‘Because I’m gonna be stuck here for some time. I’m stuck here, in your past, and I want you to focus on your future. Go make a life, Wilson. And make it a good one.’ He doesn’t say goodbye. He simply hangs up.
I call him back, but it goes straight to voicemail. My hand falls to my side, and the phone slips from my fingers.
James rushes over, picking my phone up and moving to stand in front of me. ‘What’s going on? You okay?’
I open my mouth to speak, but no words are coming out. I’ve just lost Maggie and Hunter in one phone call. Hunter for the second time.
‘Wait here,’ James says. ‘I’ll grab our shoes and let the others know I’m taking you home.’
When he returns, he takes me by the arm and guides me through the clubhouse, saying to the guy behind the bar, ‘Can you phone a taxi for James please?’
We wait near the entrance for the taxi to arrive and then climb into the back seat. I stare out the window, and James watches me with a concerned expression. He pays the driver, then takes my hand, helping me out of the taxi. He keeps hold of it the entire walk up. There’s comfort in that, and I’ll take any comfort I can get right now.
James fishes keys out of my pocket and opens the door. After placing me on the sofa, he goes to open the terrace doors because it’s a billion degrees in here. Then he sits beside me. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m just going to stay here with you until I know you’re all right.’
That sentiment is everything. It’s exactly what my dad should have said the day he announced he was moving out. It’s what my sister should have said before she left and Hunter before he boarded that bus. It’s what my mum should have said the day we stood beneath the veranda, hearts breaking, instead of telling me to make my own way to the bus stop because dinner wasn’t going to cook itself.
I bet she didn’t even eat dinner that night.
Self-pity is swallowing me whole. I shuffle closer to James, who opens his arms to me. I sink into the comfort so generously offered, my full weight against him. He rubs slow, soothing circles on my back. My eyes sink shut at the sensation. Whatever comfort he’s willing to hand out, I’ll take it.
This continues for a few minutes. I look up when his hand stops, and for the first time, I see it.
Desire.
He brushes his thumb across my cheek, then looks unashamedly at my mouth.
I hear Hunter’s voice in my head.
‘Where’s the line, Wilson?’
I don’t know. I don’t know where it is now, or if we’ve crossed it already, or whether I led him to this point. It’s likely I did. And he’s given me so much since I arrived here that giving him this small thing feels like the least I can do. He doesn’t push me away or shut me out. He’s consistent and steady and trustworthy.
‘And patient,’ I hear Hunter say.
So what? I’ve been told my whole life that patience is a virtue.
He dips his head slightly, like he’s asking me a question, and I respond by kissing him.
There. That was easy.
Except I feel nothing. There’s no excitement or heat, only a screaming mind and recoiling heart. But I push through it, deepening the kiss to see if that helps. It doesn’t. And he reads it as excitement, as any man would. He lays me back on the sofa, his unfamiliar hands moving over my body. The safe feeling has dissipated, and now every part of me is retreating from every part of him.
My body’s not fooled.
This isn’t Hunter.
‘I’ve waited so long to taste you,’ James whispers into my mouth.
His words make it worse. Dirty, even. And when his hand ventures beneath my skirt, I know I need to stop. I prepare myself for the fallout. The comfort will be withdrawn. James will leave, and I’ll be alone again.
Breaking the kiss, I shuffle back until his hands fall away. ‘I’m so sorry. I can’t do this—not today.’
Not ever.
He sits up, taking a few deep breaths.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again.