Page 39 of Until We Kiss

It’sme.

Warmth swells in my eyes, and I swallow hard.

I’m suddenly aware of everyone crowded around me, and I’m right back in that dark hole. And I don’t getwhy.

Why can’t I just think my way out of this?

Why can’t I be stronger?

If I have Carter, that should be enough. Right?

Except I’m about to have a motherfucking breakdown.

I need… I don’t fuckingknow. I’m a capable guy—I should be able to solve this. I stumble to my feet, my knee aching.

Jesus, I need to get out of here.

I turn from where Carter’s dialed into the game, feeling like an asshole, but he’ll just be worried about me if he sees me. He’ll stop what he’s doing. He’ll come over.

He’ll puthislife on hold for me. Like he’s done so many times before.

I walk, limping along.

I don’t register where I go.

I just walk, down the boardwalk, seeing everything and nothing, my knee aching, my thoughts churning. Tears are trying to escape down my cheeks.

I can’t break down every time Carter’s away from me. It’s not fair to him. It’s not fair to me.

It’s not who I want to be.

I cut through swimsuit clad bodies, sunburned skin and laughter, and I feel so distant from all of it. I’m a thousand miles away. Sucking into a black that no one else can see.

I’m a fucking mess. How did I get so bad?

I go past the stage and tents, past the buildings beyond. Until it’s quieter, the noise from the beach muffled, and I’m finally able to take a breath.

I’m surrounded by white buildings with red roofs, planters filled with flowers. A shopping area with chalkboard signs and colorful awnings and a farmer’s market displaying lemons and papayas and pomelos.

So far away from Colorado.

There’s a bakery and a chalkboard sign that reads, “Best Mango Pie on The Island” with arrows pointing me inside.

Carter and his mangos.

Next door, there’s a sign labeledConserve Clua.

Carter had a brochure for this place, with all the others he’d gotten at the villa. It had been on top of the pile.

I don’t know what I’m doing, but I tug the door open and step inside.

A woman straightens behind the desk. “Are you here to volunteer?”

“No, I leave tomorrow.” I scrub at my neck, realizing that I probably look bizarre as fuck. Big jocky guy, eyes probably red, hair sticking out from the bungee jump, as he limps to the counter. “I just…‍” I glance at the wall to the side of her desk. “Can I look at the photos?”

She taps a pencil against her chin, studying me dubiously. “Sure?”

I limp over to the wall, scanning the photos. The first one is people collecting trash on the beach. Then one of people washing off a seagull covered in some kind of thick sludge. Next is helping a beached whale. A nighttime picture of baby turtles sprinting for the ocean, all their little flippers flinging sand.

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