Page 162 of Dirty Grovel

But I’ve got the runaway part down perfectly.

Just when I thought I’d met someone I could be myself with, just when I thought I could put down roots and get comfortable—reality intervenes to let me know exactly who I am.

Not the heroine of my own story.

But the pathetic secondary character who disappears into obscurity because the writers didn’t give enough of a shit to actually finish the story arc.

There’s something beautiful and cathartic about being back in Nassau. This is where Oleg and I hit our stride, found common ground, maybe even fell in love a little harder.

But the fact is, Nassau was never reality. It was a beautiful dream. One that I deluded myself into believing was real.

There are memories hiding behind every corner. Nostalgia clings to me like sandspurs, trying to talk me out of the plan forming in the back of my head.

I can’t stay in Nassau forever. This has to be a temporary respite. A place for me to gather my wits and earn some money before I take my child and disappear into some distant corner of the planet where Oleg won’t think to look for me.

I don’t even plan on telling Jesse where I’m going.

The only way this will work is if no one knows.

That includes my sister, who I’ve spoken to a grand total of once since she entered Alice Matlin Psychiatric Institute.

Maybe it’s better that way. As long as we cling to one another, it’ll be harder to let go of the toxic patterns we built together as children in order to survive.

The skies are bleeding grey, clouds unfurling above my head like faceless monsters. I can see a crack of lightning in the far distance, illuminating a black patch of sky.

But despite how dark and stormy it looks, I get only a smattering of rain, as though the skies can’t commit to anger.

My pregnancy app pings suddenly. I look down to find a personal note in the journal section of the app.

Hi baby. I’m thinking of you. And your mama.

I stop short, staring at the words as though they have the power to destroy me. They just might, given how quickly they’ve turned me from quiet resolve to hesitant fear.

“He’s just manipulating me,” I tell myself firmly. “Hoping that I’ll freak out and come back to him…”

I close the app and keep walking further down the dock. I’m very aware that if the skies decide to open up and send a gale my way, there’s no place to hide.

But I’m happy to take a little rain.

After everything I’ve been through, getting wet doesn’t scare me in the slightest.

I walk to the very edges of the marina. It’s probably going to take me an hour to walk back.

But whatever. I need this time.

Mostly to convince myself that I haven’t made a terrible mis?—

I gasp to a halt as I turn around.

He appears like a mirage on the boardwalk. All muscle and danger and quiet dignity. He’s scanning the beach like a predator seeking prey.

And then he spots me.

He freezes. The harsh square of his jaw relaxes. His eyes soften. His features become less severe. It’s so damn beautiful to see that the fear clinging to my body disintegrates instantly.

My heart stutters traitorously in my chest as we float to one another.

I stop a couple of feet away from him, marveling at how handsome he looks, framed by thunder clouds and luxury yachts. Zeus in white linen.

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