Off Plan

by May Archer

  I enlarged the picture to get a better look at the diamond ring on her finger.

  They’d been engaged? How had I not known this? He’d had the girl, he’d lost the girl. I definitely did not remember him saying he’d planned to make a lifetime commitment to the girl.

  “Hey!” Mason called from the bathroom, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “Whatcha doin’?”

  “Oh, uh… scrolling your feed.”

  “Really?” Mason rolled his eyes and rinsed his brush. “You looked like you wanted to blow something up. Someone making political posts again?”

  I shook my head, scrolling back further.

  Mason and Victoria at a hashtag-farmers-market wearing coordinating sweaters.

  Mason and Victoria dressed in red, white, and blue for a Fourth of July hashtag-fun-run, surrounded by a bunch of similarly dressed prepsters on Long Island.

  Mason and Victoria looking like fucking Barbie-and-Ken-go-to-prom, all dressed up in a tuxedo and a long, pink dress for some hashtag-charity gala.

  I felt a curl of something dark and noxious rise up in my chest like a kraken, ready to choke me.

  Look, I hadn’t had some instantaneous personality transplant that made me give a shit how I dressed or how I looked, and I didn’t suddenly imagine Mason gave a shit what I looked like either—my bed head hadn’t stopped him from orgasming with the force of a rip current earlier, right?

  But I couldn’t help noticing that, just like in that song from the kids’ show said, one of these things was not like the others. And it wasn’t just because it looked like I didn’t own a piece of clothing without holes. He had a bunch of friends I’d never met. An entire family I’d never met. A whole life he’d led before he’d ever set foot on this island…

  A life he would go back to as soon as he left.

  Whispering Key was my world. I’d chosen it, five years ago. But for Mason, the key was a stopover, the tiny airport where he’d catch his connecting flight to the big, bright future he deserved.

  And the only thing that would hurt worse than losing him would be having him stay when he shouldn’t.

  “Mason must’ve been offered half a dozen jobs by now … He’s turned down a bunch already, probably for the wrong reasons … It’s not fair to tie him someplace unless we can give him what he wants. What he deserves. Can you give him what he deserves, Fenn?”

  Fucking Rafe. He’d recognized this before I had.

  My finger hovered over the picture of Mason in his tuxedo, his hair ruthlessly tidy, his green eyes clear and confident, his shoes perfectly shiny. I huffed out a laugh and blinked moisture out of my eyes, then closed the app and tossed his phone in the center of the bed.

  What an idiot I was. I had known this would happen, and I’d let myself fall for him anyway.

  “M’kay.” Mason padded back out of the bathroom on bare feet and moved to shut the curtains, the muscles in his back and ass flexing as he walked. “Time to meet your fate, Fenn Reardon. Will it be Dr. Who season two or season five?” He turned toward me with a bright smile.

  My gut cramped. I wanted more time with him. Another night, another week, where I could commit every facet of him to memory. His smell, the texture of his hair between my fingers, the sound of his voice when he laughed, and when he teased, and when he talked about his past.

  And how the hell remembering any of that was gonna help me let go of him more easily, I couldn’t fucking tell you. The best thing for both of us would be to forget as soon as possible.

  “Actually, Loafers, I’m not feeling great.” I stood and walked around him to retrieve my shorts from the table by the window. “Probably better if I sleep in my own bed.”

  “Yeah?” Mason’s smile fell and his forehead creased. “What’s going on?”

  Fuck. Right. Don’t fake illness when dating a doctor.

  “Just tired. Up early, remember? Long-ass day, even before you wore me out.” I tossed him a wink. “Got another one tomorrow. Big storm coming this weekend, so we’ve rescheduled some stuff for tomorrow, and then we’ve got to prep the boat and the office later in the week.”

  “Aw, babe, you should have said! We don’t have to watch TV.” He laid a hand on my jaw. “We can go to sleep if you—”

  “It’s, like, 7:30 p.m.” I stepped away from his hand and grabbed my shirt from the table to drop it over my head. “You’re not gonna go to sleep at seven thirty just ’cause the guy you’re fucking has a job that means he has to go out before the ass-crack of dawn. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  His mouth snapped shut, and his eyes flared with hurt. I couldn’t handle it. I needed to get away.

