The Man with the Knot (Forbidden Fun #55)

Chapter 10

10

Morgan

I stare at my half-packed suitcase, my heart and mind focused elsewhere.

Brax came to say goodbye early this morning, long before the other hotel patrons were up and about.

We took a short stroll toward the hotel’s beach front area, which had been blessedly empty given the early hour. We held each other and said little, other than we wished one another well.

He was kind but distant, perhaps already ridding himself of any feelings for me, knowing that our paths will never cross again. The last kiss we shared was chaste and simple and felt nothing like the passion I know that we have for each other.

I barely managed to control my tears, but I did.

At least I have that , I think quietly to myself.

But I wish I had cried. I wish I had screamed. I wish I had pounded both of my fists against Brax’s hard chest and demanded, no begged, him to visit me. To promise me that this wasn’t the end for us.

Instead, I put on a face so brave that I could have won an Oscar.

The alarm on my phone goes off, warning me that I only have another 20 minutes before I have to catch the hotel shuttle to the ferry.

I wince at the noise but get back to the task at hand. I work on autopilot, too tired and too heartbroken to put much effort into packing properly. I stuff the rest of my clothes and toiletries into their respective parts of the suitcase. I shake the last bit of sand from my flip flops. And, after a few minutes of hustling, I’m completely packed.

And still completely devastated.

“I don’t even have anything to remember him by,” I lament, staring out of my window toward the sea.

Brax and I never took a photo. I didn’t pocket a souvenir cocktail napkin from the restaurant last night. I didn’t even collect a seashell from the beach—one that might have witnessed our lovemaking or more importantly, the two of us falling for each other.

Because that’s what the last few days have been: full of an unexpected romance that could have turned into something more. I won’t deny what I feel for Brax, because there’s no one to deny them to.

The man changed me both physically and emotionally. His entire existence is now woven into mine, whether we intended for this outcome to happen or not.

I feel the tears on my cheeks even before I realize that I’m crying.

For the next few minutes, I let myself sob. And at last, I allow myself to wallow in the feelings I’ve been trying to keep in for fear of scaring Brax away.

“He’s not here to be scared away,” I say aloud between gasps. “You can do this, Morgan.”

The stormy sky beyond my room matches my mood, the dark clouds rolling in with promises of torrential rain and rolling thunder.

My phone alarm sounds once more, warning me that it’s time to head downstairs.

I wipe at my damp face with the sleeve of my shirt, not caring if anyone can tell that I’ve been crying.

I lug my suitcase down the stairs, eager to avoid the elevator crowds. Fortunately, the lobby is empty, with only a few guests milling about over coffee and newspapers. No one looks up, no one greets me.

The lack of attention is a relief but also makes me feel hollow, as if maybe I don’t actually exist in the world.

Maybe manifesting the man of your dreams isn’t all that , I think sardonically. After all, manifestation’s now turned into some sort of mental breakdown. They should make a movie about me.

But my still tender backside tells me that I didn’t imagine Brax, and that what we had was indeed real, in all senses of the word.

I wait on the curb, my mood sinking lower and lower. I’m relieved that I’m going back to New York because my entire life is there. Not to mention that I like the bustle of the city—Brax was right, island life would have become boring after a while.

Still, it doesn’t make my departure any easier.

Clambering into the van, I look around and realize that I’m the only guest making the trip to the airport. Figures. Part of the cheap ticket purchase had been returning to the mainland on a random weekday instead of with the Sunday or Monday crowd.

I pull out my mobile and quickly pull up Tanya’s number, needing to hear a friendly voice.

She answers on the second ring. “Hey girly, are you back yet?” Tanya asks in her warm, chipper way.

I barely control a sniffle. “Um nope. I’m just leaving the hotel now. I won’t have service until I get to the airport because wifi here is bad.”

“And how was your vacation?” Tanya giggles. “Are the island men hot?” We haven’t talked since I left New York.

“It was an adventure,” I hedge in a small voice.

I hear Tanya sigh on the other end of the phone. “What happened?”

I shake my head, even though she can’t see me. “I’ll tell you when I get home,” I promise her even as I fight back fresh tears. “Let’s grab dinner soon?”

“Morgan—” Tanya begins but then stops. I can almost see her face register concern and then resignation. “Yeah, just keep me posted on your travels. I’ll see you soon, okay? Chin up.”

“Thanks, Tanya,” I whisper.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” she soothes. “Just get back home.”

“I’m trying. I’ll text you later.”

“Bye.”

No sooner do we hang up than the van driver hops into the vehicle with me.

“All set?” he asks.

“Yes,” I respond shortly. I lean my head onto the back of the seat and close my eyes.

I wish that Brax would suddenly show up in a dramatic fashion and yank open the van doors, pull me out of it and into his arms. But when I look out the window, all I see are more storm clouds and the garish white walls of the hotel’s entryway.

Life can be so depressing sometimes.

I continue to stare out the window as the van takes off, wondering if I might spot a glimpse of Brax somewhere along the coastline. The road is lined with beach and sea, but there’s no one out, seeing the gray clouds on the horizon.

I wish I could stay at Mirago.

Of course, as soon as that thought crosses my mind, reality intervenes. There’s no way I could have made a life here work for me. What would I do? How would I survive? Would I be one of the community’s sex slaves?

I just wish there was another way.

And I just as immediately squash this hope.

If Brax made one thing stunningly clear in our short time together, it’s that he is revolted by the mainland. So yeah, we never stood a chance.

Not to mention that his community is here. I bet he never really leaves because all of his ties are to this place.

That thought brings me some comfort because maybe it’s not me, specifically, that’s the problem. Instead, Brax is merely following the custom of his people.

Still, it hurts, and I cry inwardly. No matter how I try to rationalize that this is all for the best, and no matter how often I tell myself that it’s not my fault.

For the rest of the van ride, my slow tears match the pace of the falling rain.