Taming Hollywood's Baddest Boy - Max Monroe Page 0,74
the front door, Luca is standing there, staring back at me.
But he doesn’t say anything.
Lord knows we’ve both said more than enough.
I step around him and wrap my hands around the doorknob. “I really hope all of this isolation from the rest of the world brings you the peace and happiness you’re searching for.”
I open the door and step onto the porch and turn on my heel to meet his eyes one last time.
If this were a movie, the camera would cut to my eyes. I’d blink once. Twice. “The Blower’s Daughter” would begin to play slowly in the background. The music would build. The camera would cut to my trembling hands and stay there until they fall to my sides, and the hearts of a million viewers would break right along with mine.
But this isn’t a movie. This is real life.
And this is goodbye.
Billie
I’m fucking cry-aking—crying while kayaking—and it is proving to be the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. Besides walking away from him…
Tears flood my eyes again, and my vision blurs.
My daddy would say this is a time for Patsy Cline, but seeing as my cell phone is dunzo and the last time I had any kind of service feels like a fucking year ago, I hum instead.
Apparently, it’s something I do often, but don’t realize I’m doing it.
When I catch myself humming the rhythm to “I Fall to Pieces,” more tears fill my stupid, emotional eyes.
How could I get so damn close to someone in such a short amount of time?
It might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.
And why does it feel this painful to leave him? Like I’ve cut off a piece of my heart and left it behind.
Because it is that damn painful.
I let go of the paddle with one hand to swipe at my face, but in the process, I nearly drop the damn thing into the water.
Shit!
Both hands on the paddle again, I steady it in my grip while the kayak rocks back and forth.
For the love of everything, if I fall into this frigid water, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown. The freaking Coast Guard will have to come out here and rescue me.
Like the Coast Guard is going to find you out here…
Jesus. This day. This fucking day.
Where did it all go so wrong?
I woke up. I found a smiling Luca in his kitchen, making us breakfast.
We flirted. We kissed. And then, it all went to shit.
You pushed him too hard.
I roll my eyes at myself. How could I have pushed him too hard?
I asked him about the screenplay. He had to know that was going to come up. I mean, it is the reason I came all the way out here. It’s the reason we crossed paths in the first place.
Yeah, but it quickly got pushed onto the back burner when you started to actually fall for him…
I wish I could tell myself that I didn’t fall for Luca Weaver, but I know it would be a flat-out lie. I did start to fall for him. Hell, I’m pretty sure I did fall for him.
And what good did that do me? Basically, a backpack full of hiking shit I don’t need and a goddamn broken heart.
“Fuck!” I shout into the open air. “Fuck this kayak! Fuck Luca Weaver! And fuck you, Alaska! You might be pretty, but I will never come back here again!”
Somehow, between all of my outrageous shouting, I manage to make it all the way to the other side of the bay, and lucky for me, I get out of the kayak without falling face first into the water.
Lucky. Jesus. Is every-fucking-thing going to remind me of him?
Yes, my brain taunts, but I brush it off with a deep sigh and lug the kayak up the dry ground and toward my rental that’s still parked just past the dock.
I struggle with putting the damn thing on top of the roof like Earl showed me, and eventually, when I give up on using rope to secure it, I open both of the back seat windows and just shove the sucker through the holes. It looks like I have a giant plastic banana in my car, the ends poking out the damn windows.
No doubt, this is some sort of safety hazard, but it’s the best I can do.
I fire up the engine and pull out onto the open road, tears still dripping down my cheeks.