Page 36 of Tangled Up

“I wish I could forgive myself. I didn’t mourn him like I should have. I was sorry he died, but I didn’t mourn him like I would’ve if I’d…”

She finishes her wine, and I reach out to cover her hand with mine. “I should’ve been there for you.”

“But you weren’t.” She takes her hand away. “We remember how to touch each other, but we also remember how to hurt each other. I can’t trust you not to do it again.”

“Carly, wait—”

She’s at the door, pulling it open when she pauses. “I would never have hurt you.”

She leaves me standing at the bar, her words lingering in the air. She would never have hurt me… But she did when she went to that altar.

CHAPTERELEVEN

CARLY

Warm water streams down my body, and I lift my face to the showerhead, allowing it to wash the tears away. I slide soapy hands over my shoulders, down my breasts, over my stomach.

A hurricane rages in my chest, and my mind is twisted up in the storm. No one has ever fucked me like Beck. He plays my body like it’s a familiar instrument, and under his touch, I rise to the highest peaks of ecstasy. With expert kisses, licks, bites, every hole is satisfied, except the one in my heart.

Leaning my head forward, I let the water drown my sobs. Years ago, I swore I’d never cry over him again. Being so far away, I believed I’d never see him again. I believed I could put this past behind me and forget.

I buried myself in work. I used my degree to continue Tyler’s work, helping the mentally ill get the best possible judgments. I’ve pursued my own dream of doing good while still working for justice.

But no matter how far I run, no matter how many good things I’m able to accomplish, I can’t heal this wound. One look, one touch, and it’s open again, aching and raw. It won’t heal, because I can’t make myself let him go.

When I walk around town, every place reminds me of him, of riding bikes or eating giant pretzels on the boardwalk, of holding hands as we walked on the beach and talked about our dreams. He always wanted to be a doctor. I always wanted to do something big, something to make the world a better place. I just didn’t know what or how.

When I close my eyes, I see his dimpled grin, his square jaw covered in luscious scruff, his dark hair curling around his ears.

When I touch myself, I fantasize about his body driving between my thighs, massive and muscular. I feel his heat at my back, taking me from behind.

“Why do I do this to myself?” Shutting off the water, I snatch the curtain away and grab a towel.

I won’t stand in the shower and dream about him fucking me. Storming to my bedroom, I snatch up my phone, quickly texting Jessica.Feel like getting a beer with me?

It doesn’t take long for her to reply.On a Wednesday night? Absolutely, I do.

Meet me at the Hermit Crab in a half-hour.

* * *

“So I said, ‘Look, you asked for magenta. You can’t complain it’s not red enough.’” Jessica takes a sip of her Mermaid Magic IPA and shakes her head. “It’s like she doesn’t know what color magenta is.”

We’re sitting at the outdoor bar in the touristy section of Eden, closer to Pleasure Island. A man with dreadlocks and a paisley shirt is strumming an acoustic guitar and singing Grateful Dead songs in Portuguese. A cool breeze drifts around us, and it should be relaxing. If only a storm weren’t brewing in my chest.

“I’m impressed an eighty-year-old wants pink and blue hair.” I trace my finger around the lip of my pint glass, doing my best to keep my thoughts focused on my friend and not what happened earlier today. “It’s a bold choice.”

“All the old ladies are doing crazy colors now. I blame Dolly Parton.”

“Dolly Parton never had wild hair colors.”

“No, but she had wild everything else. Have you seen her fingernails? No idea how she plays the banjo with those things.”

Shaking my head, I take a long sip of my Garden of Eden pilsner. “She’s a wonder.”

A waitress comes and puts two fresh beers on our table. “Oh, we didn’t order another round.”

“From the gentleman at the bar.” She nods, and we glance over our shoulders to see a middle-aged guy with a comb-over and a gold chain lifting his glass to us.

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