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Beatrice pulls back, and smooths her hand over my cheek. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting. I wish there was something more I could do.”
“It’s okay. It is what it is.” I roll my eyes. “It was silly to think we’d last when we’re seven hours apart. Bryce is right. This is for the best.”
The lie stings my tongue like acid. I’ll need to practice that a few more times.
I stand without meeting Beatrice’s eyes, and pull a brush through my matted strands. “I’ll meet you at the inn. Just give me a few minutes to make myself look presentable.”
Beatrice watches me, hesitating a moment before she pushes off the mattress. “All right, my dear. I’ll see you in a bit.”
After fussing with my hair, I give in and twist it up into a bun. I dab concealer under my puffy eyes, and swipe clear gloss across my lips. If only I had a suit of armor to step into.
“You ready, Edward?” He lifts his head, not making any move to get up. “Trust me, I’d rather stay in bed with you until the morning. But we have to put on a brave face for Beatrice. She did a lot for us. She gave us a home this summer.”
We walk across the yard, and I cast a longing glance at the pool as I drag my feet past it.
Goodbye, beautiful pool.
Inside the lobby, the memory of the first time I saw Bryce sucker-punches me in the gut. I duck my head, and make a beeline to the library, nestling Peter Pan back between two books on the shelf.
Goodbye, library.
I enter the dining room, and my eyes go wide. A handmade banner hangs above the entrance to the kitchen: See You Later, Charly. Beatrice stands with several guests, and they all raise their glasses to me.
“To our last night with my beautiful Charly.” Beatrice grins. “But it’s not goodbye. It’s see you later, my dear.”
Tears sting my eyes, and my throat thickens, making it difficult to swallow. “Oh, you didn’t have to do all this for me.”
“Nonsense. Come sit.”
The food is already on the table, platters filled with the fresh Maine seafood I’ll miss so much. My heart drops, Bryce’s absence the most noticeable thing in the room.
I busy myself serving the guests first like I always do, making small-talk and laughing on cue.
When we run out of water, Beatrice hands me the empty carafe. “Would you mind filling this up for me, dear?”
I stand and take the pitcher from her, glancing at the guests around the table. “Roger, would you like another beer?”
He tips his chin. “Please.”
I take his empty bottle, and bump open the door with my backside. But both items fall from my hands as soon as I spin around and come face to face with Bryce in the kitchen. Glass shatters all around my feet, and I stand frozen like a deer in the headlights looking into those onyx eyes. His hair is disheveled, like he’s run his fingers through it dozens of times, and purple crescent moons stain the skin above his cheekbones. He looks the way I feel—broken, and lost—and I wonder if he sees it on me too.
If I stare at him any longer, I’ll shatter like the glass below me. I kneel down, and start collecting the jagged shards.
Bryce reaches down for the glass in my hand. “Don’t. You’ll cut yourself.”
I jerk away from his touch, and a piece of glass punctures my palm. Bright red blood trickles down my skin. I grit my teeth, and rush toward the sink.
Bryce crowds my space again, gripping my wrist and running it under the faucet.
I hiss. “Ow. That stings.”
“I told you, you’d cut yourself.”
I glare up at him. “Yes, you were right. You know everything, don’t you?”
A warm breath leaves his lips, and I scold myself for looking. He wads up a ball of paper towels, and presses it against my hand. “Hold this here.” He yanks open a cabinet above the sink, and pulls out a first-aid kit.
With gentle care, he cleans my wound with peroxide, and bandages it up. He cradles my hand, and presses a delicate kiss over the band-aid. “Good as new.”
