Page 27

“Where did my wife go? Where did I go? Did we grow apart from one another or ourselves? Is who we were when we first met still an accurate portrayal of who we are now?” — Our Best Kept Secret , Henry Hayes

Since we got back to the hotel room a few hours ago, all I’ve done is stare at my computer and wish this book could write itself. I thought all the sun I got earlier today would have helped kickstart my brain, but apparently, all it did was make it worse.

This book is going to be a gigantic failure. I can feel it in my bones—something isn't right, and it’s showing through the struggles I keep having when I try to write it.

I’m practically pulling my hair out every time I open this document, knowing everything I’m going to end up writing will probably be deleted or reworded by me or my editor at some point.

It would be nice if I could just finish this draft and actually turn it in, but even that feels so far out of reach from where I’m at now.

When I outlined this book, I was excited about it. I called Mitch after I was done and practically vomited the entire story out to him. He could barely keep up with me because of how excited I was.

Somewhere along the way, all these thoughts started to creep in, and eventually, they swallowed me whole.

That’s the thing about having my books do well.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to even be having these experiences, but the fear and worry this book is going to be unsuccessful and not live up to the others eats away at me every single day.

Even if it somehow manages to get written and do better than my second novel, I’m not going to have anyone to celebrate with. It’s going to be exactly how it always has been—me alone in my apartment, getting a call from my parents about how proud they are of me.

That’s great and all, but I wish I had a partner in all this. I wish I had someone to share my success with. I wish I had someone to walk around the bookstore with and obnoxiously point out my books.

But when I picture the future in my mind, it all feels fuzzy and out of reach. I’m halfway through my twenties, and while I have success in my career, I can’t help but crave success and fulfillment in other parts of my life.

My timer goes off, and I realize I just spent the entire twenty minutes spiraling and thinking about how my personal life is going nowhere.

No wonder this book isn’t getting finished.

I reset it, but before I press the button, Oliver pokes his head into my room.

“I thought you were having dinner with your parents?” I didn't think Oliver was still up in the room. Tonight is free rein for all of us, since we spent the day together. Oliver’s family arrived earlier today, so he and his sister, along with Paige and Grant, are going to dinner.

Leo told me he and Ella are also doing a candlelit dinner somewhere fancy.

It seems everyone has dinner plans besides me.

“I am. I’m waiting on Grant, but I wanted to check-in with you before I left.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“Well, you’ve been holed up here since we got back. You should go out and explore the resort. This is supposed to be a vacation, and all you’ve done when we’re not hanging out is work.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Well, that’s pushing it, Oliver.”

“I’m just saying, Henry. It wouldn't kill you to put the voices away for one night and let loose in whatever way you see fit.”

I can see where he’s coming from, I guess. I mull it over before I eventually close my laptop and turn my timer off.

“You ready, Ol?” Grant says as he comes in, his face lighting up when he sees the two of us. “What are you two talking about?”

“Oliver was telling me to get out of the room tonight and enjoy myself.”

Grant starts to laugh before he notices neither of us are, although I've only heard Oliver laugh a handful of times. Most of the time, he scoffs or simply grunts in the direction of the joke.

“You’re being serious?”

“Yes,” I say. “I’m actually going to take his advice and leave my manuscript for the night.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re working on your next book while you’re here? I will sell you one of my kidneys to be able to read it early.”

“Grant, you only have one kidney left, remember?”

“Oh, right,” he says as he thinks. “What do you want, Hen? An arm? A finger? ”

“You are free to keep all your body parts, especially since I can’t seem to write this book without wanting to erase everything.” Both look at me as if they want me to dive deeper into that, but I don’t. “Don’t you guys have dinner to get to?”

“Shit,” Oliver says as he checks his watch. “Come on, pretty boy.”

As I hear the door shut, my phone pings with a notification—Grant sent me fifteen dollars. I’m about to text him and ask why, but a text comes through.

Grant: Buy yourself a celebratory drink on me.

Henry: With fifteen dollars, I could buy a few.

Henry: And what am I celebrating?

Grant: Well, you’re writing a whole ass book, aren't you?

