MAGGIE

I curse and roll over, planting a pillow solidly over my head.

The sun is not welcome here this morning. Today should be a day of doom and gloom, of funnel clouds and high winds, of thunder and lightning—then, it might match my mood.

Eventually, I roll over and force one eye open while glaring at the crack in the shades. That crack has never bothered me before—in fact, I’ve always sort of liked that it gives me a peek into the day ahead, but not this time.

Mercifully, as if the god of the skies is listening somewhere, a cloud rolls across my window, dimming the sunlight. Good.

With a sigh, I glance toward the mirror above my dresser, alarmed to find a strange person staring back at me. Then I realize it’s myself; a very pathetic version of me. I not only look like a complete and utter mess, but I look like a bona fide criminal.

Mascara is caked on my eyes, and my orange jumpsuit is sprawled across my bed. It’s all I could do to crawl out of it and wiggle my way into bed in lingerie that was meant to be torn off by eager hands. Tyler’s hands.

I look down at my lacy new bra, the cute new set that I’d purchased just for the occasion, and begin to unhook it. I stumble my way to the shower, leaving the lingerie piled in an unwanted heap on the floor. Poor Lelia—I don’t even have the strength to clean up after myself today. I’ll warn her to leave my room alone.

Warm water crashes over my shoulders, my back, my tired and worn legs. My muscles feel exhausted for no real reason. I suds up, feeling sore between my legs—remembering yesterday evening with a flash of heat.

That’s all it takes to unleash the sobs—the same ones I thought I’d cried out last night. I’d finally let myself go. I loved him—probably love him still—and he just doesn’t understand. I can’t be dependent on him like before. For Mila.

I steel myself to face more pain as I turn around and let my cracked makeup flow in rivulets, washing down my cheeks, black rivers over my breasts, my stomach, my thighs, until it disappears in a swirl down the drain.

As I battle to squeeze shampoo into my hand and lather the hairspray from my locks, I fight back the bit of remorse I’ve been feeling since Claire knocked on my door last night.

Emily had come to visit first, several times, but I’d sent her away. Then Claire had arrived, apologizing through the door and begging me to talk to Tyler.

I’d sent her away, too, though I felt guilty about ruining her night. I’d have to call her and apologize later, same to Emily and Luca—for leaving them in such a tizzy. I’m sure they’d left hundreds of messages on my phone, but I’d shut it off after Tyler’s eleventh missed call.

He’d been the last person to knock on my door. A simple thing—two taps—and then a gentle call of my name. Margaret. I had feigned sleeping, holding in my sobs until his footsteps faded into the distance.

Hot tears mix with shampoo, and I taste the combination on my lips as I rinse my hair. I have to pick Mila up shortly, and I can’t imagine my mother will let the sight of me go unnoticed. Mila will sense something is wrong, and I don’t want to upset her, either.

My spine shoots rigid straight as I realize I might very well run into Tyler at my mother’s house. Surely, he’ll be headed there to pick up Jessica soon—if he hasn’t already.

I can’t bear the thought of facing him yet, and I absolutely can’t handle the thought of a confrontation in front of my mother. Slipping out of the shower, I pick up the phone and flick it on, ignoring the missed messages and phone calls.

I hit dial on my mother’s contact. “Hi, mother. I’m going to be a little late today. Tyler might be coming earlier...”

“You’re not together?”

“Something came up, and I have to take care of a few things at the inn.”

“Is everything alright, Margaret?”

“Yes, gotta go.”

I hang up and towel off. Still naked, I slide between the sheets and close my eyes, willing sleep to still my thoughts.

Like last night, sleep is an elusive bugger, and after forty minutes of rolling around, I find myself staring at the ceiling, turning the same thought over and over in my head. Something Claire had said.

“Listen to him,” she’d said. “It’s not his fault.”

I can’t quite figure out what she meant by that—surely this is all his fault. He chose to swoop in and buy the inn right out from under our noses, and he chose to keep it a secret from me for weeks. He chose a path that he knew would hurt me.

Still, there’s a tiny piece of my brain that’s wondering if I overreacted a teensy bit. Yes, he’d kept a secret from me. Yes, he’d pulled a Superman act that I didn’t fully appreciate, but hadn’t he done it out of the goodness of his heart? Hadn’t he been thinking of me and, more importantly, Mila, when he’d done it?

Finally, sufficient time has passed to make me late in picking up Mila. I’ve made up my mind. I will be an adult about this, and I will confront Tyler. I’ll apologize if I’ve jumped to any conclusions, and I will hear him out. Then, I’ll make my decisions.

With my plan firmly in place, I dress in jeans and a sweatshirt, gather my purse and keys, and attempt a perky disposition as I scramble downstairs for a cup of coffee.

I find Jax at the kitchen counter, as always, and at the sight of my face, he pulls an extra few shots of espresso and makes a specialty cappuccino.

“Do I look that bad?” I ask him, wincing.

“Emily is worried about you.”

“Tell her I’m fine,” I say, “and I’ll be right back and explain everything. I have to get Mila.”

“Maggie,” Jax says, hesitating. “I’m sorry.”

“Really, it’s fine.”

“For what it’s worth, he’s gone already.”

“Who?” I feign innocence.

“Tyler. He left early this morning.”

“Oh,” I say, confused. “Okay, thanks.”

A weight is lifted from my chest as I realize I won’t run into Tyler this morning. Not at my mother’s, not before I’m ready to talk to him. Maybe, for old time’s sake, I’ll come around with the lavender towels late this evening and suggest we talk.

Maybe, there’s hope still.