Roadside Attractions

Thirty

TOFINO, BC

Somehow, we manage to find the one stretch of beach that’s not totally packed. It’s just the two of us, plus a few stragglers heading to the water.

Wyatt sits down in the sand, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, threading his fingers through his hair. I sit beside him, hugging my legs to my chest, shell-shocked.

We remain in silence for several moments. I blink away tears as the waves crash onto the shore ahead of me, still burning with adrenaline. Wyatt exhales heavily, lifting his head. The knuckles on his right hand are an angry red.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, swiping at his eyes, but not before I see the wetness beneath them. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the one who should be apologizing,” I mumble, reaching out to sweep his hair out of his eyes. I’ve never seen him like this. I have the overwhelming urge to wrap him up in a blanket and tell him I won’t let anything bad happen to him ever again.

He looks at me, expression creased in pain. “I’m not sorry I hit him—I’m sorry I did it in front of you. That’s not who I am.”

“I think I know who you are,” I say gently.

Wyatt sniffs, then groans in frustration. “I thought I was handling everything relatively well. But seeing him in person, seeing just how much he doesn’t give a shit about me. Or you. That hurt. It’s like all of it meant nothing.”

The lump returns to my throat, and I try to swallow around it, but it builds, uncontrollable. My nose stings, my vision blurring, and then I’m resting my head on my knees, choking out a sob. I clap my hand over my mouth to try to stop it. For the most part, I maintained a brave face in front of Roman. But fuck, that whole thing hurt like hell.

Wyatt immediately springs into action, pulling me into his chest. “Shit,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t have said that. He cared about you, Stella. Loved you. How could he not?”

“He didn’t,” I persist. “He needed money and a place to stay without bothering his parents, so he tolerated me.” I pull out of his grasp enough to sit up again. “God, I’m so embarrassed.”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Wyatt coaxes. “He should be fucking devastated that he let someone like you go. I’m serious. He should regret that for the rest of his goddamn life.”

I shake my head, looking away. “I don’t think he even gave me a second thought after he left. But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.” I nudge him with my elbow. “Losing you is what he should regret for the rest of his life. You were so good to him in spite of everything. He had so much more of you than he ever deserved. One day, he’ll see that he burned the bridge between him and the best person he’s ever known.”

A swell of emotion rises on his face at my words. Despite his best efforts to tamp it down, his eyes become shiny again. “Thank you,” he says, voice breaking. The words hang in the air for another moment before he side-eyes me. “We have terrible taste in people.”

I choke on a laugh, grateful for a second of levity. “One of them turned out to be a total dud, but I’m okay with the rest of my choices.”

His lips tug into a smile, his eyes lingering on mine. “Me too. ”

We fall back into silence, arms pressed together, watching the world pass by. If I were alone, I would descend into violent sobs, no holds barred, but I don’t want to subject Wyatt to that. For the first time in a while, I realize how genuinely homesick I am; this beach feels a lifetime away from my Queen West apartment, from Noor.

I want nothing more than to curl up in my own bed, under the covers, hiding from the world. Hell, I even miss my job. I’d love to go back to solving other people’s minor problems about advertising their businesses rather than my life-shattering ones.

But I don’t know what home looks like after this.

All of my hurt has been dragged to the surface, and my insecurities have multiplied tenfold. I’ve had doubts about my relationship with Roman for weeks now, but having him confirm all of my worst fears has shifted something inside me. That same thought creeps back in: I’ve made the mistake of believing something too good to be true in the past, what if I’m letting myself do the same thing with Wyatt?

My phone pings in the pocket of my sundress, and I debate ignoring it. Until seconds later, Wyatt’s phone pings too. We snap out of our respective reveries, sharing a knowing look.

I dig my phone out of my pocket while Wyatt grabs his from his shorts. I have an email notification from my bank alerting me of a transfer. After I open it, I exhale when I see the large sum of money attached to Roman’s name, along with a simple memo: I’m sorry .

