She loaded the items into her car and checked her phone. Lennon would be at the bar, thankfully. After a quick drive across town, she left the box on Lennon’s doorstep. With only a fleeting glance backward, she turned and took steps toward a fresh start.

  * * *

  The water was rising higher as the vessel was tossed about on the angry sea. Lennon’s heart beat faster as she looked from side to side, wishing there was some comfort to be found in land nearby. Her breathing accelerated, and she looked down to her shaking hands. There was nothing, no one to save her. Standing, she ran to the helm of the boat, looking desperately but finding no one in sight.

  As a large wave crashed into the boat, she was launched forward, eyes widening as the next wave came to swallow her.

  With a jerk, Lennon sat up in her bed. Taking a deep breath, she looked around. Her black curtains on the windows, her oak dresser across from the bed, and her deep maroon sheets below her gave her comfort. Placing her palms over her eyes, she focused on her breathing while reminding herself she was in her own room.

  With her eyes closed, she saw the boat and the stormy seas again. Clutching her chest, she fought off the panic she had felt seconds earlier—and the panic that still raged from the revelation that she had seen that same boat, those same seas, before.

  Her memory flashed to the tortured painting that hung in Alex’s living room, and she sighed. Flopping back down on the pillow, she turned to her right and reached for the empty space. The scent of Alex’s perfume still lingered in her memory, although she had since washed it off the pillowcase.

  “So much for having my bed back to myself,” she muttered, rubbing the spot that had been Alex’s.

  She glanced toward the box in her bedroom floor. It held belongings that she’d left at Alex’s, and it had been dropped off days before. It was still untouched, because she wasn’t sure she was ready to face it all.

  She could hear Bernadette’s words about giving things a chance and Grant’s that she’d be okay on her own. She cleared her throat, putting on a resolute face even though no one was around to see through the façade. She was stronger than this. She had to be. After all, she had never intended to give that spot to Alex anyway.

  It was supposed to be fleeting, and it had been. That was the end of it.

  She silently urged her mind to quiet down so she could go back to sleep. Instead visions of Alex’s smile and her deep brown eyes danced through her imagination. She opened her eyes wide and rose from the bed.

  “Fuck.” She spat the curse as she flipped on the lamp beside her bed and reached for her phone. Checking the clock there, she slammed it back down on her bedside table. “Four fucking a.m. on my day off, and I’m wide awake,” she seethed, plopping back down on the bed. She clasped her hands together, unclasped them, then sat on them. Restlessness built inside her, and she knew she had to do something. But what?

  Leaning forward, she placed her head in her hands. “It wasn’t supposed to hurt this time,” she whispered through a ragged breath.

  Sitting upright, she stared at her reflection in the mirror of the closet door. “Get it together,” she commanded, narrowing her eyes. She nodded. It was time. It had to be done.

  She reached into the top drawer of her bedside table, her hands trembling. She pulled out the single piece of paper stored there and held the flimsy paper in her hands, feeling as if her heart was physically breaking. She didn’t need to read it again. She knew what it said. The simple words scrawled across the page in Alex’s loopy handwriting had been emblazoned in her memory from the time Alex had presented the note, alongside a small, handpicked bouquet of flowers, just before Thanksgiving. “You make bad days better and good days great. I’m thankful for you.”

  She could see it, complete with the little heart and Alex’s signature beneath it. Holding the paper between her left thumb and fingertip, she reached for the lighter on top of the table.

  Having only used the lighter for candles and an occasional bowl when she wanted to unwind, she flicked it to make sure it still had enough fluid. The flame blazed, and she nodded again, setting her lips into a thin line. There could be no mementos, no trace, if she truly wanted to move forward.

  She flicked the lighter again, watching until the flame danced closer to the paper. Right before it touched it, though, she dropped the paper.

  “I can’t,” she said, keeping her tone quiet. With a defeated huff, she flicked the lighter off, scooped the paper off the floor and stuffed it back into the drawer.

  “Fuck,” she said again, biting a bit off one of her fingernails as her nerves mounted. Pushing herself off the bed, she dressed quickly, donning leggings, a hoodie, and running shoes. If nothing else, she decided, she’d conquer the heartache by making her body focus on physical exertion.

  After two miles of listening to her feet hit the pavement, Lennon felt no better, but she did feel tired. Making her way back to the house, she thought about waiting until daytime and calling Natalie or about asking Grant to go out for brunch. She leaned against the closed door.

  Then again, it had been more than a week, and she’d been managing just fine on her own. One bad dream and a couple of tears wouldn’t change that. She was going to get through this, and no one would see her in this state. They had seen her heartbroken because of her own stupidity too many times before. They didn’t need to be her support system through this.

  “It was supposed to end,” she said aloud. “It was always destined to end, and now it has. Get over it.” Her words came out as a harsh hiss, and she nodded. That’s exactly what she would do. And she wouldn’t drag anyone else down while she worked through it.

  She took a quick shower, made a veggie omelet, and drank a cup of coffee. After watching the sunrise and devouring a couple of chapters of the novel she’d been reading, she couldn’t stop herself. She knew she was headed for another mistake, but it was the only method she knew.

