Page 68 of Sour Notes

Not many, right? Didn’t think so.

And before you say anything, yes, I had options. I just didn’t want any of them.

Don’t look at me like that. Honest. I’m under oath here, remember.

I want her.

Only her.

What the actual fuck am I doing? When this trip's over, so is this goddamn ban.

I can’t do this shit anymore. It’s turning me fucking weird.

“Hey, you might want to grab a shower. We’re meeting everyone by the pool for dinner before the sunset.” She smiles down at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. It lacks the brilliance her real one has. That absence hits like a gut punch. A real smile from her steals the air right out of my lungs.

Those are the ones I live for, though they’ve been few and far between for a while now.

This smile, well, I hate it.

“Hey, you okay, Angel?” I push off the bed to close the gap between us, a grave error in judgment because now, all I see is her. All I smell is her. She’s assaulting my every sense, and all I want is to pull her in and kiss the fake smile off her face.

Her eyes widen, and I swear, it’s fear I see in them, before she doubles down and smiles wider, bending over her suitcase again.

“Totally fine, just need to hustle to get ready. Can’t be late for the first family dinner, can we?”

I’m pretty sure she’s just shifting clothes from right to left, but who am I to judge? She doesn’t want to talk about it, and I know what that’s like. I’m not exactly forthcoming in what I’m thinking right now either.

If I tell her how I really feel, I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’ll send her screaming right off this cliff. Or she’ll fling me off it first.

Fifty-fifty split.

I crouch down beside her and catch her wrist, stopping her from rummaging through her clothes again, and run my thumb over her erratic pulse.

“Hey, you know we got this right? And whatever your reasons are for needing me here like this, just remember you can talk to me, ok? I’m here.”

I watch her, willing her to look at me, or say something, but she does neither. Her gaze stays fixed on my hand wrapped around her wrist, and she jerks a nod. The move so quick, I almost miss it.

There’s something there she’s not telling me. Something she’s suffering alone, but I know her. Pushing her will only make her retreat. So I’ll do what the cop in me knows to do. Look for the clues. And when I have enough, I’ll put the puzzle together and figure out what she can’t say out loud.

Dropping her hand, because the last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable—despite that being my perpetual state on this godforsaken island—I stand, and with one last glance at her, I head into the bathroom.

Guess it’s my turn to give her a show.

16

MIA

My heart beats a hundred miles an hour, and my hand is clammy in Swayze’s as we stroll towards my doom—I mean dinner.

I can’t even blame nonexistent humidity or the sea breeze gently whirling around the path leading from our room to the pool.

I’m walking through one of the most beautiful places on earth, but my eyes barely even register the view.

Instead, I’m stuck in a weird time warp.

How was the airport chaos just hours ago?

Yesterday, now I guess?