“You left me in there,” she pouted.
“Had to try out the other option. It was delicious but needs a little thawing for my taste,” Cruz drawled as he looked at me with hooded eyes. “Goodnight, Lila Kate.”
They walked into the clubhouse with his hand on her bottom. She was already kissing his neck. It was that easy for him. And he was that shallow.
His awful behavior was not what I wanted. If fairytales weren’t real, then I wanted adventure. Which meant I had to leave Rosemary Beach.
It was time.
Lila Kate
THE MONEY THAT my grandfather had deposited in my trust fund remained untouched. I had gone to a private college on a scholarship for dance a little over an hour from here. I had been in private dance classes since I was three years old and had asked my dad if I could wear a tutu and twirl around on a big stage one day.
Originally, my dream had been to open a dance academy here in Rosemary Beach. But over the years that had changed. The more the fairytale in my head began to crumble, so did that idea. I didn’t want to travel the world and spend endless hours chasing a dream to be a famous dancer. I saw the dedication that went into it. I had friends who had gone on to do just that. It was all they had time for. It was their life. I wanted something else.
This past May, I had graduated with a Major in Literature and a Minor in Dance. I was still trying to figure out exactly what I was going to do with my degree, and what path I wanted to pursue. Nothing seemed right. Instead, I spent my time looking at condos to buy with some of my trust fund money. Living with my parents at twenty-two years old, almost twenty-three wasn’t exactly a goal of mine.
My idea to leave and find adventure had been exciting. But standing on the front porch of the house that had always been my home with a suitcase by my side and my parents hugging me goodbye was harder than I had imagined it would be.
“Call me. When you get to Sea Breeze, call me from Nate’s. Please,” my mom said as she held me tightly. As cliché as it may sound my mother was my best friend. I never went through a rebellious stage where I hated my parents or thought they knew nothing. I’d gone to my mother about all my problems.
“I will. And I’ll let you know my next stop as soon as I figure it out,” I assured her. I had a friend in Birmingham, Alabama who had taken a teaching position at the Alabama School of Fine Arts. She wanted me to come for a visit. But I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep driving along the Gulf Coast or take that northward turn on my journey.
“Tires are new, oil is changed, and it’s been completely looked over,” my dad said as he nodded at my silver Land Rover that had been a college graduation gift from my mother’s father. “If any light comes on, take it directly to the nearest Rover dealer,” his voice was tight with emotion he was trying hard to conceal. My mother was my best friend, but my father was my hero. I’d told him so at two years old, and it was still true today.
I moved to hug him tightly. “Thank you. I love you, Daddy,” I said feeling tears sting my eyes. He held onto me as if he could keep me here forever.
“I love you, baby girl.” His deep voice cracked when he spoke. I blinked hard to fight back the tears threatening to spill. They didn’t need to see me cry. I wanted to do this. I needed to.
“I knew this day would come. We raised you to believe in yourself. Find what makes you happy and go get it. I couldn’t be prouder of the woman you’ve become.”
His words did not help me as I struggled not to cry. I swallowed hard and nodded my head against his chest. Then inhaled deeply, pulled myself together, and released him. I couldn’t stay here in this safe world where my dad took care of me and find my life.
“I am who I am because of you two,” I told them with a smile. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll call with updates regularly.”
Mom sniffled then and gave me a soft smile. “Go find your happiness. You may look like me, but you are so much braver than I was. I wish I’d been as brave at your age.”
My mother was the bravest woman I knew. She’d faced death to bring me into this world. She didn’t consider that brave though. No matter how many times I told her it was. Especially when we sat and read my letters together. The ones she’d written me when she was pregnant. In case she didn’t survive. Over the years we’d opened them and read them at the designated time. Dad had read them with us at first, but I had been little when I saw him leave the room quickly when mom began reading aloud. He didn’t read them with us again.