by Shey Stahl
Leaving there broke my heart. But with any break, there’s a chance to heal. You need your heart for a lot of things. You need it to beat, to feel, to love, to hurt, heal, break, and forgive. You need it to believe, to understand, and to forget. You need it to promise.
Most of all, you need it to trust you know what’s right for it. For years I’ve fought for control. I wanted everything planned so I wouldn’t lose my way. In a sense, I had lost my way. I hid a good part of myself away to resist feeling vulnerable. When I went to the Bahamas, I let that side down. I opened up my soul and heart and let it be, trusting it knew what was right.
In a sense, I think it did exactly what I wanted it to.
Deep down you know who you are and why you are the way you are. Others don’t… until you give them a glimpse.
2 oz. white rum
2 oz. club soda
6-8 mint leaves
2 tbsp. simple syrup (equal amounts of sugar and water)
fresh juice of 1/2 lime
a lime wedge
In a Collins, highball, or hurricane glass, muddle all but one fresh mint leaf with the simple sugar and lime juice.
Top glass with ice.
Add the rum and the club soda.
Stir well and add last mint leaf and lime wedge as garnish.
1 tbsp. sugar or 1 teaspoon powdered sugar may be substituted for simple syrup.
Rylee pushes her sunglasses up and looks over at me as we sit outside a small café in Scottsdale. “You took the job?”
I nod, barely able to control myself. It’s late August, and the sun is relentless, reminding me of why I love living in Phoenix. But it’s not where I want to be. I want the heaviness of the island. I want the lingering reminder of the day on my skin.
A crease forms between Rylee’s brows. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me.”
Saying goodbye to Rylee is difficult. She’s been with me through it all, and now we won’t even be in the same country.
Rylee understands, though. She always does. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Really?” I beam at her.
“No. I hate you. Don’t talk to me about your perfect life.”
I laugh, reminded of me telling her those very same words. Wesley and Rylee have completely separated from each other, and she’s now living in my apartment and will be taking over my lease when I leave. Just last week, way too soon as far as I’m concerned, Wesley married a girl they both went to college with.
I know that hurt Rylee a little, but I think she understands they both made mistakes. No, I know she understands it because she has a permanent reminder of it growing inside her.
“Have you spoken with Nash?” I ask slowly.
Rylee sighs. “I have a secret plan.”
“What’s that?”
“If I told you” —her eyes widened— “it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?”
Knowing she’s only teasing, I smile sincerely at her, realizing how much I’m going to miss conversations like this. “So he doesn’t know?”
“No. I haven’t spoken to Nash at all. I don’t even think he knew my name that night.” She shakes her head. “I don’t even know if it’s his.”
“It could be Wesley’s?”
“Yes,” she admits quietly, then rolls her eyes. “My life is a complete disaster, but I don’t feel like it is, you know? I feel okay.” I nod, smiling as she continues. “It’s strange. It’s like it’s the way it was supposed to be.” That’s when Rylee turns to me, her palms on my cheeks. “Trust him. Let him in and trust him this time. Trust that he won’t hurt you.”
I choke back tears. “And if he does?”
“Then you know you gave your heart and that’s all anyone can ever do. Don’t regret it. It’s not worth it.”
Do I trust anyone? I trust Rylee. But again, I know I trust Jake. Trusting someone is going home with them. Trusting them is giving them your hand and letting them place a firecracker in it.
You experience things in life. Scary things. Things that change you and everyone in your life. Rylee is experiencing that and making the best of it. Sometimes you have to plunge into the unknown and the unplanned to experience life. I learned—and it wasn’t easy—you can’t live the way I had been living. Well, you can, but you’d be missing the thrill that comes with spontaneity. Nothing compares to that.
As the weeks pass and the time to leave gets closer, I’m not thinking about how big a decision this is, just that I can’t wait to get there.
Laci took over for Revel within two days. When I took the job with Stevie, I already had two clients lined up for when I get to the Bahamas.
The day before I leave, I’m finishing up packing and Rylee informs me there’s a hurricane heading toward the islands. Just my luck. The one thing I’m deathly afraid of is heading right toward my soon-to-be home.
Rylee cries as she helps me pack up the apartment I’d called home for the past five years, stuffing memory after memory in a box. For the most part, I can’t think about what I’m doing. I have to shut my brain off and work on autopilot or I’ll chicken out—especially with a damn hurricane heading to the island.
I don’t tell Jake I’m coming. I don’t know why, just that I don’t. That’s probably a lie. I don’t tell him for fear of what he might say. This needs to be a decision I make on my own. Jake once said to me, “Don’t do it unless you mean it.” Those words hold more meaning than most will ever understand.
I hug Rylee when she drops me off at the airport Thursday morning. My flight is delayed an hour because of the weather. I thank her for everything, and she promises that, come February, she will come visit with her new addition.
“I feel weird leaving you while you’re like this,” I say quietly, trying not to break down into tears again.
Her hand drops from the steering wheel to her stomach. “I’m fine, Kendall. I really am. I’m happy things worked out this way. I’m glad I found out what Wesley is really like before I married him.”