Wyatt laughs once at his screen. “I guess that’s that.”

I glance at him, torn between feeling like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders and like I’ve lost a limb. We accomplished our goal. I have no reason to speak to—or even see Roman—ever again. Judging by the look on Wyatt’s face, he’s following the same thought process.

It’s finally over.

“I sent the email,” I admit after a pause, nerves twisting in my stomach. Wyatt looks at me sharply, surprised. “I know we were going to discuss what to do after we talked to Roman, but I couldn’t stand the thought of him getting away with it. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you first.”

He stares at me for a few beats, lips parted in shock, and I brace for his reaction. “Moore,” he says finally, and I instantly hear the awe in his voice. His mouth slides up into a grin, and it makes me feel like I’m in full bloom. “That's the best thing you’ve ever done.”

Wyatt dissolves into a belly laugh that sounds mildly hysterical, and I can’t help but join him, because at least it’s better than crying. After everything, here we are, baking in the afternoon heat, finally on the other side of our goal. In exchange for all his lies and betrayal, Roman is losing out on his feature, (some) of his parents’ money, and—hopefully—his new girlfriend. It feels right.

A shadow passes over us, making our laughter die out, and I glance up in time to see Margot approaching us timidly. Her pretty features are twisted in anguish, her cheeks glistening with tears. Immediately, guilt swirls in the pit of my stomach. Margot is the collateral damage of Roman’s mess.

“Um, hi,” she says, her voice thick. “I’m sorry to interrupt. It’s Stella, right?”

I nod and sit up straighter, feeling wary.

“Can I talk to you?”

Wyatt and I share a look, and he confirms via telepathy that I’m okay with this. I offer a tiny smile, and he gets up without another word, dusting the sand from the back of his shorts and walking off to give us some privacy.

Margot sinks to the ground on the other side of me, tucking her skirt beneath her. She sniffles, reaching up to wipe away her tears, and my heart clenches. “I’m Margot,” she chokes out. “Though I guess you already know that.”

I give her a sheepish look. “I saw you on Roman’s Instagram,” I confess. “Though he did try to block me from seeing it.”

“I feel like such an idiot,” she moans, dragging a hand through her beachy waves. “How could I have not known I was the other woman? I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I say quickly, holding up a hand. “This is Roman’s fault. He’s proven that he’s a liar, but I know firsthand how convincing he can be. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

She brings her shiny blue eyes up to mine, searching them. “Were you really together that long?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I can’t wrap my head around it,” she says, turning toward the water. “When we met, it felt like he had everything I’d been looking for. We wanted the same things out of life. It all moved so fast, but I felt like we were soulmates. Coming here together felt like the next step. It was meant to be for the summer, to test it out. But secretly, I dreamt about us staying here forever.”

My heart sinks with empathy. “He’s really good at saying what he thinks you want to hear.” I pause, fidgeting with the skirt of my dress. “How did you guys meet?”

Margot hesitates. “It sounds so stupid now,” she says, putting her head in her hands, muffling the rest of her words. “It was in the poetry section at my favourite bookstore. I thought it was fate. We met right before I went on a two-month trip to Thailand. While I was there, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. We messaged every day. We were talking about our future together before I even got back to Toronto.”

I avert my gaze, numb. When she lifts her head and sees my expression, her face falls. “Oh, god. I shouldn’t be saying all of this,” she blurts. “How insensitive.”

“It’s okay,” I say sincerely. “It’s good to know the truth. Did you see each other a lot when you got home?”

She nods solemnly. “A few times a week,” she admits. “But it wasn’t long before we decided to leave the city.” She lets out another hefty sigh. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I never want to see him again. But I don’t know if I want to go back home. I just got here.”

“If you feel like you belong here, you should stay,” I remark. “Don’t let him take that from you—he’s already taken enough.”

Margot looks at me again, lips pulling into a rueful smile. “I’m sorry for what he did to you,” she says, voice gentle. “You deserved better.”

