Honesty wins out. “I might be,” I say on a sigh.
And when I say might, I mean I am. I’m worried about her, about her safety. Because I know, sure as shit, that asshole will make another attempt. I know how this fucker’s mind works. Narcissistic psychopaths are hard to stop.
She falls silent for a moment; long enough it makes me turn to find her staring off in the direction of the ocean across the street from where we’re sitting.
“Do you ever wonder if this is it?” She shakes her head briefly and her voice sounds delicate, vulnerable. “I keep thinking, is this the life I was meant to live? I just pictured it so different.” Without being able to see her blue eyes behind her sunglasses, I know her gaze is likely unfocused, lost in her thoughts. “Don’t get me wrong—I love my job. I do. I just … pictured more.
“I certainly didn’t picture myself being single for the rest of my life and dying alone. I mean, do you ever just think about your life and wonder if—if this is it? Is this all you’re meant to be?”
Letting her words sink in, they seep into a deep, dark part of me. Looking out at the Atlantic Ocean across the street from us, the empty lot of land offering us an unobstructed view of the water, my voice is low, deep, subdued. “I wonder that all the time.” I feel the moment her gaze sets on me; it’s heavy. “I ask myself this more than you can ever imagine. I wonder if this is what my life is meant to be. If every few Saturdays, years from now, I’ll still get together with everyone, my sister and her husband, and my other married friends. And I’ll still be the single one. I’ll still be that guy.”
I huff out a mirthless laugh. “I mean, eventually they’re not going to be able to come out on Saturdays anymore because they’ll have other things to do. Maybe they’ll even have kids. And where does that leave me?” Blowing out a long breath, I shake my head. “Hell, listen to me. Damn pity party for Foster Kavanaugh. Hilarious.” I let out a deprecating laugh. “But, yes. I wonder that all the time.” My voice trails off and I hate the vulnerability I can hear in it. Something I never willingly display.
Vulnerability and Foster Kavanaugh don’t exactly go hand in hand. But in this moment, I feel like I’m safe to disclose this. Because on some level, she understands what it’s like to wonder if there’s more out there for you, what it’s like to wonder if this is it. And if there isn’t more, we both recognize just how depressing it is.
The only difference is Noelle hasn’t ever done anything to ruin her chances at having more. She hasn’t done the things I’ve done.
She deserves everything the world can give her. I, however, deserve nothing.
We eat the rest of our burgers in silence. When we finish, I lean in toward the table. “Davis?”
“Yeah?” Her tone is softer, quieter.
“Chin up. There’s no way in hell you’ll have to settle for that kind of life. You deserve the world.” I sense her surprise. “Trust me. There’s more out there for you. I’d bet my life on it.”
And damn if there isn’t a part of me that wishes I were the “more” out there for her.
Chapter Twenty
Noelle
After having a fitful sleep, I groan in frustration at the sign of the impending sunrise, shards of light breaking through the wooden blinds in my bedroom. At least my place is clean. Whoever Foster had hired to clean everything had surely earned their paycheck, that much was certain. I’m not looking forward to the impending sticker shock, but I am determined to pay him back for everything.
Rising from my bed and stretching, I walk out of my bedroom and over to the alarm system keypad beside the backdoor leading to my deck. Keying in the code to disarm everything, I wait to ensure I did everything correctly. Once I manage this, I start up the coffee maker, snag my zip up hoodie and head out to the deck to sit and watch the sunrise.
Now, don’t get me wrong, Destin had great sunrises, but there’s something different about sunrises over the Gulf of Mexico versus here on the Atlantic Ocean. Hell, even the sand is different here on the northeastern coast of Florida; shellier and packed. Like God wanted to make everything unique—even the beaches.
It’s the end of February and the early mornings are still a little chilly—at least by Floridian standards—so I slide my arms into my hoodie, zipping it up before slumping down into one of the chairs on my deck. Leaning my head back, my eyes fall closed and I inhale deeply, allowing the salty ocean air to calm me.