“I think I’ll live,” I say slowly, “but I might need to take the morning off tomorrow.”
Nodding, King runs his fingers through my bedraggled curls. His eyes keep roving over me, like he can’t quite believe that I’m okay. “I’ll text Meg.”
“She might not listen.”
“I’ll pay her extra.”
“You don’t have to worry about the bakery anymore, Royal.”
He smiles softly, and his thumb brushes across my cheekbone. “I know. But I’m worried about you.”
I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve the warm concern in his eyes, or the gentle touch of his fingers, or the pleasure of lying this close to him, in the sand or otherwise. He deserves someone who will stick around, and that’s not me.
What’s making you leave?
The voice that asks that question sounds an awful lot like Cecily. But it also sounds like myself. I used to have a ready answer, but now I’m coming up blank. I certainly don’t want to leave right now.
“Do you think you can sit up?” King asks. “Cecily went to grab your clothes and a towel, but I think we should probably get you into bed after a crash like that.”
I’m exhausted, and my bed is calling to me like a siren song I can’t resist. I want nothing more than to sleep for days.
Except, as King helps me to my feet and then presses me up against his side in a sturdy embrace that shuts out the world, I think that statement might be wrong.
I think I might want him more.
Chapter Sixteen
King
The storm rolls in around ten, wild and angry. Weather like this isn’t uncommon in South Carolina, but there’s something about tonight that makes it impossible to sleep. It’s the heavy rain pounding against the roof. It’s wondering what went through Vanderman’s head when he watched me nearly have to give my wife mouth-to-mouth because she got forced into surfing. It’s reliving that moment when Georgie wiped out and got caught in a washing machine, tossed about in the waves until I could finally reach her.
I know it was a matter of chance that her crash was that bad, but the whole thing terrified me. I could have lost her today, and in that fleeting moment when I thought maybe I had, after I dragged her to shore and waited for her to breathe, I came to a stark realization:
I can’t let Georgie leave again.
That fiercely independent woman has always made me want to be more, do more, say more because she is unafraid of giving herself the life she wants. She’s the reason I bought the surf shop instead of being content to simply work there. She’s the reason I got a business degree in the hopes of expanding the shop or maybe even investing in something that’s open year-round. I’ve been trying to keep up with her since the day I met her, and being in her orbit has only ever made my life better. Who cares if I’m always following her instead of the other way around?
If I have to follow her to the other side of the world, I’ll do it.
Thunder rumbles across the sky, and I roll over to my other side, wondering how the pool house is holding up in the rain. I didn’t see any signs of water damage, so the roof should be good, but it’s also been a while since we had rain this heavy.
“If there’s a problem, she’ll come inside,” I tell myself and roll over again, trying to get comfortable. I’m exhausted after pulling Georgie out of the water, and I really need to get some sleep.
After another hour of tossing and turning, I decide I should go out and double check that she’s sound asleep. I don’t think she got a concussion, but she’s going to need some good rest after a wipe out like that. Plus, Georgie is stubborn enough that she might not come to me if something is going wrong, so I should make sure she’s fine.
I curse when I get to the back door and see the light on in the pool house. It’s nearly midnight, and that light wasn’t on when the storm first broke.
Rushing across the yard, I flinch against the sharp raindrops pelting me and then knock on Georgie’s door, keeping the sound light in case for some reason she’s fallen asleep with the light on. When she doesn’t answer, I nudge the door open and poke my head inside.
I swear again at the sight of Georgie curled up in a ball on the far corner of the bed while water steadily drips into a bowl in the middle of the mattress.
“Georgie!”
She grimaces and peeks one eye open. “Royal?”
That ceiling is going to need patching, but not tonight. “Why didn’t you come to the house?”
She shrugs one shoulder and curls up even tighter. “You don’t want—”
“I don’t want you to be miserable. Come inside.”
I’m not actually going to give her a choice in the matter, but I hold my hand out to her and hope she grabs it so I don’t have to pick her up and carry her to the house against her will. Thankfully, she accepts my offered fingers and slowly clambers to her feet. She’s a little unsteady, and I’m pretty sure she’s shivering, but she manages to climb off the bed and into my arms.
I hold her as tightly as I dare, worried that I might hurt her or scare her off if I don’t tread lightly. “I’m sorry,” I say into her hair.
She tucks herself into my hold, her arms folded up between us. “You can do a lot of things, Royal Kingston,” she says, “but I’m pretty sure you can’t control the weather.”
“I’m sorry for what happened on the water today.”
“I’m not. But even if I am, I’m blaming Cecily. “
I chuckle. “I thought you were a steamroller, but she might be worse.”
“She’s so much worse,” Georgie agrees. “I, at least, don’t force other people along with me. I’m perfectly happy to go forward on my own.”
I hope that isn’t true. Surely life is better with someone else along for the ride, right? I’m too scared to ask. The last time I asked to be a part of her future, she ran away. I won’t make that same mistake twice.