Rylee made the right decision when she called off the wedding. I know how much it hurt her to do it, but I also know she’ll be okay. Rylee is a lot stronger than I ever gave her credit for.
Last night I got a text from Jake again. It was a picture of him on his jet ski, all tanned skin and sky blue eyes. I must have stared at the picture for ten minutes remembering every detail about him I miss. That smile, goofy and relaxed, his hair, a scattered mess of black silk, his dark beard that he never fully shaves, and, most of all, those eyes that always seem lighter in the day and darker at night.
When I’m on the plane that afternoon, waiting to take off on my newest adventure, I look down and read our texts again, seeing the shark fin in the distance behind his jet ski.
Jake: See, they’re friendly.
He’s in the middle of the ocean, and I can faintly see the nose of another jet ski in the distance. I had wanted to ask him what the hell he was doing in the ocean with a hurricane heading toward them, but I didn’t. I think I had been too caught up in his island looks to say anything.
Me: Clearing your head?
He hadn’t replied right away, but just as I had been drifting off to sleep, his next text came through.
Jake: Something like that.
I thought Jake was fine since I left. He isn’t. His text messages tell me so. It also tells me he doesn’t want me to forget. Why else would he send me messages months later?
I want to tell him I’m moving there, but I don’t. So many times I actually typed out the text too, but then decided that wasn’t the way. When I get there, then I’ll tell him in person.
1 oz. Bacardi® light rum
1 oz. coconut rum
2 oz. pineapple juice
2 oz. orange juice
1 dash grenadine syrup
Fill a hurricane glass with crushed (or cubed) ice. Add ingredients and stir. Garnish with an orange slice and a maraschino cherry and serve. Frozen pineapple/orange concentrate made into juice can conveniently be used
as a substitute for both juices combined.
When I arrive in the Bahamas again, I’m breathing deeper, taking in everything I’d missed before reveling in the fact that this place would be my home now. I won’t be City Girl. I will be Island Girl.
Hurricane season in the Bahamas is usually said to be fairly calm. That is, until I decide to move there. Then a hurricane hits and it’s like, welcome to fucking paradise, Kendall.
I land just in time, with only a suitcase and the clothes I’m wearing. The rest of my stuff is being shipped over, and I have a feeling it might not ever make it. The city’s shut down, pounding raindrops and a howling wind announcing the storm’s arrival. A taxi takes me to my apartment I rented about a mile from Jake’s house, only my apartment has views of the ocean. A stormy ocean.
I immediately think of Jake when I look at the angry waters. Actually, he’s on my mind the entire time. I wonder what he’s doing, if anyone is with him, if he wants to see me. I want to hear his voice, smell the sun on his skin, and feel his touch.
Then I think, Oh God, what if he doesn’t want to see me?
We haven’t actually spoken since I left. A handful of text messages have been exchanged, some flirty, some just friendly, some pictures of what I love about the island, even one of my pet grouper. Probably not the same little dude I wanted to kidnap, but still. He’d been thinking of me. He even sent a picture at sundown from our part of the beach, between Atlantis and the bar, with the words: Thinking of you.
To me that meant he still cares, right?
Sighing, I stare into the darkness of the room. There’s no power anywhere on the island. Looking at the empty apartment and the windows boarded up for the storm, I get scared, and decide I will go seek refuge in the only place on the island I know.
Jake’s house.
I’m just going to throw this out there now. Don’t walk around town when a category 4 hurricane makes landfall. It’s a very bad idea.
This is crazy. What was I thinking?
I knew when I opened the door and stepped outside it was a bad idea, but my head and heart knew exactly where I was heading. The only problem is my body is trying to tell me how utterly insane this is for attempting it. The wind moves in gusts, one right after another. It’s like the sandstorms back home, but with a wall of water to blind you.
The rain comes in sheets, drenching you to the core. Within a second, my T-shirt and jeans are glued to my skin. Each step is heavy, and more than once I have to grab onto something when the wind gusts. Palm trees and street signs are bent in the direction of the wind, never receiving a chance at relief. Some break, while others hang on.
Stopping every few feet, I wipe my face down, attempting to see where I’m going, but it’s useless. It’s like trying to keep your eyes open with a pressure washer spraying in your face.
The whistling and howling of the wind makes it so I can’t hear anything. Every once in a while, the wind shifts and I get a second where I can see in front of me, only to be slapped in the face by another gust immediately afterward.
At some point, with a half mile to go, I actually think about turning around. But I’ve come this far, and for a girl like me, there’s no way I’m going back now.
And I make it to his house, holding onto the wood pillar on the porch to keep from blowing away. All the windows in his house are boarded up.
“Jake!” I scream over the wind, pounding my fist against the door, praying this is still his house. If not, I’m going in anyway. Hurricanes are ridiculous. “For the love of God, open your fucking door!”
I keep pounding my fist on it, and then suddenly, after what seems like for fucking ever, the door opens and Jake’s standing there in nothing but his boxer briefs with a beer in his hand. I stare at him, my heart fluttering into my throat. He looks the same: tanned skin and sky blue eyes shadowed by thick black eyelashes that curl better than mine do.
