Page 77 of The VIP Package

It doesn’t make this hurt any less.

Since I first read his text, I’ve had two lengthy crying jags. My chest aches like someone spent all night kicking me squarely between the tits.

From a clinical standpoint, it’s intriguing to note that I’ve wept more these past couple hours than I cried for the man I lived with for nearly a decade. A peculiar response, considering I’ve known Ash less than a week.

Checking my phone for the ten millionth time, I see nothing new from him. No texts, no missed calls. I don’t even have the man’s email. Could McFly serve as a courier pigeon?

“Stop it.” I’m getting loopy, and no good will come of that.

I’m packed and ready to get on that jet. My gym bag is stuffed with the few things I brought and the dresses and panties I’ve acquired here. I’ll leave Crystal Bliss with memories and a full-body tan, but also a hole in my heart.

I glance at the clock on the wall. Will Kora come here to get me, or should I go track her down? How long does it take to get to the airstrip? I don’t even know if we’re walking or driving, but I’ve seen several golf carts zipping around as the staff all return from vacation. It’s just after nine, so I probably have a few minutes.

Grabbing my phone, I dial Sara’s number. She’s the earliest riser among all my friends and even on weekends, she can’t shake the habit of getting up at four or five. There’s a risk I could wake her, given the time difference, but I desperately need my sweet friend.

“Camille, hi.” She’s wearing a robe, and her friendly smile falls the instant she sees my face. “Oh, honey—what happened?”

“Ash doesn’t want me.” I burst into tears, delivering the story between sobs.

With how I keep blubbering, there’s no way Sara could catch every word, but she’s nodding and tsking and making mad faces at all the right spots in my story.

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry.” She looks like she might cry herself. “I wish I could hug you right now.”

“Same.” I’d give anything for one of Sara’s lilac-scented hugs. I snatch the last tissue from the box by my bedside, blowing my nose with a honk. “It’s just so stupid.”

“What’s stupid?”

“If I could just reach him, I know he’d come around.” I ball up the tissue stalk to the waste basket, tossing it in with a vengeance. “He’s been through so much, and the way he’s pushing me away is a textbook trauma response.” A niggle of doubt worms into my brain as I pace back and forth by the bed.“Not that I couldn’t accept it if he’s truly not interested in me—I could handle that. Icould.”

“I know you could. You’re so strong, sweetie. And way more clear-headed than I’d be in your shoes.”

“Thanks.” Aside from my choice to come here, I’m normally calm in a crisis. All the more reason I want to see Ash. To look him in the eye and talk things through so I can figure out if he truly does care, or if I’ve merely misread the signs.

That possibility sends me staggering back to the bed.

“I don’t know.” My shoulders sag as I drop to the edge of the mattress. “Maybe he really doesn’t want me.”

“If that’s true, he’s insane.” Sara sounds fierce and protective. “You’re beautiful and bright and fun to be around. If he can’t handle it, that’s his loss.”

“Thanks, Sar.” I sigh and look down at my hands. “Maybe I just read it all wrong. Maybe it really was just a fling to him. Not the first time I’ve misjudged a relationship. Or a man.”

“You didn’t misjudge.” She gives me her stern schoolteacher look. “From everything you told me, Ashton sounds like a good man. Maybe too good.”

“What do you mean?”

She nibbles the edge of her lip. “I mean, he thinks he’s doing you a favor. He thinks this is the right thing. That he’s helping you out by saving you fromhim. Somewhere in his admittedly very mixed-up brain, he believes that’s what a good man would do.”

“But that’s just nuts.” I fish a hand into the tissue box, but there aren’t any left. Sliding off the bed, I head for the bathroom where I abscond with a fresh roll of TP. “I mean, yes—he has issues. Things he could work through in therapy. But we could handle that stuff together. If we could just sit and talk this through, face to face?—”

“Sweetie, I love you.” Her expression transforms to the mask she wears when she’s preparing to deliver hard truths. “But not everyone’s comfortable talking about their feelings. And some peoplereallyaren’t comfortable with therapy.”

“I know that.” But part of me thought I could heal him. That caring for Ashton might be enough to convince him to give us a shot. “It’s been two decades. I know there’s no timeline on grief, but he’s punished himself enough.”

“Some men are wired like that, honey.” Her face scrunches up like she’s deciding whether to say something. “Look, it might not be my place—you can tell me if what I’m about to say feels out of line. I don’t know Ash, and I’m not a therapist, but there’s something I’ve observed?—”

“Spill it, girl.” Sometimes we all need an outsider’s perspective. “I can take a hard truth.”

“Okay.” Sara goes quiet a second. “I know I don’t talk much about Trent. About the things he does while deployed. The thing is, he can be a little…closed off.”

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