He held his key card up and flashed me a grin. “I’ve got a room.”

I held up my hand and took a step back. “I don’t know what’s happening here…but whatever it is—I don’t need it.”

His shoulders fell tiredly and he took a step. “Harper.”

“Stop saying my name like that. Like it’s more important than your next breath. It’s deceiving.” My heart thundered out of my chest like I was scared for my life. But I wasn’t scared for my life. I was scared for the heart I’d been trying to mend.

“Can we talk?”

I looked at him like he was crazy. “No.”

He looked down and nodded as if he were thinking of another approach.

“There’s nothing you can say.” I closed my eyes and put a hand up, focusing on my inner peace and lowering my tone before opening my eyes again. “There’s nothing I need to hear. Not from you.”

“I’m so sorry,” he dared to take another step toward me, like if he didn’t touch me soon, he’d fall apart.

Those words, the desperate breath behind them, hammered into my barrier and I panicked.

“I don’t know how you—it doesn’t matter. It’s not important. What’s important is that you get back on that plane and…” my voice broke but I finished my thought, “as far away from me as possible.”

He didn’t follow me when I walked past him to head back to the hotel. He didn’t even attempt to get another word.

He just let me go.

And that was just fine.

31. Harper

31

Back in my room, I shut the door and let the unshed tears stream down my face. “What in the actual hell?” I sobbed.

Swiping at the stupid tears vigorously, I plugged in my phone to charge and jumped in the shower, willing myself to calm down.

Guilt. It had to be guilt.

It didn’t matter what it was, I wanted no part of it. I came here to heal, and he was only breaking past my thin walls.

I wasn’t as strong as some of these meditation sessions made me say I was out loud. I wasn’t a fighter.

At the first sign of distress, I fell apart.

I gave in to heartache.

After a long shower, I snuggled into bed in the oversized hotel bathrobe and finally read all his messages from the past week.

Mascara and concealer did little to hide the weariness of my eyes the next morning. Still a little red and puffy around the edges.

Nothing a large pair of sunglasses couldn’t fix until I’ve had my morning elixir.

“This shit is disgusting,” I told Jill in the outdoor lounge.

“You mean that same drink you’ve been having all week?”