Page 5 of Leave Before I Love You

Henry

A fire crackles on the beach as Avery sits stiffly beside it, her clothes laid out like expensive roadkill on the sand to dry.

She’s in one of the bikinis from her miraculously useful waist pack—a state of undress I’ve seen her in more times than I can count—but safe to say, this is as far from a choreographed champagne spray at one of her parents’ famous pool parties as it gets.

Avery and Beau grew up with the world as their oyster, and there’s nothing their parents, Neil and Diane, wouldn’t do for them. They’ve been to private school, the University of Miami, and even now, at twenty-seven, Avery still lives off Neil’s money.

Beau works hard for his dad at his marketing firm, Banks & McKenzie—though the McKenzie half sold out to Neil about three years ago after a huge scandal broke out about Chris McKenzie at Beau and Juniper’s wedding and forced him to lose half his net worth in his subsequent divorce—but Avery flies by the seat of her pants, the life of her own little party.

She’s never met a responsibility she couldn’t charm her way out of. Technically, she works at Banks & McKenzie, but according to Beau, if she actually shows up to the office, they might as well call it a holiday and give everyone the day off.

Tonight, though, in the aftermath of arriving on this tiny, uninhabited island, she’s different.

Her demeanor is much more closed off than usual, and her shoulders, normally proud and cocky, are curled forward in duress.

She looks small. She looks fragile. Things I never thought would ever be associated with the larger-than-life party girl Avery Banks.

After her hysterical breakdown about her phone, and a brief scream-fest a couple hours ago, she’s been largely silent as I work to get us set up for the night.

Some people might be upset at her lack of help, but honestly, I don’t mind.

I know none of this is in her wheelhouse, and beyond that, I have a persistent feeling that she’s a millisecond away from a full-on breakdown at any moment.

Avery Banks is beautiful, smart, and incredibly, painfully sheltered.

She doesn’t know the worth of earning your own dime, she works only when she deigns to, and she takes little to no personal responsibility for her life at any given time.

She breezes from one moment to the next, collecting men like accessories—though, evidently, she’s not actually sleeping with them, which is a whole other bombshell for another time—and she literally parties her way through life, never missing a club opening or VIP night supplied by one of her friends.

At thirty-two, and five years older than her, I’m no straight arrow myself, but as a self-certified adrenaline junkie with a sordid family structure that dwindled to zero when my dad died a few months ago, I’m far more prepared for turmoil.

Avery needs time. And that’s okay. I don’t mind giving it to her.

I’ve been plenty occupied with my own stuff and the very real need to figure out how the fuck we’re going to, you know, survive.

After a quick survey of what tools I had in my pack, I got to work scouting the island.

From the air, it looked like a vacation postcard.

From the ground? It’s a deserted hellscape.

And from what I’ve covered on foot so far, it’s a desolate, rough terrain, with beaches on both the south and north sides.

There’s a pretty steep hill in the center, and a ridgetop with what I’m sure will be an advantageous viewpoint eventually, but there’s very little edible vegetation or things of obvious use.

Fire? Handled it. Thank God I always carry a flint.

Shelter? Slapped together a temporary hut with palm fronds, loose sea grape leaves, and sheer willpower.

Water? That’s the real problem. I’ll have to reconfigure the sea grape leaves to collect rain, but for now, I’ve got what’s left in my hydration pack. Normally, I carry one when I jump. After today, I’ll always carry two.

I finish tying down the last section of the shelter and head back to the fire, dropping into the sand catty-corner from Avery. Close enough to read her mood, but still far enough to give her space.

“We’re all set for tonight,” I declare, leaning back into the sand with my hands and letting the heat from the flames lick my grimy skin. “It’s not exactly the Four Seasons, but it’ll keep us out of the weather if we get any.”

Avery nods, tucking her knees to her chest, her voice so small it almost gets swallowed by the crackling fire. “Thank you.”

I nod. “Of course.”

Then, silence. The kind that crawls under your skin. The kind that is thick and suffocating and makes you feel desperate to end it with something… anything.

Fuck, we need a distraction— badly. And since Avery still appears as if she’s in the middle of an existential crisis, it looks like I’m up.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Beau pissed his pants in a McDonald’s parking lot?”

“What?” Her gaze jerks to mine, her pretty hazel eyes a haze of warring emotion and her cheeks pink with stress.

