Light in Mourning

2

The memory of that fucking cottage sat in my mind all week.

And the following week.

I stayed on my boat, dicking around, working here and there, listening to Gavin bitch at me because my head wasn’t in the game. I knew he was trying to be patient. I knew he was worried. I got random texts from Drew every few days that were about random stupid shit and I knew they were check-ins. She was worried, possibly more than Gavin was. I think it concerned them that I was alone up here at the scene of the crime with only the memories of Georgia and me surrounding my every thought.

Trouble was, this was the only place I wanted to be. I only wanted to be in the place where we’d made those memories. Hence, the reason that cottage down the shore from her beach house was haunting me. In some fucked-up way, I knew if I had that cottage, I would know if she came back. I realized this made me a full-on stalker. I knew that. I just didn’t care.

So I finally dialed the number that had been burned into my brain.

Not only was the place for sale, but also it was well under my budget. Significantly so, probably because the fucking roof looked like it was about to cave in. But I didn’t care. I offered the asking price. I think they were desperate to unload the place, as it had sat there abandoned for more than a year. The owner lived out of town and the cottage had belonged to his father, who had passed on. I tried to offer my sympathy, but in reality, I was relieved the place was for sale and was prime location.

I knew I was pathetic.

Wholeheartedly.

I also knew this was a rash decision. Except it felt like it wasn't. I’d tossed it around in my head on the deck of my boat for the better part of two weeks. And the month before that, I’d only thought about this place—about the moments Georgia and I had shared on this beach. If I never saw her again, if she never came back to the beach house and she married Kyle and had her perfect little rug rats and a white picket fence, I wouldn’t regret buying the cottage because the summer I’d shared with that one perfect girl had been my perfect summer. Being around her had filled me up inside. So if I never laid eyes on her again, just living with the memory around me would have to be enough, because I knew I had no chance of getting over Georgia Montgomery. Not in this lifetime.

I moved in on a Tuesday. I let the lease run out on my apartment and convinced Gavin to drive a moving truck up with some of my furniture. I paid him in beer. That’s all he ever needed. I knew it was unavoidable, but I feared seeing Drew would be torture. She'd driven separately because Gavin would need a way home. I knew she would lay into me the entire few days they were here.

I was right. She did.

I was pissed, but I held it in. That little dark-haired pixie could meddle like no one’s business. What punched me in the gut was she spoke to Georgia often; she knew how her life was now. I walked around like a mute, refusing to ask questions, but Drew filled me in anyway.

She told me Georgia was in rough shape.

I told her I didn’t care. Secretly, I did. I cared so fucking much it hurt.

Drew told me I should call her. I told her no fucking way. Georgia had to come to me. We’d been a fucking mess all summer, back and forth and back and forth, and I was done with it. Georgia needed to choose me, something she hadn’t done all summer.

She also had to choose herself, what she wanted. And what she thought she wanted was Kyle, so I had to respect that, no matter how much it made my stomach boil with anger and hurt.

I threw myself on the couch when Gavin and Drew finally left. Back to being by myself, just me and Charlie; exactly how I wanted it. No one to nag me, no one to shoot me pitiful glances. I had my dog, some beer, Internet . . . and it was all I really needed.

One evening, I was at the store picking up more beer and dog food, when I ran into Briana, or was it Kelsey? Fuck if I remembered. I could hardly keep them straight when I’d screwed them this summer. I tossed a jar of peanut butter into my cart when a hand slid around my waist and a husky voice whispered in my ear. I’d be lying if I said my dick didn’t twitch to life—purely reactionary—because the second thing my brain registered was this girl was trouble wrapped up in psycho.

“Didn’t know you were back in town. Why didn’t you call me?” she breathed as her hand trailed down to my ass and gave a squeeze. I rolled my eyes before I turned and plastered a smile on my face.

“Hey, what’s up?” I took her in. Briana, I think it was. Tight jeans, heels, bright red sweater that covered her sizable tits, but still managed to be indecent.

“You been here long?” she murmured in my ear as her hand smoothed down the front of my jeans and brushed against my cock. For a split second, I thought about taking her home. My body and mind raged. I wanted to fuck Georgia out of my system. Sink balls-deep into this girl and fuck away the pain. But the thought of being with anyone other than Georgia had my stomach twisting painfully.

“Few weeks,” I said before removing her hand from my junk.

“Let’s get together. You still have my number, right?” She caressed my arm suggestively.

“Yeah, I have it.” That was a lie. I’d cleared all numbers out of my phone that weren’t Georgia’s one night on the boat when I was drunk and bitter. “I’ll call you.” I turned back to the cart, trying to blow her off.

“Are you busy tonight? I have plans, but I could be persuaded into canceling them.” She brushed her tits against my arm. My dick was still stirring to life. He was all in. My fucking head wasn’t, though. I was getting pissed. I was so sick of girls that refused to take a hint.

“Got things to do. Sorry.” I pushed the cart down the aisle and headed for the liquor. Tonight was going to be a scotch kind of night.

“Maybe tomorrow, then?” She trailed after me.

“Maybe. I’ll call you.” I continued to walk.

“Okay, Tristan. Good to see you.” She cupped my ass and her fingers wrapped around to my balls from behind. I sucked in a quick breath as all the blood rushed to my dick. My head refused to think straight.

Fuck.

I ground my teeth together.

All I wanted was Georgia.

Could I fuck someone else? Did I want to? I’d tried that all summer and it hadn’t worked for shit. Except now, Georgia wasn’t here to pull me back in. I wouldn’t have to wake up the next morning, the smell of sweaty sex on me from some other chick, and look into her pained eyes. My dick pounded in my jeans as I scrubbed my palm over my face.

“See you later,” I grumbled, pushing the cart with a little more force than necessary. I bee-lined for the scotch, grabbed the most expensive bottle they had, and then hit the checkout lane.

Close fucking call. It was a good thing I didn’t have the girl's number because it was possible I’d be tempted to cave some night when I was drunk and angry as fuck with Georgia. Thankfully, at this moment, I’d had the foresight to see I’d only wake up with a sick sense of regret in the morning. I headed back out to my truck and prayed I wouldn’t run into her again.