Page 77 of The Rehoboth Retreat
“Good,” she said calmly.
“Good?” I snapped, turning to her with wide, tear-glossed eyes. “How is thisgood?”
“Because for once, darling, you’re not trying to fix everything. You’re not compartmentalizing your emotions or—”
“Stop,” I said, my voice low but sharp. “Please, just… stop.”
She fell silent, but I could feel her gaze on me like the sun, burning too hot, too close.
I looked down at the screen again, my face framed beside Hudson’s. The captions. The slurs. The venom. My heart twisted. My breath hitched.
“They think I’m a joke,” I muttered, my throat tightening. “Everything I’ve built—my name, my work, my clients—everythingis going to fall apart. This is all they’ll see now. Me… laughing in a bar. Me… kissing someone on a dock. I look like a damn—”
I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t eventhinkit.
Tears pushed hard against the backs of my eyes, stinging like saltwater. I blinked them away, but they clung, heavy and hot.
“I should’ve known better,” I said, standing abruptly, the glass rattling on the side table as I set it down. “Ididknow better. I knew who Hudson was. I knew what people would think. I let my guard down for one second—for one fucking second—and this is what happens.”
“Miles—”
“No,” I said, backing away from her. “Don’t try to spin this. Don’t give me a quote or a metaphor or some clever quip about how this is all part of some grand life lesson.”
“Miles, please.”
“I’m ruined, Mother!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “Do you even understand that? I’m not like Hudson. I don’t bounce back from scandals. Idon’tdo damage control. I do structure. I do trust.People trust me.And now I’m just another gay punchline in the comments section.”
The first tear fell—hot and fast—before I could stop it. I swiped it away, furious at myself.
“I need to be alone,” I said, spinning around and storming back toward the house.
“Miles—darling, wait—”
But I didn’t.
I walked faster, the sand kicking up around my ankles, the wind slapping my face like some cruel wake-up call. I barely saw the dunes. I didn’t even glance back. I couldn’t.
I climbed the steps to the deck and yanked the sliding door open with shaking hands. The beach house swallowed me in silence as I closed it behind me.
And finally, when no one could see, I let the tears fall.
Big, ugly, gasping sobs.
Because I wasn’t free.
I wasexposed.
And the world had already made up its mind.
Hudson
I was still buzzing—like actual butterflies-in-the-gut, post-coital-glow, stupid-happy buzzing—from that kiss with Miles. One kiss. One really fuckingperfectkiss, and suddenly I’m out here acting like I just got pinned by the quarterback after prom.
I sprawled out across the massive white sectional in my living room, feet up, grinning like an idiot. The salty breeze rolled in through the open sliding glass doors, and for once, it didn’t smell like rotting kelp and drunk gays. It smelled likehope. Or maybe just sunscreen and whatever lingering skunk weed the gays at the party the other night were smoking in my house. Hard to say.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like this. Not since Jackson Pierce, and we all know how that ended—me screaming at a paparazzo in Mykonos wearing nothing but Versace swim trunks and a bellini in hand.
But this was different.
