Page 128 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
My stomach swilled. With rage. And hurt. “That isnotwhat you told me a few weeks ago.”
“Because I didn’t want you to get uppity about the money.”
“We don’thavethis kind of money, Jackson!” I breathed.
“I made it work!Barely,thanks to your visit to the health clinic. But with Magix here, I figured…well, I’ve been working non-stop to recoup some of the financial loss and open some fucking doors for us.” He sighed and leaned heavily against the bed. “You see why I’m upset? After all I’ve done.” He shook his head.
After all I’ve done.
Like lying to me.
I’d severely,woefully, underestimated how much we’d been spending on this trip. He’d taken out a loan. Must have. Because I knew what we had in our bank accounts, and even if we’d pooled every cent together, it wouldn’t have covered the cost of this trip.
I felt sick.
And why?Why?Why go into debt over this stupid island?
For prestige?
To show off? Flaunt that he’d been to an elitevacation spot?
For opportunity?
Had heknownRune was going to be here?
Had he dumped all our money into the one-in-a-million shot that he’d find the golden ticket?
I didn’t know.
And I didn’t ask. Because I’d lied to him too—hestilldidn’t know about my friendship with Alistair—so I had no moral high ground to stand on.
But ithurt.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I…Idoappreciate you, Jackson.Everythingyou do, everything you’ve done. And this timing is awful. And I’msorry,but”—I fought to dredge the words from the pit of my stomach—“this has been coming for a while.”
“The fuck it has.”
“And this trip…we’ve not been happy. It’s frankly been anightmare.So I figured rather than stewingin this tension, it’s better to pull it off the burner. Let it air out.”
My hand started to jiggle. So I clasped my fingers together, twisting my knuckles until they crunched and popped.
“Oh, sure. Because you haven’t done enough to fuck up this trip, why not add a breakup into the mix?” Jackson made ahuckof disgust, picked up his clothes, and went to the bathroom, where he set about freshening himself up: pulling his deodorant and cologne out of his travel bag, washing the sea salt grit off his face, and tidying his hair.
His blurred figure moved and bounced through my teary eyes.
I’d seen Jackson freshen up dozens of times over the years.Hundreds.I knew his routine by heart. Had memorized the crisp scent of his deodorant and the clean fragrance of his cologne. And there was something devastating about watching him now, knowing it might be one of the last times I’d ever see his routine.
My heart rubbed its bloody hide against my insides, beggingme to do something to take away the hurt.
But I just watched.
And cried.
I figured I’d spend my life with this man.
I loved him.
And I’d made the decision to leave him.