Henry: I guess I am. Thanks, man. I appreciate it.

Grant: I’ve been your silent cheerleader from afar, but now that you’re back, consider me a loud and proud supporter.

Henry liked a message.

After a shower and a quick call with my family, I’ve officially made it out of the room and onto the elevator. The hotel we’re staying at has a really nice bar we’ve passed a few times, and even though I’m not a huge fan of alcohol, maybe I need to loosen up a bit.

Hell, I’ll try anything if it will make writing my book a tiny bit easier.

The bar overlooks the ocean, and as soon as I step out and feel the warm breeze on my face, my bones start to settle.

I’ve always loved Virginia. Growing up here, I knew I never wanted to leave.

I feel content here, settled, even, and not once have I wanted to run from this place and never look back.

Well, that’s not technically true. There was one point when I thought about getting on a plane and leaving this all behind, but in the end, I’m grateful I didn't—especially since the reason I didn't go was because I wasn't actually wanted by the other person.

By some stroke of something, that person happens to be sitting at the other end of the bar.

I take my seat and flag down the bartender. “I’ll have a beer please.”

I see her head turn to look at me, and I also see about eight shades of panic cross her face before she downs her drink in one go and starts gathering her things.

Just as the bartender sets my drink in front of me, Amelia gets up, but she has to come this way if she wants to leave.

I’m tired of this. I’m tired of her running from me.

“Sit down and have a drink with me, Amelia,” I say as she passes me, freezing in her spot when I speak. “Get her another of whatever she was having.”

“Henry, we don’t have to—”

“We’re just two people having a drink. Or can you not handle being in the same vicinity as me for more than a few hours?”

“I don’t want to make things uncomfortable. ”

There she goes with her assumptions again. “Who says you make me feel that way?”

“Shirley Temple, please,” she says to my surprise. She sits next to me, the bartender placing the drink in front of her. “Thank you.”

I can practically feel the anxiety rolling off her, or maybe that’s just the leftover emotions from me thinking about my manuscript earlier.

The two of us sit quietly. I take small sips of my drink, and she doesn't touch hers. I’m not sure how to break this silence. I don’t know what to ask her, but I was the one who invited her to sit down for some reason.

“I should go,” she says, fidgeting where she sits.

“For fuck’s sake, Amelia, can we just talk?” I say as I grab her hand, trying to calm her down.

“T-Talk? You mean about—”

“I think we both owe it to ourselves to clear the air before the wedding.”

She looks down at our conjoined hands, and I shake out of her grip. “I wanted to keep our shit away from the wedding. I was going to find you after it so we could talk.”

Is that so? I don’t believe it. “I figured you were off on a plane to England after the wedding.”

Her face pinches, but she masks it immediately. “Do you want to take a walk on the beach?”

I’m surprised at her offer. “Of course.” I motion for her to lead the way, and the two of us take our drinks and start off. I have to admit, this isn't how I thought tonight was going to go, but I can’t say I’m disappointed.

After all, finally being able to get some answers from the girl walking next to me is all I've wanted since she left. I don’t really know where to start, but luckily, as our feet hit the sand, she speaks first.

“If I were you, I’d hate me so much, I wouldn't even want to talk to me.”

“I wish I hated you, Amelia. Really, I do. It would make this all so much fucking easier.”

She looks over at me, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. “What do you feel for me then?”

“That’s a complicated question,” I say as I take a deep breath. “I know you’re right next to me, but you’ve never felt as far away as you do, even though you’ve been in an entirely different country.”

“What do you mean?”

“When we were in college and I first met you, there was a tower with eighty floors built around you, and eventually, I cracked through, and you were right in front of me. I could read your mind. I could tell what you were thinking before you even thought it, and everyone else noticed it too. You felt like mine, Amelia, and I was wholly and completely yours. But as we walk, I can’t help but feel like you’re still a thousand miles away from me. ”

“I’m not trying to be. I…” She trails off, and I can tell she’s nervous.

She keeps touching her neck. She used to do that all the time, but the only difference is, the necklace I once bought her was underneath that touch.

She used to tell me it calmed her down, but now, it looks like it's still a nervous tick.