The Revenge Games Duet

I allow it to linger, his touch, just for a moment.

“I can. I will. I need to move on.” Releasing my arm from his grip, I gaze into his eyes one more time as if the door to this life is just about to close. “The worst thing I could have ever done will be to commit myself to you for life. Liam was right all along, maybe it’s him I’m destined to be with. At least I would be safe.”

Staring back, is a man hurt. His complexion completely ashen, the ache inside crippling his movement while he continues to stare vacantly into my eyes. I have never seen him so vulnerable, so completely silent with a pained poise.

And though my words are intended to push him away, but the remorse begins to seep its way in. I don’t want to end it this way.

I never want it to end.

But I know where my heart belongs. It isn’t here in Los Angeles, a place that’s my living nightmare.

It’s in my hometown in Alaska, a place that holds my best memories.

And my heart speaks the words, guides me in the right direction.

I need to go back home.

To Mama.

To Phoebe.

And maybe back to Liam.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Phoebs, would you just stand still for once and stop with that ridiculous duck face?”

The selfie stick is extended in front of us, swaying side to side as I do my best to capture the moment in panoramic, ignoring Liam and Phoebe arguing beside me as we huddle in for the photo. The beautiful stretch of the Bavarian Alps is positioned behind us, basking in the glorious sunlight on this warm, summer’s day.

“Perfect.” I smile to myself, bringing the GoPro back toward me.

Phoebe throws her backpack on to the ground, complaining about her sore shoulders again. She carries too many non-essential items, yet there’s no convincing her otherwise.

“Look, think about how toned your muscles are becoming,” I remind her.

“Did you see the schnitzels and jug of beer I polished off yesterday? This food baby, is about nine months along.” Phoebe pats her belly, purposely pushing it out to create a little round bump. “I probably shouldn’t have eaten the bratwurst and sauerkraut, too. That combo did a number on my stomach.”

“Mine, too. Never say the word sauerkraut to me ever again. Doesn’t that mean sour cabbage?”

“I don’t know. Whatever it is, it did a sour number on my asshole,” she complains, cringing.

My mouth twists, disgusted at her graphic comment but can’t even argue her point since it also makes me ill. I may not have consumed the jug of beer like Phoebe, but one sip, and my stomach growls in a non-hungry way. I’m smart enough to figure out the rest of the jug will only send my stomach into further turmoil. Phoebe—not so much.

Then ABBA comes on.

Game over.

Phoebe is just a hot mess, standing on some tabletop and belting out Fernando. Last night was day five of our trip, and I suspect many more tabletop moments involving an intoxicated Phoebe Ann Summers.

But having fun, enjoying life is the whole purpose of the trip.

Thirty days.

The three of us.

Backpacking through Europe.