Page 26 of To Her

Geri

T he next four weeks passed like Groundhog Day, really. We worked, and we spent time together. Con would always cook for me at his place or take me to dinner in town. He was right—he did cook better than James, and he made a killer grilled cheese sandwich, which was a staple in staff accommodation.

We had to share rooms with others. Con had two boys in his room: his brother and his best friend.

Con had explained they had gone to school together, and even though they were super close, they didn't hang around each other all that much.

I mean, sure, men were strange like that with their mates, but I had wondered if maybe it was because he gave me all his spare time and not his mates.

It was during that fourth week that something in me changed. What it was, I wasn't sure. I would later come to find out it was fear, but it was there all the same.

We had gone to the pub for dinner and drinks, a rare night when a lot of us had off at the same time.

We had drunk and danced, and the one and only small nightclub under the pub had opened, and we had travelled down there to continue.

I had gotten a lot drunker than I was used to, and one of the guys had asked if we wanted to get high.

I thought, fuck it. I had been sober now for nearly three years. I had my head on right, and I was even allowing someone into my life again.

I had swallowed that pill without much thought. I wasn't sure if maybe the alcohol had loosened me up enough for me to believe that I could do a one-and-done type of thing, but it had been a great night.

Until I had woken up naked in the arms of Con, with no memory of how I had gotten here or the sex we had clearly had.

Con's room was two sets of bunk beds, and Con had this sheet tucked around the bottom one where he slept so it was like a cocoon in there—you couldn't see in or out.

But I was naked, and it triggered something in me.

I wasn't sure why that of all things had done it, but it had.

I crawled out, found my clothes, dressed, and ran back to my hotel.

I had packed nearly all my things by the time Con had woken up and found me.

He was confused, asking me what was wrong. I, of course, gave him nothing. Just that I'd gotten a call and needed to go back home. I would call him.

He was hurt. I could see it in his eyes, but I had nothing for him—no reason for this rush, no reason for the running.

All I knew was I had outstayed my welcome, and I needed to go now.

I walked my stuff to the car, handed in my instant resignation, which I was told didn't work that way, but I didn't care, and left.

I left Con standing there with tears in his eyes. I left Con standing there in a cloud of exhaust fumes from my car. I left Con standing there with no explanation as to why I ran or what was happening.

Then I drove all the way to Seabreeze Haven to James, where I knocked on his door at 1 PM with tears in my eyes and a sob held in my chest. James didn't say a word, just opened the door and said, "The spare room is empty.

Go throw your things in there. I've already messaged the boss to tell him you're back early, and he said, 'Can you start back tomorrow?

'" I was thankful to James, I really was.

Con must have messaged him to say I had left.

The drive from Alpine Ridge to Seabreeze Haven had been a blur.

Four hours of mountain roads and highways, my knuckles white on the steering wheel, my mind racing faster than my car.

I hadn't stopped—not for food, not for bathroom breaks, not even when my gas light came on and I had to pull into a service station.

I'd pumped the gas, paid, and gotten back on the road in under five minutes, as if Con might materialize behind me if I lingered too long.

Now, standing in James's spare room, the adrenaline was finally wearing off, leaving me hollow and shaking. I sat heavily on the edge of the bed, my unpacked bags scattered around me, and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.

What the fuck had I just done?

My phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time. I didn't need to look to know it was Con. He'd been calling and texting since I'd peeled out of the resort parking lot, his messages growing increasingly desperate.

Geri, please talk to me.

What happened? Did I do something wrong?

Just tell me you're okay.

Please.

I couldn't bring myself to respond. What would I even say? Sorry I freaked out and ran away because I woke up naked in your arms and no memory as to how I got there, and it triggered some deep-seated fear I have buried deep? Yeah, that would go over well.

A soft knock at the door made me jump.

"You alive in there?" James's voice was gentle but probing.

"Define 'alive,'" I replied, trying for humour but landing somewhere closer to pathetic.

The door cracked open, and James peered in, his expression a mixture of concern and exasperation. "You look like shit."

"Thanks. Always the charmer."

He came in and sat beside me on the bed, close enough that our shoulders touched. It was a small comfort, but I leaned into it.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked after a moment.

I shook my head, then changed my mind and nodded, then shrugged. "I don't even know where to start."

"How about with why you're here and not in Alpine Ridge with the hot chef who's apparently been blowing up my phone asking if you're okay?"

I winced. "He called you?"

"Texted. About twenty times. He's worried sick, Geri."

Guilt twisted in my stomach, sharp and nauseating. "I know."

"So?"

I took a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts. How could I explain something I didn't understand myself?

"We were at this club last night," I started slowly. "I got drunk. Really drunk. And then someone offered us pills, and I... I took one."

