She might have left me on the beach, begging her to not walk out of my life, but I don’t care. Yeah, she walked away from me, but in the end, despite the shitty conversation, I’m glad she came to see me—and she came alone. Although as soon as I told her the prick knew about her attack, she not only mentally checked out, she left.

I’ll keep trying. I’ve needed her since the day I left. I wished I’d have told her that. I actually wish I had taken her with me. Maybe that was what she needed to hear. I did run after her but stopped when I reached the end of the bridge. He was there looking all kinds of smug and arrogant. Who the fuck wears jeans and boots to the beach?

But Dahl, she was pissed. She stormed right up to him and, fuck, did she go off. From the looks of it there are cracks in their relationship. Things he doesn’t know or understand about her like I do. He didn’t tell her what he knew. I know better. She’s pissed as fuck at him and getting her to forgive him isn’t going to be easy. That’s exactly what I need—for them to be apart. Time for her to remember us and forget them.

If she breaks up with him like she did with me that one time, I’ll have plenty of time to get her back. Fuck, she may never get back together with him. She broke up with me for what she thought was only the start of something with someone else, and I let her believe that. I had to. I couldn’t tell her the truth. I knew if she had found out we’d be over forever. She would never forgive me; fuck, I still can’t forgive myself. I made one slip in judgment, but I would never do that to her again. Not even if it’s served right in front of me. The one time ate away at me.

Each time I thought about it I hated myself for being weak, but in all honesty I enjoyed every minute while it happened. For some reason that copper-haired girl got my blood pumping. I didn’t want to know anything about her. I didn’t even know her last name. In fact, every time she came on to me, I ran away. How fucking pathetic. Why couldn’t I just tell her to back off? For some reason I couldn’t. And I didn’t the night I was shitfaced and she cornered me at the after-party. She did her usual come-on and I did my usual and hightailed it away from her but she followed. Trevor hadn’t come back to school yet and the room was empty so I headed there. I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face. When I looked in the mirror—there she was taking her clothes off. Yeah, her body was amazing and the way she offered it to me was fucking hot, but there was more. It was something in her eyes that drew me in. I felt like she got me. I couldn’t stop myself, but I know I should never have fucked her. It could have destroyed my relationship with Dahl. Almost did.

We stayed locked up in Trevor’s empty suite and I didn’t just screw her once—but over and over again, all night long. She was kinky as fuck and we kept at it until dawn. I knew it was wrong.

Why am I even still thinking about her? Maybe it was her eyes? Maybe it was the way she blew me? Maybe it was the mind-blowing sex? I have no fucking idea . . .

But later when that girl e-mailed me asking to meet, I was determined to stay away. Fuck, I thought maybe she was going to tell Dahl or tell me she had VD. Eventually I agreed when she said it was really important. In the end I never met her because Dahl came home early. That was the last I heard from her so I figured she was just trying to get my attention and finally gave up—until she started calling again months later. By then Dahl had seen the e-mail and I knew better than to even talk to her. I wasn’t taking any chances.

I still, to this day, can’t believe I strayed from my girl. I’d like to blame it on being young and immature because, really, of all the things that I was—I wasn’t a cheater. Or at least I wasn’t until that one night. Hell, I was used to being pursued. I shouldn’t have let her break me. Women have chased me my whole life—some relentlessly, but I never cared, not once before her and not once after her. Shit, back then I lived in a frat house and there was never a shortage of girls offering to have a good time. I always refused. I loved my girl and wasn’t taking the chance of losing her.

Your Call

It’s still early in the morning when I find myself at the beach. I park a few miles from the house I used to share with Ben and remove my Converse so I can feel the grainy sand that usually comforts me, but once again it doesn’t. As I walk along the shore, the tide rolls in and splashes of cold water prickle my skin. So many thoughts are running through my head. First and foremost: What the hell just happened?

I’m drawn to the water and wade in further and further until I am almost knee-deep. The salty air blows on my face and I take deep calming breaths wishing away the pain and turmoil I can’t seem to handle. As tears trickle down my cheeks, the salty scent of the sea air seeps into my nose. I stop and sit down in the cold water, now barely below my chin. Then I dive under and never want to surface. Life seems so tranquil down here.

When I come back up I make my way to the sand and just lay there. The beach is very quiet. Birds chirp peacefully as they soar overhead. I close my eyes willing myself to stop crying. I can’t even figure out who I’m crying for—Ben, River, myself?

I must have drifted off because suddenly I can hear small children playing nearby and feel the hot sun beating down on me. I get up and wipe as much sand off me as I can and then make my way back to the car. Looking behind me, I see the footprints I left vanishing as people jog by without a care in the world, and I wish I had that same carefree feeling, the feeling I had just last week.

I grab my sneakers and sweater at the beach entrance—the only dry things I have. I take my keys out of my Converse and shove them in my jeans pocket. I pull my sweater around me with shaky hands, try to shake the sand from my hair and hurry to the car, my head swimming with the unknown. I break into a sprint to get there, my bare feet crushing against the stones beneath me, but I don’t even care. I’m almost gasping when I reach for my keys. Leaning my head against the steering wheel, I try to figure out what to do, where to go. Glancing over at my phone, I just want to hear his voice, so I turn it on and check my messages.

There are four—Grace, Serena, Aerie, and an unknown caller, but none from River. I’m not surprised. I’m mad as hell at him for not telling me what he knew, for making me doubt his trust, but he was just as mad at me for going to see Ben. I’ve never seen him like that. I’ve never seen me like that. I listen to the messages—Grace telling me to turn around and talk this out, Serena asking if I’m all right and telling me she’s here for me if I need to talk, Aerie yelling into the phone to call her now, and the unknown caller, Ben, begging me to come back. Ben—the voice I hadn’t heard in so long until yesterday, the voice of the man I loved unconditionally, the voice of the man whom I had always trusted.

My eyes are stinging and my thoughts are even more of a jumbled mess than they were before I got to the beach. I stare blankly at the traffic as it rushes by on the now-busy Pacific Coast Highway. My heart thumps out of my chest as I turn the engine on and jerk into the lane of traffic almost haphazardly. I skid to a quick stop at the first traffic light. I am driving way too fast, but my head is swimming with memories. Cars are honking for me to move as the light turns green. I accelerate as fast as I can and head to the only place that comes to mind right now.

When I pull up in front of the yellow house with the white picket fence, the FOR SALE sign still occupies the front yard. The place is neglected, in need of some tender loving care, but still, right now, it is my refuge.