Page 52 of Come Break My Heart Again

“Did you know you were leaving? That night?”

Ryder’s smile instantly disappears. His jaw works a couple of times before he shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not asking you to forgive me.”

“Too bad.” I click my seat belt into place. “I already did.”

11

Asalty breeze blows straight into my face, lifting my hair off my neck. I smile, staring out at the dazzling spread of blue in front of me.

Blue water. Blue sky. Both stretching as far as the horizon goes.

I haven’t been to the Parkers’ beach house on Martha’s Vineyard since college. The past two summers were spent at stressful internships. Taking any break felt like losing momentum. And I was scared if I stopped … I might not start again.

I forgot how much I missed this. The sea-brine scent in the air. The clumps of seaweed scattered in the sand. The sight of the lighthouse silhouetted against the sky.

I feel freer here. Wilder. Younger.

My phone rings, so I abandon my spot leaning against the balcony rail and walk back into the guest room where I’m staying.

I pick up my vibrating phone off the pine dresser, my enthusiasm dimming slightly when I see who’s calling.

It’s Prescott.

I suck in a deep breath, take a seat on the edge of the bed, then answer. “Hey.”

“Hey.” There’s a muffled thud, like binders being stacked. I’m sure he’s studying for the bar, and it makes me feel guilty I’m not doing the same. “Are you going?”

“Going where?” I ask.

“Founding Fathers. For Jenny’s birthday. Krista texted a couple of hours ago. I was studying, so I just saw it.”

“Oh. Uh, no, I’m not going.”

A pause.

“Everything okay?”

I tug at a loose thread on the quilt. It’s pink and embroidered with yellow flowers. “Yeah, everything’s good. It’s just …”

“Just …” Pres prompts.

I blow out a long sigh, then lie back to stare up at the ceiling. Weathered wood beams interrupt the white plaster.

I don’t know how to describe the claustrophobia I’ve been experiencing recently. All my law school friends—including Prescott—are stressed about the bar exam and excited about starting their careers. And I’m … numb to it. Or I was, until I stepped on the ferry earlier. The farther it churned into the Atlantic, the more weight fell off my shoulders.

“I’m visiting Martha’s Vineyard for the weekend.”

A long pause follows.

When we first started dating, I think Prescott liked that I was so independent. Iknowhe’s annoyed by it now, even though he tries to hide it.

I’m more concerned why I don’t rely on him. I like Prescott. He’s thoughtful and intelligent and considerate. I enjoy spending time with him. But I don’t crave his company. I don’t miss him when we’re apart. Admitting that feels like a failure, especially when there’s nothing wrong with our relationship. When it should work.

“Martha’s Vineyard? You’re onMartha’s Vineyard?” His voice is mostly surprised, but I think he’s just hiding the annoyance beneath.

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re joking.”

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