James's eyebrows shot up. "You what?” James was one of the very, very few who know of my addiction issues, and only because he was my oldest friend, and had been the one to drop me to rehab 3 years ago.

"I know, I know. It was stupid. Three years sober down the drain because I thought I could handle it." I laughed bitterly. "Spoiler alert: I couldn't."

"Shit, Geri." James ran a hand through his hair. "Are you okay? Physically, I mean?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It wasn't... it wasn't like before. I didn't spiral or anything. It was just one pill, one night." I paused. "But then I woke up this morning, and I was naked in Con's bed, and no memory of it at all I just... I panicked."

"Did he...?" James's voice hardened.

"No! God, no. Con would never." I was quick to defend him, even now. "It was consensual. At least, I think it was. I don't remember anything, but I know Con. He wouldn't take advantage."

James relaxed slightly. "Okay. So you had sex, and then what? You decided to drive four hours and show up at my door instead of talking to him?"

Put like that, it sounded ridiculous. Childish, even. But the fear that had gripped me that morning hadn't been rational.

"I don't know what happened," I admitted, my voice small. "I just woke up, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. It was like... like everything was closing in on me. Like I was trapped. And all I could think was that I needed to get out, get away."

James was quiet for a moment, processing. "From Con?"

"From... everything. The situation. The feelings. The fact that I'd let someone get that close again." I swallowed hard. "The fact that I broke my sobriety for him."

"Did he ask you to take the pill?"

"No. He didn't even know until after I'd done it."

"So that's on you, not him."

I glared at him. "Whose side are you on?"

"Yours, always. But that doesn't mean I won't call you on your bullshit." James's voice was firm but kind. "You're running, Geri. Same as you always do when things get real."

"I'm not?—"

"You are. The minute someone gets too close, you bolt."

His words hit me like a physical blow. I wanted to argue, to defend myself, but the truth of it was undeniable. I had kept Alex at arm's length, making sure our relationship stayed firmly in the "casual" category. And now Con...

"He loves you, you know," James said quietly.

I closed my eyes, pain lancing through me. "Don't."

"It's true. He told me, in one of his many texts. Said he was in love with you and didn't understand what had happened."

"Stop."

"He said he'd drive down here himself if I didn't let him know you were safe."

"James, please." My voice cracked.

"Why are you so afraid of being loved, Geri?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy and unavoidable. I had no answer—at least, not one I was ready to face.

My phone buzzed again. This time, I looked. It was a simple text, just three words:

I miss you.

Something inside me broke. The tears I'd been holding back all day spilled over, hot and relentless. James put his arm around me, pulling me against his side as I sobbed.

"I don't deserve him," I managed between gasps. "I'm a mess, James. A complete fucking disaster. I can't even stay sober for one night out. I can't even wake up next to someone without having a panic attack. What kind of relationship is that?"

"A human one," James said simply. "We're all messes, Geri. Every single one of us. The trick is finding someone who's willing to help you clean up yours while you help them with theirs."

I shook my head, unconvinced. "You don't understand. There are things about me, things in my past..."

"That Con doesn't know about?"

I nodded.

"Then tell him. Give him the chance to decide for himself if he can handle it."

"What if he can't?"

James squeezed my shoulder. "What if he can?"

We sat in silence for a while, my tears gradually subsiding. The weight in my chest hadn't lifted, but it had shifted somehow, become more bearable.

"I don't know what to do," I admitted finally.

"Yes, you do." James stood up, stretching. "But first, you need to eat something and get some sleep. You look like you're about to pass out."

As if on cue, my stomach growled loudly. I realized I hadn't eaten since dinner the night before.

"I'll make you a sandwich," James said, heading for the door. "Then you're going to take a shower, because frankly, you stink, and then you're going to sleep. We can figure out the rest tomorrow."

I managed a weak smile. "Thanks, James."

He paused at the door, his expression serious. "One more thing. You should at least let Con know you're safe. He's worried sick."

The guilt returned, sharper than before. "I will."

After James left, I picked up my phone and stared at Con's messages. There were so many, each one more concerned than the last. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure what to say.

Finally, I typed:

I'm at James's. I'm safe. I'm sorry.

It wasn't enough—not nearly enough—but it was all I could manage right now. I hit send before I could change my mind, then turned off my phone and set it aside.

The sandwich James brought me tasted like cardboard, but I forced it down anyway. The shower helped a little, washing away the sweat and grime of the drive, if not the shame and confusion.

By the time I crawled into James’s couch, exhaustion had overtaken everything else. My last thought before sleep claimed me was of Con's face as I'd driven away—hurt, confused, and so, so sad.

I'd done that to him. I'd taken something beautiful and broken it because I was too afraid to let it grow.