Page 579 of One More Kiss

Chapter8

Rexton

The hot wateris nearly gone as I try to shower. Considering my erection, I probably need the cold shower. My mind goes right back to what just happened in the bedroom.

What the hell was that? One minute I’m having one of the most intense conversations of my life, and the next minute I’m making out with a stranger…well, nearly a stranger.

Her story was so sad. Her nightmare was so relatable. I’ve never felt more connected to another human in my life. She understood me, well, not me, but how I felt because she felt it too. I’ve never met anyone else who has gone through tragedy as a teenager. There’s something profoundly lonely about it. You learn quickly that adults and peers don’t understand you and certainly don’t really want to hear about what happened. At first, you’re surrounded by people who want to help, and then in a flick of a switch, they all leave and move on to the next big thing. It’s when they leave that the hard part begins. The reality of it all settles into place. The voids created by the loss become black holes that suck in all the good things in your life. I’d never admit that I was depressed after losing Dad, but I was. If it wasn’t for Ginger, I’d be lost, hell, I might not even be here.

I get out of the shower and dry off, throwing on a pair of jeans and a shirt. When I get out of the bathroom, I find the bedroom empty. Her bags are gone. There’s a note on the bed and I pick it up.

Rexton,

I’m going to try to catch the earliest train. Thank you for…well, thank you. I hope the rest of your trip goes better than this part. I wish you all the best and I’m glad that the universe caused us to spend a little time together. Maybe our paths will cross again someday.

Love,

Scarlett

I stare at the note,reading it a second time and then a third time. Finally, I toss it in my bag and head downstairs. Maybe I can catch her at the station. I check out after grabbing an apple from the breakfast bar. I make it to the station and find a train pulling in, but no sign of Scarlett. Is this the second train? I try to remember where she said she was going next. London?

Fuck. I should have gotten her contact information. I don’t do social media, but for a moment I consider if she’s on it.

I get on the train and take a seat by the window. I watch an old couple get on and walk past me, sitting at a booth with a table. The man pulls out a brown paper bag and opens it. He takes out a sandwich and some chips and shares them with the woman. They talk about their kids, and I can’t help watching them. I wonder what that would be like, spending a lifetime with someone. I haven’t given it much thought, but I think I might like it. I might like knowing someone so well that they become an extension of you, making it impossible to truly know where one person starts and the other one ends. What is it like to be that connected, to finish each other’s sentences, to know exactly what someone is thinking without them saying a word?

My brain goes to Scarlett again. I should stop thinking about her.

I pull out some thriller novel that I bought at the airport and begin to read it. I’m not sure when I doze off, but the train coming to an abrupt stop wakes me.

I open my eyes and look around. We are at a small train station. Berwick-upon-Tweed. It looks like a small town. There’s a lighthouse in the distance.

“There’s been a train derailment ahead, ladies and gentlemen. You’ll need to exit the train and rebook your trips at the station,” a man’s voice comes over the loudspeaker.

For fuck’s sake, what is up with the trains here? I should have gotten off in Edinburgh and flown to London. I’m not even going to have time to see the city when I arrive. I slowly get up and grab my bag, making my way into the train station. It’s crowded now with passengers and long lines. Great. I decide to see if I can find a place to stay. Might as well wait it out another night. I pull out my phone but can’t get a signal. Sighing, I walk over to a small kiosk and wait in another line. I find the same old couple in front of me.

As they go to step up to the window, a familiar voice speaks to them. Scarlett.

“Thank you so much for watching my things,” she says.

“No problem, dear. You’re just in time,” the old lady says to her as her husband books them a room.

“Scarlett?” I ask.

She turns to me, and her face reddens. “Rexton?” Her voice is breathy.

“I thought…I didn’t know you were on this train,” I try to form a complete thought.

“I hopped on at the last minute. I grabbed some food on the way and nearly missed it. What are you doing here?”

“Trying to get to London,” I remind her.

“Right.”

“Next,” the woman at the counter calls out. Scarlett steps forward.

“I’m looking for a room for the night,” she explains.

The woman rolls her eyes. “I know that.” She types into her keyboard and her eyes widen. “Only one left.”

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