“Yep. He did.” I laugh, remembering what is probably Beau’s worst nightmare and one of my favorite memories.

“We were there one night, getting a bite to eat after the club, fresh out of U of M at this point, and a cop came to the window just as Beau was getting ready to go inside and break the seal from the entire night.” I grin at her and keep going.

“The cop had questions because I guess some kids had been seen littering and breaking shit in the parking lot the last couple nights, and he wanted to make sure it wasn’t us.

Ron was driving and DD, so there was no danger of DUI or anything crazy like that, but the more we answered, the more questions the cop had, and every time Beau tried to make a move to go to the bathroom, the cop panicked and started yelling at him.

This went on for like fifteen minutes, and eventually, Beau couldn’t hold it anymore and ended up fucking pissing his Bottega Veneta slacks for all, including the cop, to see. ”

“Oh my God!” Avery squeals, her face relaxing into its normal state for the briefest of moments as she slaps her hands into the sand beside her thighs. “I can’t believe I’ve never heard that before!”

“Yeah. Well.” I snort. “We were sworn to secrecy under the threat of certain death, but given the circumstances…” I shrug. “It feels like we deserve to tell a few secrets.”

Her eyes dance as she nods, her teeth gnawing at her lip in concentration. “Okay. I definitely have some Beau secrets.”

Maybe I should feel bad for making my best friend the target of all these fun memories , but knowing he’s probably curled up in a dry, warm bed with his pregnant wife while we’re damp and half damaged on some beach in the middle of fucking nowhere has run my well of sympathy dry.

Plus, he wouldn’t mind. Beau Banks is as fucking stand-up, self-sacrificing, team-player as it gets.

I smile, curling my fingers into the sand mindlessly. “Let her rip, then. Let’s hear one.”

Avery’s face is noticeably lighter as she transports herself into her memories.

“When we were little, I used to like to play dress-up tea party. My mom used to make Beau play with me. At first, he hated it. But then? He got into it. Like, aggressively into it.” Her eyes brighten with amusement, and she fights the urge to laugh.

“And when I grew out of it? He made me keep playing. He called himself ‘Pretty Little Princess,’ held out his pinkie when he drank imaginary tea and everything.”

“Holy shit!” I say in a burst, my face aching from the size of my smile. “And how long did this go on?”

“He was in eighth grade the last time he made me play!” she screams, and I fall back into the sand with a thud, hysterical and howling.

“Oh my God! More! I need more!”

Avery laughs, turning to face me and getting up on her knees for this one, her whole body vibrating.

“Okay. High school graduation. Beau got drunk on my dad’s vodka and puked in our bushes out front.

You could smell the vomit for days until the landscapers found it, and to this day, my parents think it was Ronnie. ”

I guffaw. “Ronnie always holds his vodka! It’s whiskey that’s his problem.”

“I know! What about you? You have to have another one!”

I smile lazily. “Oh, Ave, I’ve got secrets for days.”

“Do one about Beau again,” she insists. “It’s distracting me.”

I nod, thinking through my Rolodex of twenty-five years of memories, settling on another night Beau would kill to have expunged from God’s official record. “Oh yeah. This one’s gold.”

“What? What?” Avery presses, shuffling closer on her knees, eyes bright with anticipation.

“One night, we were out at a club…Poison, I think, right after it opened. Beau and Bethany had just broken up, and she was very obviously with Seth. Tension? Off the goddamn charts.” I grimace.

“This girl in a tight black dress was all over Beau the whole night, and because he was mad and mixed up and all fucked in the head from that stupid dickhead stealing his girl, he was eating it up. Feeding her shit out of his teeth and letting her grind all over him and everything. He gets three fingers into a good time with the girl in the booth, and this giant lurch of a fucking guy comes over spouting angry threats about rearranging his body for getting with his wife. ”

“Oh my God!” Avery cracks up, already loving where this is going.

And of course, I keep talking.

“Beau’s all bravado and shit, thinking he’s an upstanding gentleman like usual, thinking he’s got it under control.

And he’s being all polite, trying to reason with the guy like he’s in a goddamn courtroom.

But the dude just points to the girl…the one in the black dress…

and says, Oh yeah? This is her. My wife . ”

Avery gasps before bursting into laughter, clutching her stomach.