by heart. But now he’s eight years older, his eyes don’t sparkle like they used to. He looks tired, but he still looks like Bohdi…just older. Dirty blond hair still haphazardly pushed back from running his hands through it. Used to be one of the favorite things to do while we laid on the beach together.

He backs away from the door. “That’s fine, but it will not be that easy.” He raises his eyebrow before turning around, and I gawk when I see what he’s walking to…a motorcycle. Before the door could fully close, he had it started and was revving the engine, speeding off. I can hear his tires fighting the gravel.

I slide down the door, knees to my chest, and cry. Cry for that boy I used to know, cry for being so fucking stupid. Cry because I need to cry.

Moving my hands to my hair, I pull, screaming as loud as I can, needing a release.

“What the fuck am I doing?” I questioned the empty house.

Without a second thought, I lock the sliding glass door before running and snatching my box, throwing everything in it I wanted to take with me. Grabbing my phone and purse, I walkout of the house. Locking the door behind me. I want to turn back for one last time, but I don’t. I keep walking to my car. Start it and reverse out, my eyes staying on the ocean the whole way up the drive.