  She fumbled with her phone, reinstalling Tinder and browsing the matches it showed her.

  “What are you doing?”

  She jumped at Grant’s voice behind her, dropping her phone. She picked it up. “I believe it’s called ‘moving on’ in most cultures.”

  “Moving on?” He raised an eyebrow and took a seat beside her. “I thought you said you were fine.” The teasing tone of his voice should have put her at ease, but the hairs on her arms stood up and her body stiffened in defense.

  “I am fine.” She clutched her phone to her chest. “I have a lot to figure out, but I’m pretty sure sitting around here wallowing isn’t going to make it any better.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “I don’t know what I want.” Lennon stood, shaking her head. “It’s a clusterfuck. I want to hate her for making me feel things I wasn’t ready to feel. I want to set the world on fire, because I hurt, and I didn’t want to hurt again. I want to get my shit together so I’m not getting myself into this same scenario every time. I want to get back to casual flings. This was all so stupid, and I should have seen it coming.”

  Grant’s brow furrowed, but he recovered quickly. “I’m glad to see you delving into all that darkness.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but her retort would have just fallen flat, she knew. There were no words to fix the situation or to pull from the air the words she’d already spoken so he wouldn’t make a bigger deal of it than it already was. She eyed him. He could deal with her admitting the obvious—that she was hurting.

  “What’s going on in your life?”

  “The Grindr well has gone dry, so I’m choosing to focus on myself right now.” He couldn’t hide his smile.

  “Things are going well with the muffin man, aren’t they?”

  “They are,” he said, smiling and putting a hand on his hip. “But that’s not our focal point right now.”

  “I want to hear all about it.” She waited, a mixture of curiosity, happiness, and jealousy filling her heart. She pushed the ugliness of jealousy to the backburner. “Tell me about your happiness,” she insisted.

  “We don’t have time,” he said. “We’ll hop into all of that later. For now do you think swiping right is really going to make this all better?” He patted the place she’d left behind on the sofa. “If it is, I’m always happy to offer an opinion on swipes.”

  Despite the war waging within, she laughed and took a seat beside him. “I don’t know that it’ll help, but maybe it won’t hurt. Who knows? I just know I have to get out of this funk. I can’t keep thinking about her. I can’t keep feeling things for her, and I can’t keep wondering why I was so stupid to jump into something again.”

  “You mentioned wanting to hate her,” Grant offered with a shrug. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. It’s what I do when I end a relationship.”

  “I don’t know that I can.” Lennon closed her eyes and saw the raw emotion that shone so frequently in Alex’s eyes—sometimes a flare of passion, sometimes a wild and unpredictable storm wrecking everything in its path. She shook her head. “Maybe I can.”

  “Give it a shot, and then maybe that’ll stop you from bringing her back around as a friend later on.” He ran his fingers through his beard and laughed. “I don’t know what it is with you lesbians, befriending your exes and inviting them to barbecues like it’s nothing. If you hate her, you can at least leave her in the past and move forward.” His lips formed a tight line as he took in Lennon’s pained expression. “She is a great person, and she was fun to have around, but if it didn’t work, there was a reason.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” She jerked her chin in the direction of their record player. “Aren’t we a little overdue for a breakup party?”

  “Are you still into those?” Grant’s eyes lit up. “I thought you hated when I tried to throw my little soirées to celebrate your new beginnings.”

  “Maybe it’s time I try a different approach this time around.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Grant patted her leg and stood. Smiling at her, he turned and strode to choose an album. Selecting an Eagles album, he hummed the opening notes and danced into the kitchen.

  Lennon could hear him talking still but closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Drowning out the background noise, she drew in a deep breath, held it, and exhaled. She wasn’t helpless. She wasn’t stupid. She’d made mistakes, and people—including her—had been hurt in the process. But she was going to find her way to the other side of this dilemma.

  Dilemma. The word lingered in her mind. What was the root of the problem? Maybe that was her starting point. Was it her need to be loved, to have a partner in her life? Was it her eagerness to avoid feelings to resist heartache and the fact that her two desires could not coexist within the same reality? Was it her utter failing at achieving either of the goals? Was it that she was thirty-three and still trying to solve the puzzle that was her heart?

  She picked up her phone. Scrolling through, she swiped right on two out-of-towners in for the week. As she eyed the profile picture of one, it all seemed so superficial—the bio that was clearly exaggerated, the perfectly filtered selfies that were no doubt a result of a hundred tries, and the generic hobbies listed. Sure, Stephanie. Everyone loves the outdoors and getting drunk on patios. There was a photo with a dog, one of her in a tight, low-cut shirt, one that looked like a sorority party, one on a kayak, and one where she stood in a group of girls doing a duck face.

  She groaned. Staring into the blue eyes on Stephanie’s profile picture, she wondered what going out with her would be like, but she didn’t have to use too much imagination. Lennon would dress in jeans, a patterned button-down, and Chucks—just enough to show that she’d put in effort, but minimal enough to show that she didn’t care all that much. Stephanie would probably show up in a simple flowing dress, judging by the array of photos on her profile. She’d choose something that fluttered in the wind and showed off her cleavage. Lennon would compliment her, and Stephanie would know she had her hooks in right where she wanted them for her vacation fling. Conversation would be casual and easy. There’d be nothing to lose; both would know why they were there. It was always like that with tourists.

