Page 162 of Deliverance

“He’s just a kid,” I say in Aiden’s defense. “He probably didn’t mean it.”

Drew comes to a halt near the pool and spins to face me, her eyes dark and tortured. “I’m not even divorced yet.” She flings her arms. “My lawyer can’t get process servers to track him to serve him a copy of the restraining order. Even the police can’t find him.”

The wind carries her words over to me, harsh and desperate.

“I’m sorry.” I take a step forward and the distance between us shrinks, but not enough for me to be able to reach her, to touch her, to hug her.

“It’s not your fault.” She heaves out a sigh and shifts to stare back at the empty beach, where large, rumbling waves roll across the glistening sand.

I come closer and grab her hand. “Don’t worry about him right now. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“And if we don’t ever get there?” she whispers, her question a kick to my stomach.

“What are you talking about?” My throat tightens and I swallow past the knot to dislodge it, but the pressure remains.

“Don’t you understand?” She swivels to look at me and pulls her hand from my grasp to point at the house behind us. “These things that they have…I can’t give you.”

“What things, Drew? Baby?”

Her lower lip wobbles. “Children.” She steps back, the space between us growing again, and all the Remy Martin I consumed earlier hits my head, my brain failing to put together the proper response.

“I don’t need children. I need you.” That didn’t come out right, but fuck, nothing is right without her anyway.

“What about five years down the road?”

“I haven’t even thought that far yet, Drew. Why do we have to discuss it now?”

I lied to her. These past couple of days, I’ve let my imagination wander a little and paint a picture of how my life would look like with her in it in the future, but there were fleeting moments, small and insignificant images that flashed through my head without me putting much effort into shaping them into more solid ones.

Yet this is not how I envisioned the conversation unfolding.

“Because we’ll have to at some point, Zander,” she snaps. “Might as well do it now before I’ve wasted too much of your time.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I raise my voice, but not much, only so she can hear me over the crashing ocean. “Just because a six-year-old boy made a silly comment, the meaning of which he doesn’t even truly get, doesn't mean all roads lead to Rome.”

“Where else do they lead then, Zander?”

“I don’t know. Where do you want them to lead?”

Drew is quiet for what seems like a very long time and this sudden collapse between us is filled with such uncertainty, such abandon.

“Well, I don’t know either,” she spits, arms dropping to her sides, eyes shattered. There’s defeat in her every move.

“Listen, we don’t have to talk about it today.” The imported cognac is really kicking my ass. I don’t want to say something I might regret later, but the thrum of my pulse in my ears is decimating any common sense still left in me.

The animal starts to claw its way out.

Drew whirls around and treks down the slope toward the beach, where the lonely communal gazebo rises above a patch of sand. The wind ruffles her skirt as she picks up her pace, each step faster and faster.

I charge after her, realizing only now that neither one of us is wearing shoes, because Hazel doesn’t like guests to wear them inside the house and we didn’t necessarily have the time to put them on when we blasted off.

“Drew!” I call. My socks are positively wet when we finally reach the gazebo.

It’s an all-white double roof octagon with cushioned benches around the interior wall rail and she lingers on the threshold for a few heartbeats before entering.

“Please, stop shutting me out,” I say, following her inside.

“I’m not.” Drew wraps her arms around her waist and freezes in the middle of the structure, the fabric whispering about her legs softly. “I just don’t want you to have any expectations of me.”

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