“I see you’re checking out early. Are you unhappy with your stay?”
“No. Of course not. It was fine, just fine.”
“Can I inquire as to the reason you’re leaving early?”
“It’s personal. Just check me out.”
The woman bent her head and he regretted his tone. Apparently he hadn’t enough gentleman left in him to be kind even to the hotel staff.
“Would you like to book for next year? We have a special—”
“No.” He winced, forced a smile. “But thank you.”
“Thank you for visiting with us, Mr. Sharpe.” She kept her polite smile as she handed him his receipt.
He shoved it in his pocket, went outside, and gave his keys to a valet. Then he hid next to a palm tree until the valet brought back the Mustang.
Dropping the duffel into the backseat, Max got behind the wheel and gunned it. He’d never felt like such a chump in all his life.
He turned on the radio, trying to drown his thoughts. The country station came up, a song about running out of moonlight.
He should have stayed on the beach with Grace. Should have never answered his phone. But then what? His brother might have appeared with a company of reporters, forcing his hand.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, cutting through traffic, driving too fast. He earned a horn and gritted his teeth.
Brendon had called him selfish. It fit. The magnitude of his selfishness could flood his throat and choke him.
In fact, he remembered Grace’s words from their day at Pearl Harbor: I don’t really care about anything on that list but a man who loves Jesus and loves me.
He did love Jesus. But until recently, his belief affected only him. He didn’t have to focus on anyone but himself and only had to trust his future—not anyone else’s—to Jesus.
But the minute he let Grace into his life . . . Well, he didn’t know if he had enough faith for that.
The traffic screamed by.
This was why he shouldn’t fall in love, why he shouldn’t put his heart out for a woman. Why he should have never, ever shown up on her doorstep in Hawaii. The fact that she was Owen’s sister only made it worse because, guess what—now Owen had more reasons to hate him.
He parked his car in the rental area and took a shuttle to the airport. At the airline counter, he put down his card. “I need a first-class ticket, one-way, to Minneapolis.”
Ticket in hand, he slung his duffel over his shoulder and headed toward the gate.
Still an hour and a half before his flight. He sat in the corner, pulled his hat down, slouched. He probably needed something to read. Reaching into his bag, he took out the magazine from his trip in.
The magazine naturally opened to the crossword. He traced his finger over the word atoll. And then avast. Swallowed past the boulder in his throat.
Max closed the magazine and pulled out his phone. Maybe he could find some sports scores, watch ESPN. He turned it on, seeing two more text messages from Grace. He deleted them without reading them.
He was checking the NHL preseason chatter and predictions when his phone rang. Brendon’s face appeared.
He grimaced and took the call. “Hi.”
“So how’d you do? Did you win? Of course you won.”
“No. I didn’t win,” he growled.
“No . . . really? What happened?”
Even to his brother—maybe especially to his brother—he couldn’t come clean. “One of us mixed up the salt and sugar and put salt in the dessert. It wasn’t pretty.”
“Aw, man, I’m sorry. I suppose that sort of thing happens.”
Not in a gourmet kitchen. Not with trained chefs. “Yeah.”
“So a couple more days in paradise and then you’re coming home, right?”
Max blew out a breath. “I’ll call you when I get to Minneapolis.”
“Swell. And then we’ll figure out when Lizzy and I can taste what you learned.”
“Sure.”
“Hey, Bro. Thanks anyway for your offer.”
Max made a sound, sort of a grunt, and clicked off. He couldn’t take any more. He shoved the phone back into his pocket.
A family entered the waiting area. A father, mother, and two little blond boys. The boys pulled their own carry-ons, featuring pictures of the Hulk and Iron Man. The husband, tall, lanky, wore a baseball cap imprinted with the Chicago Cubs logo. The woman sat down and pulled one of the boys onto her lap. Began to tickle him. The little boy’s laughter sweetened the air.
Max ground his jaw.
For a second he had the urge to race back to the hotel. Back to the woman he . . . yes, loved. The realization twisted inside him, twined around his heart.
He could go back and apologize. Pretend that it wasn’t ending. It wasn’t like she knew what he’d done.