But something seems different about him. I can’t place it, but something is different. “Why are you naked?” I shake my head roughly and wipe off my face as another gust of wind hits me.
He looks down at his boxers and then back up at me, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m real or if he’s dreaming. Neither one of us move.
Clearing his throat, Jake swallows, snapping himself from his trance. His voice is quiet, shattering the silence between us. “I’m not. Why are you wet?”
“Hurricane.” I shrug, pushing my wet hair from my face, trying to appear calm and collected. Another gust of wind slaps me, tangling more of my hair. It’s useless. “Don’t be rude. Invite me in.”
Chuckling, Jake swings the door open wider. “What are you doing here?”
“Wanted to see what the fuss was with hurricanes,” I joke, attempting to make fun of myself and hating the dejection that seems present in the room. Jake hands me a towel, one that smells just like him: sun, sand, and boy. Wiping down my face and then my arms, I take another step inside his house, which is lit by candles and two lanterns.
He nods, motioning toward the couch. I don’t sit. We both stand there, him with a beer, me with a towel. “So you’re here on vacation?”
“No, not exactly.” I attempt to swallow over my nerves. “I moved here.”
“What? Are you serious?” His eyes widen, as if he hadn’t heard me correctly. “Why?”
“I took a job with Stevie Benton as a personal assistant.”
Jake nods again, blinking a few times as if he’s trying to figure out what’s happening.
I lower my lashes, waiting for him to say something, anything, and hoping he will. He can easily push me away. Who’s to say he even wants to be with me again? I’m taking a chance, an uncalculated risk.
“I have some things I need to say to you. And it’s really important that you listen to me.” Taking a deep breath, I decide not to wait any longer and start spilling everything I want to say. “I’ve never needed anyone. My dad left when I was ten, and I decided then and there to never rely on anyone but myself. Told myself that I would never depend on a single person so they couldn’t let me down. I never allowed my mother to get close to me. Wouldn’t. She died two years ago, and when she died, I hadn’t spoken to her in three months. I think that’s why so many relationships have failed for me. I put all these expectations and standards on what should be and forgot about what is. I thought I understood how love worked too. To really love someone the way you need to, there’s a certain amount of dependence there. You’re trusting them with a part of yourself that you don’t give to just anyone. For me, I never gave it. You’re trusting them with your heart. It took me a while to realize that.”
“It took you a really long fucking time,” he adds, smiling.
“Let me finish.” I slap at him.
Chuckling, Jake crosses his arms over his chest, leaning away from me. “Fine. Finish.”
“Well…” I smile. “I actually was done. Except for, I’m in love with you.” A huge weight lifts from my shoulders. Even if he rejects me now, at least he knows how I really felt. How I’d felt all along.
When I raise my eyes to his, part of me is surprised to see him smiling. But there’s a certain sadness to his eyes. I remember it from before. It’s still there. A sadness he isn’t sure he can let go of. A hole he never mended. “The way I loved you was consuming. It destroyed me for reasons I will never understand.” He laughs, his voice cracking. He stares up at me like he needs me to breathe. “I loved you more than I thought I did. More than I should have for just eleven days together. That scared me too.” He shrugs one shoulder, another familiar gesture. Jake and his shrugs.
The way he speaks and the words in past tense has uneasiness settling over me. As if this is him letting me down. My eyes start burning, tears threatening to spill over.
“Don’t do that,” he chokes, shaking his head. “I never said that I didn’t want you.”
His eyes find mine again, but they tell a different story from the one I knew from before. This one splits my c
hest and bares my soul for him.
“Technically, I didn’t say anything,” I point out with a small laugh. “You terrify me. You fucking terrify me,” I cry, gasping. “I’ve never felt something like that before. It’s scary, and I hate it. It’s uncontrollable and irritating.”
Laughing, Jake wraps his arms around me, drawing me into his side as we sit down on the couch. “I know,” he agrees, turning his head into my hair, then sighs. “Love’s messy.” I’m so close to him now I can feel his heart beating. I missed this.
For some reason, I turn and go to kiss him.
But… he stops me, pushing away just slightly, and his eyes find mine again. “Don’t do it unless you mean it.”
I don’t want to hear those words. Not now, not ever. His denial makes me cry harder, and he hasn’t even said no.
Jake sighs. “Look at me, Kendall,” he begs, his voice cracking. I can’t though. I try, again, and still can’t. What if he tells me to leave? “Please… just look at me.”
I silently prepare myself for how it’s going to feel. Tensing and squeezing my eyes shut.
And then I look up at him.
His eyes are soft and tender. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Kendall.” He’s speaking lightly, trying to make me see. “I just can’t go back there. I can’t have what we had before. It took me months to get you out of my head, and I still haven’t. If you came here just for that….” He swallows, drawing in a deep breath. “Do you know how hard it was to let you walk away?”
I nod, as though I half expected his response, because I did. Standing, I distance myself from him. “I understand.”
“I don’t want City Girl anymore,’” he says quietly, standing as well and moving toward me again.
I run my hand over his jaw, sighing heavily. This sucks. “I’m sorry I came here. I should probably go,” I say, breaking away from his gaze.