First and Tension (Summersweet Island 4)

CHAPTER 7

Emily

“I’m sensing some hostility here.”

I can’t believe I told him to eat shit.

My feet pound into the sand harder, trying to push all the unwanted thoughts from my head as I jog down the shoreline, making my way past Summersweet Island Golf Course, where I’ll loop around the far end of the island. Once there, I’ll pass the Summersweet Island Hotel and the public beach, finishing at the ferry dock, where I’ll cool off with the one-mile walk up through the middle of the island, back to my cottage.

This is one of my favorite things to do when I’m home, and it reminds me of every morning of my life starting in middle school, when I would set my alarm to wake up before everyone else, getting a five-mile jog in before school. Not only was I determined at an early age to do whatever it took to be a professional cheerleader and dancer, but there’s nothing better than the view from Summersweet Island first thing in the morning. When the sun is just starting to peek above the horizon, blanketing everything in a soft, hazy light. The beach has been freshly combed into neat lines from the clean-up tractors in the middle of the night, dolphins pop out of the water every so often in the distance, and nothing can be heard but the crashing of the waves to the shore a few feet away from me. Well, except for the seagulls crying overhead as they dive-bomb the water, looking for breakfast.

I can’t believe I ordered him off the island.

Too bad my enjoyment of the view all around me is hindered by worry that I was too hard on Quinn last night. And the only thing I hear right now is the angry rock music blasting from my earbuds from my workout playlist I put on when I walked out the door in the hopes it would pump me up, instead of sending me back into a spiraling pit of despair.

You were mean to him!

He only came here to buy my silence.

But he’s a famous professional quarterback! Of course he felt like he needed to protect his life and his career!

He didn’t even ask if I was okay.

Did you forget about the whole rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand, not wanting you to move away thing?

He thought I did this for fame.

Technically, his agent said that, and he called him an asshole for you!

Oh, you can eat shit too!

Ignoring the voices in my head, considering I already spent an entire sleepless night tossing and turning and arguing with myself, I shake thoughts of Quinn away when the sign for the hotel comes into view, focusing on the future instead of the past. He’s out of my life for good, and now I need to put him out of my mind as well and figure out a way to break it to my parents and the entire island that none of it was true, so we can all go on with our lives.

Because that’s not going to be mortifying at all, considering I already wore one of the sweaters Johanna knitted to bed last night, ate the entire cake Heather left on my porch, and inhaled the lasagna Alicia stopped by to give me when I got home from work, after I accidentally agreed to buy a whole table of tickets from her to the steak fry, because of course Quinn would want to invite his family to hear him speak!

My skin is sticky with sweat and the cool wetness in the air, and I push myself harder and pick up the pace as I make my way past the hotel, refusing to think about the fact that it was just so easy for him to walk away after he got what he came for. And now I’m stuck here to pick up the pieces, not finding any enjoyment in one of my favorite activities because of him!

Any resident will tell you the offseason is their favorite time of year, no matter what month you ask them. The beach is empty aside from one person walking their dog and another person on their morning walk with a metal detector, looking for money and other treasures buried in the sand. I recognize both of them and give them a wave as I run past, thankful that my earbuds and my quick pace deters them from trying to stop me to talk about he who shall not be named. The sooner I can never think about him again, the better off I’ll be.

“He doesn’t give a shit about me, so I don’t give a shit about him,” I mutter to myself before I start to sing along with the song playing in my ears, while I easily jog over a piece of driftwood that washed up on shore.