  “Sleep well, okay?” I leaned in and kissed his smooth cheek, letting myself get one last big lungful of his scent before I moved away.

  But Mason’s fingers clenched in my shirt, a little panicky, holding me in place. “What’s going on, Fenn? What did I do?”

  “You haven’t done a damn thing, Loafers. You’re great. You’re perfect.”

  He shook his head. “Yet you’re running away again.” He took a step away and ran two hands through his hair. “Jesus Christ, Fenn. Why? It’s like every time we take a step forward—”

  “I’m not running. I’m not. I’m right here on Whispering Key, where I’ve always been.” I spread my arms wide. “Tomorrow, I’ll be on Whispering Key. Come June or September or next year, when you’re long gone, still on Whispering Key.”

  “I don’t care where your feet are,” Mason said in a dull, flat voice I’d never heard from him before. “Right now you’re emotionally light-years away from me.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Do not lie to me. This morning, you called me baby. When you broke into my room, you called me baby. When you had your cock in my ass two hours ago, I was definitely—” His voice broke and he seemed to crumple in on himself. “—baby. Now, I’m Loafers again, and you’re ‘the guy I’m fucking.’ So I’m asking, what changed? Was it something I did?”

  Oh, man. Oh, man. In my entire Universe-forsaken life, I hadn’t had that much raw emotion leveled in my direction ever. I was not worthy of that much emotion.

  I grabbed his chin with my hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Mason. You hear me? Not a damn thing. You are brilliant. You’re gorgeous.”

  He frowned, his eyes red-rimmed and shiny. “Right. Sure, I am. So tell me you’re not breaking up with me right now.”

  “Come on, Lo—Mason. Don’t be dramatic. Breaking up? This thing with you and me, it was always going to end when you left! It’s been amazing. You are amazing. But it’s not serious. Don’t turn it into something it’s not, okay?”

  “Right. And you came to this revelation after we had sex.”

  “Hey! That was your idea.” I winced. “No, I mean, I wanted it, too! Clearly. It’s just that I wouldn’t have—”

  Mason held up a hand to cut me off and drew himself straighter. “Being with you, Fenn Reardon, is like being strapped unwillingly to the front of a roller coaster. What happens next? Do you want me? Do you not? Are you pulling me close? Are you pushing me away? I have no say in any of it. All I can do is ride the track you’ve laid down, and I promised myself I wouldn’t do this shit again, Fenn. So, I’m done. I want off the ride. I could never tie myself permanently to a guy like you.”

  I wanted to hold him so badly I had to clench my hands into fists. “I would never ask you to tie yourself to me, Mason.”

  “No,” he said softly. “You wouldn’t. And that’s the trouble.” He strode to the door and held it open for me. “You take care of yourself, Fenn Reardon.”

  This was better, I told myself. So much better. No bitter tears this way. No guilt.

  I hesitated by the door, desperately wanting to kiss him again, but if I did, I might break down and beg him to never leave me, and then where would we be?

  So instead, I said, “Sleep well, Mason Bloom.” Then I headed out into the gathering darkness and heard Mason’s door shut firmly behind me.r />
  “You’re a fucking idiot,” I whispered to myself.

  But as I lay in bed that night, I wasn’t sure whether the truly stupid thing was letting Mason into my life… or letting him go.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mason

  “Mason! Hey, Mase! Doc Bloom!”

  Beale’s boots clomped down the sidewalk after me as I left Bean Me Up two days after Fenn and I had very reasonably, very logically ended our thing, and I was coping just fine. In fact, I’d hardly noticed the lack of Fenn Reardon in my life at all, which was pretty darn spectacular for a guy who’d spent months on the couch after his last breakup.

  I mean, I might possibly not have slept perfectly. Or felt like eating. I might have had to delete Fenn’s number from my phone to prevent myself from angrily texting him once or thrice, and I very pettily had not returned his shirt or the phone charger he’d left in my room. But other than those tiny, minor things, I was going about my business, living my life on Whispering Key the same as I ever had… and the more I thought about it, the finer I felt.