I match her smile, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “So did you.”

?

In the morning, we have a quick breakfast before checking out of our Airbnb and driving back to Nanaimo to board the ferry.

It feels different onboard this time—final. It’s raining today, so we stay inside instead of venturing onto the deck, and I stare out of the window next to our booth, across the table from Wyatt. The heavy grey sky and the pale blue water reflect my mood. Everything is muted and dull. The other passengers are having hushed conversations, as if we all feel withdrawn.

I didn’t sleep well. Last night was the polar opposite of the one before, when Wyatt and I returned from our date and couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Instead, we were quiet and solitary, our minds full of Roman. The gratification of blowing his life up is still there, but it doesn’t remove all the hurt he left in his wake.

It doesn’t help that the second we reach Vancouver, we’ll be headed to the airport so I can catch my flight back to Toronto. This trip will truly be over, and I won’t be glued to Wyatt’s side anymore.

I’ve felt wrong, like a hand has been pressed to my chest ever since the confrontation with Roman. I spent most of the night watching it play out over and over again in my mind, the things he said repeating on a vicious loop.

We both knew we wouldn’t last forever, right? We didn’t make sense.

My eyes flicker to Wyatt sitting across from me, and my chest tightens. He’s staring at the view as well, looking somber and contemplative, running his fingers across his chin absentmindedly. I’ve always known that Roman and I were wildly different—that’s why it took so long for him to win me over. He was poetic, romantic, and charming. I was goal-oriented—the opposite of spontaneous. Looking back on our relationship, nothing about us made sense.

And despite how strongly I feel about Wyatt, I can’t ignore the part of me that whispers the two of us don’t make any sense either. He’s sociable, free-spirited, outdoorsy, selfless, the human embodiment of the sun. Everything I’m not. This trip—and our quest for revenge—have brought us together, but now that it’s all over, what do we have left?

Will he still want me when we get home?

Even more importantly, am I foolish to believe what he tells me? Roman has always been the master of saying all the right things, as if he was following a script he’d written just to win me over. I just spent the past four years hanging onto a liar’s every word—I don’t want to do it all over again.

I sigh, resisting the urge to place my head in my hands. The past few weeks are muddled up in my brain, and I don’t know how to feel, what to believe.

Wyatt glances in my direction, looking at me intently. “What are you thinking about?” he murmurs.

I look at him helplessly. “I don’t know.” My voice breaks, surprising me.

He instantly leans closer, ducking his head toward me, eyebrows creasing in concern. The look on his face makes mine crumple. “What is it?” He reaches across the table for my hand, swiping his thumb over my knuckles. “You can tell me.”

“I really like you,” I whisper, swallowing hard.

Wyatt’s mouth twitches into a smile, though his eyes are guarded. “I really like you too. I hope you’ve figured that out by now.”

“I have,” I say, giving his hand a squeeze. “I came on this trip thinking there was a good chance we’d end up killing each other before it was over. Instead, I’ve wound up liking you so much that it scares the shit out of me.”

His lips press into a firm line, thumb stilling on my hand. “But. . .” he prompts.

“But I’m terrified ,” I admit as a film of tears forms over my irises. “After Roman, the thought of trusting someone like that again, giving them the ability to throw that in my face. . . I need a moment to breathe before rushing into this.”

I watch as my statement sinks into his features, and he lets out a long, slow exhale, as if I’ve placed my palm on his chest and pushed the air out of him. It makes me feel sick. I want to take the words back immediately.

“Hey, I understand,” he says gruffly. He lifts a hand to brush aside the first tear that falls down my cheek. The tension leaves my shoulders the moment his skin makes contact with mine. “We can take our time. Slow down. You don’t have to feel any pressure with me.”

The tip of my nose begins to sting. His words should be reassuring, but they only make me feel more guilty.

