I was wrong.
The clouds released the first of the afternoon rain, soft at first then harder, until sheets poured between us. Tourists screeched and scattered for shelter. Jake and I just stood there and stared at one another, the water dripping off of us as if it wasn’t happening, either.
“Abby, just tell me!” He was frustrated now. His forehead was furrowed, and his eyes looked hurt and concerned, but his voice sounded like pure vinegar.
“I would never do that to you.”
“Wouldn’t you?” I couldn’t believe he would ask me that, after everything I’d shared with him.
The rain concealed my tears. I looked down at my boots to compose myself.
“You can believe whatever you want,” I told him.
“I want to believe the truth,” Jake said.
But, it was the truth. Whether he believed it or not.
“No, you don’t. You heard a rumor, and you immediately believed that I fucked Owen.” I shook my head. “You doubt me. I let my walls down with you. I showed you how much you meant to me. I told you things I’ve never told anyone else.” My voice cracked. “I showed you my scars.”
He would be the last person to see them.
“Doesn’t matter, though. A few minutes after you ride back into town, you accuse me of screwing someone else. You don’t know me like I thought you did. You’re not who I thought you were.” I didn’t wait for him to answer. I just started walking past him, toward the apartment.
“Bee.” He grabbed my elbow. I looked up at him so I could see his beautiful sapphire blue eyes for what I imagined was going to be one last time. His lips were tight and his grip on my arm was even tighter.
I shook him off and kept on walking.
I was glad for the rain now, to cover my tears so Jake couldn’t see them. He didn’t deserve my tears. He didn’t deserve my pain, or the faith that I’d placed in him.
I heard his boots on the gravel trailing behind me.
“Bee!” he yelled.
Each time he said it, it felt like he was stabbing me one more time, letting me bleed out and suffer a slow, agonizing death. When I couldn't take anymore, when I needed the torture to be over, I stopped walking and turned to face him. I steadied my gaze and looked him right in the eye.
In that moment, it wasn’t red that I saw. It was blue. Radiant blue, like the color of his eyes. I don’t remember the look on his face. I just remember the beautiful color blue clouding my vision.
Before I could say anything, he jumped in. “You were my only reason to come back here.”
“Well, ain’t nothing holding you here now.”
I turned and started to run. I had no destination in mind. I just needed to get away from the hurt. But, it traveled with me.
I ran faster.
There were no sound of boots on the gravel behind me, no smell of leather or of sweaty man. No beautiful blue eyes to make it all stop. It was just me, left alone again with all the pain I just couldn’t seem to get rid of.
It would have hurt less if he’d just shot me instead.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
OUR TOWN MAY HAVE LOOKED like the Mayberry of tourist destinations, but if you were to come inside and stay a while, it wouldn't take you long to learn that filth, decay and darkness were the glue holding it all together.
It was time for me to get the fuck out. Every reason I’d ever had to stay put in that town had left.
I shoved the few things I owned into my backpack. I needed to get out of there, and I needed to do it as soon as possible. Even though I had nowhere to go, I was still in a rush to leave. It’s not like Jake would be barging through the door at any moment—I knew that much. I’d heard his thunderous bike fading into the distance over the bridge minutes before.
I knew it would be the last time that comforting sound ever touched my ears.
I left my keys on the rack and swung the door open to leave. I wanted to turn around, to take one last look at the rooms where we’d shared so much happiness in so short a time, but I couldn’t let myself bring that to the surface. The air in the apartment was sticking to me, suffocating me.
I had to get out.
I grabbed my hoodie and stuffed it into my bag before gunning for the door.
I was in such a hurry to leave I ran right into the doughy chest of Sheriff Fletcher. He was standing on the porch, his fist raised in the air, about to knock. He didn’t react to me slamming into him or ask me what was wrong when he saw my tear-stained face. In his suspicious, coal-colored eyes, I saw a flash of knowledge, of recognition, and I knew that he knew everything.