do truth or dare and I certainly didn’t play happy families. Why hadn’t I seen this coming? Was I blind as well as stupid? Or was I so desperate that I was willing to fool myself into a facade of a relationship with Rich?
“You know, Lucy, when we get back home, we are going to have so much fun,” Rich breathed in my ear, his hand sliding down my back to cup my butt. “Not that we’re not having fun now.”
I shot him a sidelong glance, then turned my attention to where I was going to put my feet without twisting an ankle. “I like fun, too, Rich,” I replied. Maybe he’d get the hint. Fun and games, no strings.
“We’ll buy a house, something that backs onto a beach, great views,” he said, gesturing widely with his arm. “An’ a ham—” he hiccupped “—hammock. In the yard. And we can swing and watch the kids play.”
I stumbled again, my stomach twisting in a coil that threatened to expel Chatri’s homebrew. “Kids?” I tried to keep my tone casual, but Rich was apparently too drunk to notice the high-pitched panic in my voice.
“Yeah, at least two, so they can play together. I’ve always wanted four, but I’ll settle for three. Yeah, three...” Rich nodded, then lurched and had to brace himself against the trunk of a palm tree to prevent himself from falling down.
I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat. Three kids. Oh. Dear. God.
“You’re great with kids, you know,” he murmured, pulling me closer and kissing me on my cheek. “You’re going to be a great mom.” That voice inside my head gasped, then choked with laughter, rejecting the concept immediately. Instinctively.
I blinked. No. No, no, no, no. I’d make a horrible mom. I’d make a horrible wife. How could he not see that? I was not settle-down material. The very idea of creating a home, one that couldn’t be packed in twenty minutes and hauled over my shoulder in a backpack at a moment’s notice, was enough to make me want to puke, then cower in the fetal position in the dark somewhere, in a place where I could hide and never be found.
I took a deep breath. It was time to move on.
I sighed in relief when our hut came into view, and I managed to help Rich up the stairs. He was too involved, too invested, in what should have been a trivial, unimportant, fun little hookup. I had to leave.
Overwhelming sadness made me halt in our doorway. I watched Rich stagger toward the mattress on the floor. He was cute. Sexy. Dark hair, dark eyes and a physique that had made me drool when I first met him. He was also nice. Really, really nice. Not complicated, he said what he thought and was casual, laid-back. Where had this serious attachment come from? When had it flared? And why hadn’t I quashed it before now?
Now, he wanted a home by the sea and a hammock we could swing in to watch our three kids play. Talk about suffocating strings.
Rich turned to me, and waggled his eyebrows. “Well, are you coming in?” he asked, and despite the fear clenching my stomach, I had to smile as he swayed his hips suggestively. See—this was fun. He peeled his shirt off his shoulders with an expression that told me he thought he was being sultry and erotic, but in reality looked like he was having a seizure.
I stepped forward and helped him get rid of the garment. He really was a beautiful man, and I knew that as much as I hated doing it, I was going to hurt him. I hated him for putting me in that position, and I hated myself for doing it.
He cupped my cheek, his face going from sexy to concerned in a matter of a few drunken blinks. “Hey, why so sad, sweetheart?”
I opened my mouth. Hesitated. For a moment, Rich blurred, and the memory of Pedro and the orphanage in Belize flashed through my mind.
“What do you mean, you’re leaving?” Pedro cried, running his hands through his hair. “You can’t.”
“Please, Pedro. This was only ever going to be temporary. No strings, remember?”
“No strings?” His voice rose, and I winced at the pain and anger that seemed magnified by the tears welling in his eyes. “That was ages ago, mi amor. We have shared so much, done so much—” he took a step toward me, his expression pleading “—loved so much.”
I swallowed, fighting back my own tears. “I’m so sorry, Pedro. I—I just can’t do this.”
“This? This!” Pedro beat at his chest, and I flinched at the raw pain in his face as his tears fell. “This is my heart—my love! I thought we were good together.”
I closed my eyes against his agony. God, this is not what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to hurt him... For a moment, I thought of nodding, of just running to him and hugging him, easing his pain and whispering that everything was going to be all right. I’d made a stupid, horrible mistake. But the thought made goose bumps rise on my arms, and my stomach heave at the thought of living this life with him, day in, day out, trapped by a man’s love.
I couldn’t do it.
“I’m sorry, Pedro. I have to leave. It’s not you—” I stopped talking. I couldn’t trot out that trite little speech that had been so useful so many times before. Pedro deserved better. “I’m broken, Pedro. I’m damaged goods. You deserve better than that.” Better than me.
Pedro shook his head, reaching for me. “I’ll fix you,” he whispered, and I tried to dodge his hands, to turn away and leave, but he caught me, pulling me in close. “Let me help fix you. Our love—we can fix anything, mi amor.”
His arms felt like tight bands of steel enfolding me, crushing me, suffocating me. I struggled, and I could feel his tears soaking the back of my shirt.
“You can’t fix me, Pedro,” I whispered. I couldn’t be fixed. I broke free of his grip and scooped up my backpack. “I’m so sorry, I have to go.”
I ran to the door before he could grab me again. I slammed it shut behind me, and felt the door shudder as he hit it on the other side. I flinched, and stepped away warily, my gaze on the doorknob.
He hit the door again, and then I heard the rustle of fabric as he slid down to the floor on the other side, sobbing. I backed away, tears streaming down my face. I turned and fled.
I smiled shakily at Rich. That memory was a shock. I’d happily avoided it, and had only really taken stock when I was out on the street, stunned to find myself operating on autopilot. At the time, it had felt like a gap in my memory, but every now and then, something would surface, something from the black void that hid so much that I’d gotten used to its murky protection. I bit my lip gently. I wasn’t going through that again. I didn’t want another scene. It was cowardly, it was pathetic and it was the only way I could do this. I learned from experience. I tilted my head into his touch, and closed my eyes. I’d leave in the morning. Before he woke.
“It’s nothing,” I said, finally meeting his gaze, masking my pain, my intent. My pathetic cowardice. “I’m just tired, I guess.”
He drew me closer, his muscled arms enfolding me ever so gently. “Are you...too tired?” he murmured, dipping his head to nibble at my ear.
I blinked back tears. I shouldn’t, but I’m selfish. I’d be gone tomorrow, but we still had tonight. “No, I’m not...too tired,” I whispered, sliding my arms around his neck.
He moved his head, trailing his lips