  Fine, fine, fine. So much fine! Veritable rivers of fine. Entire oceans of fine. A Mariana Trench of total, absolute… fine.

  But that didn’t mean I was ready for a one-on-one with Fenn’s cousin.

  I gripped my iced coffee and walk-jogged a little faster, though the sun was turned up to eleventy billion and the humidity had little rivulets of sweat rolling down my temples.

  “Mason! Hey!” Beale ran up and gave me a gigantic smile, looking dry and fresh as a daisy despite his heavy boots and long pants. It was fucking unnatural. He slowed to walk beside me. “Couldn’t you hear me calling you?”

  “Oh, were you? Sorry! No. I was just, um… enjoying my coffee so much—” I took a giant sip of the brew in my hand and nearly spat it out. The fuck was this shit? “Mmmm.”

  “Wow, really? ’Cause I’m pretty sure that’s my drink, and Scotty gave me your drink instead!” He held a plastic cup in his enormous hand clearly labeled with my name, and his smile intensified. “Hardly anyone enjoys my yerba mate and hemp milk!”

  “How weird,” I said, yanking the correct drink out of Beale’s hand and shoving the devil juice back at him. “Thanks for sorting it out.” I arranged my face into an approximation of a smile and kept walking.

  “Wait!” Beale said, and I rolled my eyes before he could see me. “Hey, so, I wanted to chat with you for other reasons, too.”

  “Really?” I asked politely. “Medical reasons?”

  “Well. Not exactly. It’s actually about, um… Fenn.”

  I nodded and resumed walking. “Does Fenn have a medical condition?”

  “No? Sort of.” Beale stepped in front of me and started walking backward. “Isn’t mental health a part of overall health?” he asked earnestly.

  “It definitely is. You should contact someone who specializes in that and ask them about your concerns.”

  “Mason, please. He’s been a wreck and you—”

  I held up a hand, gauging the distance between where we stood at the edge of the town center, and the clinic, which was four blocks away, and the length of Beale’s stride compared to mine. Too far to outrun him.

  Yeah, okay, four feet would have been too far to outrun him.

  “I’d love to chat with you more, Beale, but I have to…” My gaze shifted around us, and I caught sight of the white fence just beside us and the little, white Victorian house-turned-bookstore beyond. “I have to go to Wynott’s right now. It’s urgent. I’ll talk to you later!” I pushed open the fence and started up the white pea gravel pathway.

  “Mason, please! Just hear me out.” Beale followed me up the path, and only at that moment did it occur to me that he was actually allowed to follow me into the bookstore.

  Okay, so maybe my river of fine was running just a wee bit low.

  “I would, Beale!” I called over my shoulder as I hurried up the porch steps. “I would, but… I need to check something vital.”

  “In the bookstore?” Beale demanded. “But—”

  I paused with my hand on the knob of the red front door and pressed a finger to my lips. “Shhhhh, Beale! No talking! You need to be quiet in a bookstore! It’s disrespectful.”

  “Mason, that’s librar—”

  I cut him off with a wide-eyed glare.

  “Fine!” He threw his hands in the air in frustration, spilling several drops of his drink in the process, and scrubbed at his brown hair. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Fine.”

  I forced a little smile. “Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

  But just when I thought Beale would turn around, he made a sweeping motion toward the door like he’d follow me inside.

  Damn it.

  I opened the door to a jingle of bells and the sound of running water from Mr. Wynott’s indoor water feature—a three-foot circle of rocks and gurgling water set into the marble floor in one corner of the store’s entryway that I found ostentatious but adorable, rather like Mr. Wynott himself. Directly in front of us, a roped-off staircase led to the private floors of the house, and to either side of the entry, gingerbread-topped archways led into shelf-lined rooms. I headed left, and once again, Beale followed me.

  Marius Wynott, kitted out in an immaculate three-piece suit, materialized from a back room somewhere, and smiled when he saw me. “Ah, Dr. Bloom!” He glanced at Beale, and his smile fell just a fraction. “Mr. Goodman. Can I help you?”

  “No,” I said with false cheer. “Just poking around.”

  Beale frowned. “Thought you needed to do something urgent.”

