Closest To My Heart

Chapter Thirty-Two

She's gone, Tag told himself, glancing at his watch to corroborate what he already knew. They're probably passing the state line right about now.

He shuffled morosely over the hard-packed sand and stared out over the choppy waves, finding it hard to believe that he had made love to Maggie on that very same stretch of beach only one day before. The dismal grey sky above matched the bleak tenor of his mood, and even the salty ocean breeze whipping through his hair felt unseasonably cold. A particularly ambitious wave rolled in over the sand and submerged Tag's sneakers in frothy white wetness. He cursed under his breath and took three bounding strides to reach dry sand, cursing again as his mind's eye flashed on the memory of Maggie swimming naked through the very same waters the morning before. Tag sat heavily on a driftwood log and peeled off his drenched sneakers and socks, tossing both aside before fixing his gaze somewhere beyond the horizon.

Let it go, he told himself, hunching forward to prop his elbows on his knees. She's made her choice.

Tag knew he was right. Hell, he'd known it the moment Maggie turned back to face him at that damned breakfast table, before she'd even said a word. Her choice had been made, and it wasn't him. But maybe that was for the best. If she wasn't brave enough to stand up for herself, then maybe she wasn't the woman he thought she was. Hell, maybe they were both better off, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Like a pathetic fool, he'd sat in his Jeep outside the restaurant for nearly ten minutes, praying that she would change her mind and come after him. But she hadn't come. Not then, and not during the thirty minutes he'd spent parked in front of Sean's apartment, either. She hadn't come looking for him, and his cell phone hadn't rung even once during the long drive down Route One. The ferry ride offered him no consolation, and the clean ocean air did nothing to alleviate the choking heaviness in his chest. Even the sandy shore, which had always felt like an integral part of his soul, now seemed stark and uninviting without Maggie there to share it with.

Cripes, she even took my home away from me, Tag lamented, mentally adding to the list that also included his heart, his trust, and his better judgment. Damn her. And damn her meddling goddamned mother, too!

Except that her mother wasn't the problem, not really. The problem was Maggie's uncertainty, her relentless need to please. Or maybe it was the ease with which she was able to walk into that apartment, after the night they'd spent together, and introduce him as her brother's damn roommate!

Tag dropped his head into his hands and closed his eyes. Maggie was gone, and he knew he had to accept it, but how? He couldn't stop thinking about her, couldn't stop recalling the feel of her soft skin against his own. Hell, if he didn't know better, he'd swear that he could smell the citrusy scent of her shampoo on the cool ocean breeze.

Great, a new ghost to keep me up at night, Tag thought, and then wondered what advice Chris would have offered him right then, if he were still alive. Tag tipped his head back to stare up at the somber grey clouds above. C'mon, buddy. Help me out here.

No answer came from the heavens. No booming clap of thunder, no charged bolt of lightning; just grey sky and heavy mist and the sound of choppy waves slapping against the shoreline. Tag snickered, mocking his own foolishness.

Chris is dead, you idiot, he berated himself. He doesn't give a shit about your love life!

Tag snatched a round stone from the sand and hurled it far out into the tumultuous sea.