Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
I tap it to life and freeze with my little lip-gloss applicator halfway to my lips.
27 Missed Calls from Elana
181 New Texts from Elana
“Shit, shit, shit.” Whatever it is, it’s got to be bad. She’s a serial texter but not like that.
But it’s not until I unlock my phone that I realize just how bad it is.
In the text stream from Elana are link after link, mixed in with panic texts filled with f-bombs and exclamation points. I see the photos first, before I can even process the words. Hale. Me. Flint. Together, out here on the island. Another from when we were at lunch earlier today, and dinner last night. The photos are far-away and grainy, very paparazzi style.
And the headline reads: HOT GOSS: LIONS QB AND CEO FATHER IN INCEST TRIANGLE!
My stomach rolls with nausea and a sting of hot bile tickles my throat. “Oh no, no, no, no, no,” I whisper as I sink down on one of the leather benches by the bulkhead. This can’t be. It just can’t be. This cannot be how the world finds out about this beautiful thing.
But oh yes, yes, yes, it’s true. My heart plummets into my stomach and I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I scroll through the links, feeling like this must be a nightmare. I must be able to wake myself up from this. My guys are in the public eye, getting murdered in the press, all because of me. Little insignificant me.
A mess of tears spills down my cheeks. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. I feel so guilty and so stupid and so naïve. It was one thing when they were buying my time; it’s another to turn their lives inside out. That, that’s on me. This damage is all my stupid fault.
With shaking fingers, I text Elana back.
ME: Oh my god. I just got your massages.
ME: Massages.
ME: GOD DAMN IT…MESSAGES.
ELANA: There you are!! You okay? The agency is PISSED, girl.
It’s all over the news.
They’re saying it’s going to ruin both of them.
WTF are you doing???
I suck in a steadying breath, but the room is spinning, and I feel so sick, and so sad. My nose pinches with the sting of tears and they splatter sadly on the polished wooden floor. Above decks, I hear Flint and Hale talking, low voices, possessive, intense. And it makes my knees buckle. Because really and truly:
What am I doing?
How did I think this was going to work?
Staring at her messages, staring at the pictures of us, at the way the world reacts to us, it’s like a slap in the face. The world will never accept this. Never. Doesn’t matter if it’s 2022 or 2322; there is no future in which the world accepts those two men, both in a relationship with me. It becomes crystal clear to me that all of this, all these days, all this magic, has just been a dream. A stupid love-lust dream.
Because the world will never accept us. And I refuse to let them be ruined, just because of me.
I am speechless with sadness. And so I answer Elana in the only way I can for now.
With a single broken heart.
CHAPTER 10
Hale
When Isabel doesn’t come back on deck right away, I go down below decks to look for her. I find her, slumped down on one of the couches, looking so defeated and sad. She looks ten years younger than she is; knees pressed together, shoes kicked off, snot running down her lip.
Seeing her so sad makes my heart fucking plummet. I’m with her in three strides. I wrap my arms around her, making sure she’s safe and warm.
“Baby? Baby, what happened?”
She slumps into my chest, sniffling hard, rubbing her nose until it makes this sad squelching sound.
“Oh, Hale,” she says, through a sputtering sob. “What are we going to do?”
I’ve got no fucking clue what she’s talking about at all. I look around for some obvious cause of danger—something I can fucking see and fix. A gaping hole in the hull; an electrical short. What-fucking-ever. But I see exactly nothing wrong. Which means that whatever it is, it’s in her pretty little head and heart.
Feelings. Fucking feelings.
But I’m here for it. Because I don’t want her hurting, inside or outside.
“Baby. Talk to me. Whatever it is, I’ll be okay. It’s not like we’re taking on water and have five minutes to live.”
She sputters out an even messier sob into my shirt. “Yes it is!” she sobs through a hoarse cry, stealing panicked gasps for air through her body-shaking sadness.
God, I fucking hate feeling her like this. Hate not being able to fix whatever is wrong. “I can’t fix what I can’t see, baby girl. Tell me. Explain it to me. Big breath and tell me.”
Another sob, this one making her whole-body shake.
Her tears dampen the fabric and I feel them hot on my chest.