“And if. . .” he starts, then hesitates. “If, after you’ve had some time to clear your head and settle back into reality, you find your feelings have changed, I’d understand that too.”

I’m shaking my head before he even finishes the sentence, my vision steadily becoming blurry. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. My feelings aren’t going to change. I’m just. . . I’m scared you’ll get bored of me,” I choke out. He looks crestfallen. “I’m scared that being with me won’t be exciting enough for you, that it won’t be worth it after all this time. And then you’ll be disappointed, and you’ll leave.”

Wyatt’s mouth hangs open. “ Stella ,” he breathes out. “Is that truly what you think?”

I avert my gaze to the window. “Maybe.”

He sits upright, taking my face in his hands and looking at me fiercely. “Listen to me,” he urges. “There’s not a single version of reality where that would ever happen. Every second I spend with you is worth it, and it would still be worth it even if you didn’t have feelings for me. The fact that you do makes me feel like the luckiest man alive. Nothing about you could ever disappoint me, or bore me. Never in a million years.”

My heart thrums painfully. “I believe you, but I. . . I need a minute. I need to get my head on straight. Everything feels so jumbled up right now.”

Wyatt softens, thumbs smoothing across my cheeks. “Take all the time you need,” he says, his voice thick. “I’ll be here. As long as you remember what I’ve said. I’d never do anything to hurt you, Moore.”

I nod, blinking rapidly. “I know.”

Pressing pause is the right thing to do—after spending four years tethered to someone else, I deserve a moment of clear- headedness as the dust settles. And Wyatt deserves a version of me that can confidently embrace our future.

This whole trip has felt like one long dream. It’s time to focus on waking up.

?

When we get to the Vancouver airport, we’ve cut it pretty close to when my gate will start boarding, so we hurry to check my bag and find our way to the security line-up.

There’s a bustling crowd around us, a brisk energy in the air. We find a pocket of safety several paces away from security and the steady stream of people. I’ve never been here before, but it has that standard airport feel—a place disconnected from reality with its vaulted ceilings, exposed beams, and excess signage. It smells like stale coffee and cleaning products.

The minutes are slipping through my fingers, and I feel the need to slow down time, pain cresting inside of me. I know I need to wake up, but I don’t want to leave this dream. Squaring my shoulders, I tighten my grip on my purse, wanting to delay the inevitable. Wyatt sticks his hands in his pockets, waiting patiently, and I turn to face him, burning beneath his gaze .

“You sure you’ll be okay getting home?” I ask, fidgeting with my fingers. “I could ask for more time off work, or call in sick, and we could speed back to Toronto—”

“I’ll be fine, Moore,” he says, half-smiling. “Jake and I have the whole thing worked out.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. Overhead, they announce that my gate will begin boarding shortly. Usually, this fact would have me high-tailing it through security, but my feet are rooted to the floor. “Okay,” I say finally. “Drive safe. Let me know when you get home.”

“I will,” he says. He knocks his knuckles against my cheek gently, and I sink into his touch. “And you let me know when everything doesn’t feel all jumbled, okay? Say the word, and I’m yours.”

“Okay,” I promise, swallowing.

Wyatt’s eyes go soft, darting over every inch of my face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I scold him, trying to ward off the arrival of a fresh wave of tears. “This isn’t goodbye.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “But I don’t think I can look at you any other way right now.”

My bottom lip trembles, so I step forward, looping my arms around his waist, squeezing my eyes shut as I breathe him in. Amber wood, the same as always. His arms wrap around me tightly, and my mind sifts through all of the stand-out moments from the past two weeks—the glances, the small touches, the inside jokes, his lips branding me everywhere his eyes have studied me for years.

“Don’t give up on me,” I whisper. It’s as close as I can get to saying how I really feel. Give me time. Please don’t abandon me.

Please only tell me you’ll stay if you mean it.

“Stella Jane,” he murmurs warmly, and I feel the rumble of his words against his chest. “I’ve already waited four years for you. What’s a little bit longer?”