  They’d grab lunch, probably at the taco stand. They’d drink a couple of beers and have taco platters. Afterward, there would be a stroll on the beach, where Lennon would take her hand. They’d dip their toes in the water, and Lennon would pull her in when she complained of the water being cold. They’d make out on the beach. Lennon would bring her home, or they’d go to her vacation rental. They’d share the night. Lennon would dip out before it got awkward. If Stephanie stayed in town for more than a day or two, she’d end up in Alibis. Lennon would send her a drink on the house and keep to small talk. Stephanie would go home, and Lennon would be here—unfulfilled and still sorting through things. Stephanie would be just another Band-Aid, a way to kick the real problems down the road.

  Her phone dinged with a match and a message. Her hands shook as she selected the app on the home screen. She pulled her fingers back, hovering above the screen, before gritting her teeth and hitting “delete.”

  “Just another tequila sunrise,” Grant sang from behind her, oblivious to the battle she’d just been through. Coming up beside her, he handed her a picture-perfect orange drink.

  “This looks amazing,” she said, accepting the glass and smiling at him. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

  “Likewise,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “Ah,” he said as he took a seat. “To facing old demons, to surviving the present, to embracing new beginnings.” He raised his glass in the air and clinked the side of it against hers.

  She narrowed her eyes. Had she been talking out loud, or had he somehow just read her mind? He took a swig of his drink, and she followed suit. It didn’t matter. He was right, and his toast was exactly the mantra she needed for the day.

  The sharp taste of tequila stung her mouth, jolting her body more awake. “Nothing like the taste of tequila in the morning for some therapy,” she said with a low laugh. The words hung heavy in the air between them. Maybe tequila wasn’t the only therapy she needed.

  Her eyes darted to the mirror that hung above the fireplace. She stared at her reflection for the second time that day. Whatever the future held, she knew any real change would have to start with her. Warding off those thoughts for just a moment more, she smiled up at Grant. She had this, and for the moment, she would be grateful.

  Chapter Twenty

  Afternoon sunlight streamed through the curtains as the receptionist hurriedly clicked the keys on her keyboard, and Lennon closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her earbuds. Letting the music take over her racing thoughts, she focused on the comforting and whimsical beat of Fleurie’s “Wildwood.” As the indie artist sang about the love that captivated her heart and mind, Lennon hung her head.

  Like a bad montage from an old movie, the memories flooded back. At each step of falling, she wished she could have pulled back and talked some sense into herself. How was she supposed to love someone else when she was this—this jumbled excuse of a woman who held so tightly to control but somehow still managed to ruin everything? As the beat picked up, Lennon remembered the feel of Alex’s hand in hers.

  She squirmed in her seat. She hit the Next button and let out a frustrated laugh as the opening beats of Taylor Swift and Bon Iver’s “exile” filled her earbuds, as if on cue, ready to fully devastate her heart. She hit the Pause button but didn’t pull out her earbuds, just in case she needed them to fend off a conversation from a well-meaning stranger.

  She massaged the back of her neck. This wasn’t about Alex. It was about her. Crossing her arms over her chest, she focused inward.

  Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. She cycled through the familiar mantra and focused on feeling the connection between her feet and the floor, pulling herself away from tortured thoughts that felt so unceasing, so loud. She looked around the room. She’d been here before. How long had it been? Maybe if it hadn’t been so long, things wouldn’t have gotten so out of hand. Running a hand through her curls, she shook her head again. That didn’t matter.

  Taking conscious steps to relax her mind, Lennon studied her surroundings more closely. The old wooden chairs upholstered in white leather weren’t overly comfy, but they generated a sense of nostalgia. She’d sat here time and again, as she took the first steps toward getting the help she needed, first when the stress of college, working, and coming out to her family had been too much, again during the first year of opening up her own business, when she was convinced her slew of bad dating decisions meant she was unlovable, and finally when she was attempting to untangle her feelings of rejection from her family and deal with the anxiety of not fitting their mold. The stack of magazines on the shabby chic, farmhouse table next to her were still outdated, but were new since she’d been there last, and a sandalwood vanilla candle burned on the receptionist’s desk, offering clients a dose of aromatherapy.

  The petite blonde behind the desk smiled at Lennon again over her glasses, and Lennon offered a polite smile in return. Inwardly she groaned, wondering how crazy she looked to the young woman. She tapped her foot and chewed a bit on the side of her cheek. Could be she was crazy. Or maybe just too broken to deserve something good.

  Melanie, Kacey, Leigh, Alex. There were more women dotting her timeline, of course, but they all blurred together, a long line of leading ladies with doomed fates. Each one a blazing disaster of heartache and regret. And here she was, dramatic, flawed, the only common denominator. She’d been good at so many things, but not this. This wasn’t school. This wasn’t work. This wasn’t her bar. She couldn’t just fix it by holding on tighter and working harder. The sharp taste of blood filled her mouth and she grimaced.