Page 100 of Writing Mr. Wrong

No, he was not.

Mason swung into the villa. “Gem?”

Silence.

He eased barefoot down the hall. If she was writing, he didn’t want to interrupt. He’d fucked up enough today. He could wait. Take some time to collect his thoughts and decide what he wanted to say.

Unless “collecting his thoughts” really meant “losing his nerve and deciding to just let it all blow over.”

He squared his shoulders. Nope, he wasn’t doing that. He strode to her door… and found it open. Her room was silent, the blinds still drawn. He flipped on the light.

The room was empty.

Gemma’s luggage was gone.

He raced into the bathroom, where they’d been keeping their toiletries in their little bags, one on either side of the vanity. Gemma’s wasn’t there.

Mason slowly remembered what he’d heard a few minutes ago. The delivery boat.

As he reached into the living room, he noticed a folded note on the counter, withMacewritten across the back in Gemma’s perfect handwriting. He didn’t detour to grab it. There wasn’t time. He’d fucked up, and Gemma was leaving, and he couldn’t let her go. Not again.

He barreled onto the deck and squinted out at the ocean. The boat was just pulling from the dock. He buckled down and ran as fast as he could. He was going to catch up, even if it meant diving into the water and swimming with everything he had—

Someone was still on the dock. Walking his way. Pulling a suitcase. His heart stuttered. The sun was in his eyes, but he’d know that figure anywhere.

“Gem?” Her name came out as a croak, and he started to run again. Then he saw her expression and stopped short.

“Did you miss the boat?” he asked.

She continued along, pulling the bag onto the sand, where it promptly sunk. He strode over and picked it up, and she hesitated, but then let go.

“I was going to leave,” she said finally.

“And you didn’t get there in time?”

“No.”

His heart hammered. She hadn’t stopped and come back. She’d missed—

“I changed my mind,” she said. “I realized if I was dealing with you running away by running away myself, we don’t have a hope in hell of making this work.”

“I wasn’t run…” No, honesty. He took a deep breath. “Yeah, I was running away.”

“And so was I. I’ve been running away for thirty years. Since kindergarten.” She stopped and looked up at him. “You confessed how you feel this morning, and I choked, not because I don’t feel anything for you, Mason, but because I feel too much and it scares the shit out of me. It always has. I’ve spent a lifetime denying how I feel about you.”

“Because I hurt you.”

“No, I was denying it long before that.” She pulled off her sunglasses, eyes meeting his. “I always noticed you, Mason. Even when I tried not to. Then, in high school, I started falling for you, and I stopped. Because I wasn’t going to be that girl.”

“That girl?”

“The silly fool who fell for Mason Moretti. Who thought she had a chance withtheMason Moretti, hockey god. I didn’t want to be with him. I wanted to be with you.”

“But…” He shifted, his skin prickling. “Thatisme, Gemma.”

“I know, but back then, I really was a silly fool. Not for falling for you, but for telling myself there were two of you. Mace, hockey god, and Mason, the sweet, fun guy I loved being with, loved getting to know better. I wanted one and not the other, and that isn’t how it works.”

“Okay.” He tried not to shuffle his feet, struggling to figure out where this was going, his gut telling him it was goodbye, while his heart hoped it wasn’t.

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