  “Yes.” I pressed my lips together firmly. “I’m poking urgently. You’re distracting me.”

  “Were you looking for a book?” Mr. Wynott asked. “Or a chat?”

  With my luck, Beale would stay and chat with us. “A book,” I said. “I was so fascinated by the last book you recommended, I wondered if there was a sequel!”

  Mr. Wynott’s wrinkled face fell somewhat. “But Doctor, they all died at the end.”

  “Oh! Right, yes,” I agreed. “Silly me! So they did.” I wouldn’t know, since I’d been too busy to read more than the first chapter so far. “I meant more of a, um… a similar story?”

  “Ah!” Mr. Wynott’s smile was restored. “I have a selection of them I can show you! Would you prefer—?” In some dark recess of the house, a phone began to ring. “Would you excuse me just a moment while I get that? Feel free to look around! I’m not sure you saw all of my collection last time you were here.”

  “Sure! I’ll do that.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I was now officially Beale’s captive audience.

  I strode purposefully to the other side of the entryway, to the small room where Mr. Wynott kept his glass cases full of Whispering Key memorabilia, and pretended to be fascinated.

  “Well, look at that! Jacob Godfrey was a poet! Ode to Blackberry Season!”

  “Mase—”

  “Don’t you just love how he rhymes tart and heart? And how he says he wants to lick the juice and spread the seeds on…” I peered more closely. “Oh, ew. This is vaguely pornographic. The man really loved his fruit, huh?”

  “Mason. Please just hear me out. Two minutes and then I’ll shut up, okay?”

  I clenched my iced coffee straw between my teeth. “Would you look at that! A sextant. I’ve always wondered how to use one of those.”

  Beale grabbed my forearm and gently turned me from the case. “You point it at the horizon line, rotate the mirror until whatever celestial body you’re using to navigate by appears to hover over the horizon, then use that angle to figure out distance or time of day, depending.”

  I blinked at him in surprise. “Oh.”

  He sighed. “I’m actually not an idiot, Mason. And Fenn would kill me dead if he knew I was talking to you, so could you just listen really fast?”

  “Beale.” I sighed and dragged him into the front room so we could sit side by side on the scroll-backed sofa by the window. Beale too
k up two seats to my one. “I know you’re not an idiot. You know I consider you a friend. I just don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Exactly what Fenn said.” Beale shook his head. “You’re both ridiculous. Fenn’s a mess. You’re a mess. And—”

  “That’s crazy. I’m not a mess! I’m dealing with this whole situation perfectly fine.”

  “Right.” He folded his enormous arms over his chest and looked pointedly at my outfit. “You’re fine.”

  I glanced down at myself. Light blue polo shirt. Fitted slacks. Oh. One black loafer and one brown. I tucked my feet beneath the edge of the sofa.

  “I’m trying out a new trend,” I informed him, lifting my chin defiantly. “It’s a look.”

  Beale burst out laughing. “Uh-huh. You know, Fenn took a wrong turn yesterday while he was manning the wheel on our morning tour. Wanna know what he told me when I called him on it?”

  I stared at him and shook my head slightly.

  “That he was just looking for a shortcut.” He chuckled to himself. “The tour goes in a fucking circle around the island, Mason.”

  I rubbed a hand over my forehead. “That’s…” I cleared my throat. It was actually really fucking nice to hear I wasn’t the only one having trouble, even if it didn’t change anything. “It could be totally unrelated.”

  “Nope. He hasn’t slept in days. If someone says your name, he looks vaguely like he’s gotten kicked in the nads.” Beale tilted his head to one side. “He’s got a broken heart.”

  “Well, I’m not sure how much he told you, Beale, but if he’s got a broken heart, he’s broken it himself.” I jumped up from the couch and slurped the last dregs of my coffee. “It was his idea to proactively not be together since I’m… I’m leaving the island.”

  “Right. Yeah. So that’s the thing.” Beale rubbed his hands on his pants. “It’s like this, Mason… Has Fenn told you anything about his past?”

  “Some.” Angry as I was at Fenn, if Thad Chambers ever appeared in my vicinity…

  “Right. So you know, then, that Fenn’s never been good enough for anyone, right?”