I wanted to know what was going on, but something about his body language—and the fact that he hadn’t already told Fallon the issue—told me that he wasn’t going to open up about it.
Vi was my last hope for finding a sort of covert answer.
Now I just had to bide my time and maybe see if I could sneak a read at one of the messages, or catch him while reading one and confront him about it.
If there was one thing I knew, it was that it was never a good idea to let your past come back and bite you in the ass.
He needed to open up about it, talk to Fallon about it, and hopefully get a plan on handling the situation—whatever it was—before it got out of control.
What if the situation is a woman?
The question came barreling into my head from nowhere, the most unwelcome thought I had maybe ever had cross my mind.
But, of course, it could have been a woman, right? Lord knows he wasn’t celibate since we’d broken up. I hadn’t been either. That wasn’t how the world worked.
So it could be.
An ex wanting to get back in touch with him?
But, then, why so much secrecy.
Most of the guys would have had a good chuckle about it and moved on.
No.
It had to be something else.
Something worse.
“Are you waiting for the temperature to get to hell?” Vi asked, snapping me out of my thoughts and back to the present moment.
“What? Oh, right. Shower,” I said, taking a deep breath as I moved toward the shower door.
I wasn’t exactly excited about a shower. I knew that getting cleaned up was necessary, but that it wasn’t going to feel great to have soap and water running down the wounds.
“Rip off the bandaid,” Vi suggested, letting me use her arm as I dropped the towel and moved inside the shower.
“Okay. I think you can handle the soapy business,” she said. “I’ll be out here to help you dry off,” she added, waving toward the space between the bathrooms where the sink vanities were, giving me the privacy I wanted.
No one wanted to hear the string of curses I let out when the water and soap did finally get down to clean out the wound.
“Vi?” I called when I was finally done, which felt like a lifetime later thanks to over-scrubbing my hair and body because it had been too many days since my last shower, a quick shave, and, well, the laziness of my arms that hadn’t been used much and were fighting against the effects of the pain medicine. “Vi, where’d you put my towel?” I called as I squeezed out my hair. “Violet, I swear to God, if you—“ I started, then trailed off as I heard the door open.
But when a towel didn’t get tossed at my head, like I expected from my old best friend, I turned.
And there he was.
Valen.
Standing in the small space in a pair of lightweight black athletic pants and no shirt, holding my towel in his hand.
For my naked body.
And I mean naked.
Full frontal, no way to hide anything.
I mean, I guess someone else might have raised an arm to shield their breasts.
But I couldn’t seem to move at all at that moment.
I just stood there, tits out, goosebumpy from the cold—or was it from the heated look in his eyes?—as his gaze roamed over me.
The impact of desire through my system damn near sent me back a step as I watched his eyes slide over my breasts, down my belly, over my thighs and what was between, then back up again.
There was a strange, sudden surge of insecurity that I’d never felt around him before. Ridiculous, of course, since Valen had seen me naked countless times before.
But that was years ago.
This almost felt like the first time all over again.
“Remember Turks and Caicos?” he asked, making my brows draw together.
Of course I remembered Turks and Caicos.
The trip we went on because my parents wouldn’t let me go on the originally planned trip to South America.
The whole vacation was full of long, lazy, sun-soaked days. That we barely got to experience. Since we spent most of our time in bed. Exploring each others bodies and making plans for the future.
A future he would rip away from me pretty quickly after we got back to Navesink Bank.
“I remember what happened right after,” I said, making his shoulders slump a bit.
“Fuck, Lulu, can’t we just remember the good shit for two minutes?” he asked.
“The good shit,” I repeated, a little angry that my mind flashed from being in bed to him, to being in bed alone, crying my eyes out because he’d left me.
That was the thing, I guess.
It was impossible for me to think of the good times without the bad ones ruining it.