One-night stands are easier than he thought they'd be.  For one thing - they only last one night.  For another, if the woman he slept with lies about it to her boyfriend or whoever the hell her soul is intertwined with - he doesn't give a fuck.

Years ago he thought that he'd end up a guy just like this - with a fake ID, hanging out in bars and going home with strange women.  Then he met a woman who changed his mind.  She was followed by the one who made him forget all about this guy that he was destined to become.

That was the one who he named a boat for, lived and breathed for, trusted with truths about himself that he barely even allowed himself to acknowledge.  He did everything for her always hearing the voice in his head that told him it will never be enough.  Even when she assured him it was, kissed away his fears, told him everything he wanted to hear and believe in - the voice still reminded him it will never be enough...

You will never be enough would have been more appropriate.

The woman in the bed murmurs a good-bye before drifting back to sleep as he quietly leaves her bedroom.  He liked her - she was funny bordering on the caustic side, playful, and a little too perceptive.  Their fling had been fairly enjoyable up until the point when he had barely rolled off her before she asked him "So what was her name?"

His attempt at feigning ignorance was ignored and she asked again.  She wasn't sad, or jealous, or bitter - she actually sounded concerned - interested.  In the face of such honesty he could only respond in kind, "Her name is Joey."

Leave it to Joey to insinuate herself into his life in even the most inappropriate of situations.  When he asked the woman how she knew, she had said some things that made him wonder if the shell he'd been building around himself for the last several weeks wasn't as strong as he had hoped.

She told him that he made love like a man who had truly experienced love before, who knew the innate tenderness of giving yourself over to the one person who you know will give back to you.  She also said he did it with the desperation of a man who wanted to forget that he ever knew that kind of intimacy.

"All that from just one lay?" he'd tried to joke.  Something about her theories made sense - and in a way that scared him to death.  He wasn't screwing women to replace Joey, or to punish her, or to even forget her.  He was doing it because he felt hollow inside - empty of sadness, of regret, even anger.  It was like he'd left Joey in Capeside, and somewhere between Miami International Airport, the marina, and the four walls of his tiny cabin - he'd drained himself of everything else.

His were feelings that had no meaning.  And so occasionally he'd find a pretty girl to flirt with, and he'd charm her, and they'd make a connection that he knew wouldn't empty him any more.  Quick, fun, painless.  Everything those last few weeks with Joey weren't.

Squinting against the already sizzling early morning Florida sun, he spots a pay phone across the street from the building he just left.  The date on the newspaper at her apartment door had reminded him that he was due to call home and check in.  His fingers punch the number ingrained in his memory from childhood and as the line rings in his ear he can perfectly envision the cool summer dimness of the Capeside Police Station.

"You know, Pacey," his brother says after begrudgingly accepting the charges, "Dad isn't going to be too happy to approve your collect calls in the next department budget."

"Sure he will, Dougie," he answers as he rests his arm on top of the phone and leans in to make some shade for himself, "just remind him if I were calling the house collect, it would cost more because I'd have to talk to mom, and Kerry, and the kids - and him.  I'm saving him money and effort.  He should be grateful."

"So how goes life in sunny Florida?" his brother asks.

"Same old.  Working hard, keeping busy, making money, staying out of trouble, I'm even helping little old ladies cross the street - you'd be so proud."

"Meet anyone?"

"Yeah. A lot of fisherman." he jokes.

"You know what I mean."

He is silent for moment and contemplates making up a dream girl that his brother will accidentally spill about at some community gathering, the news working its way back to Joey - who, in this little break-up fantasy - enraged by jealousy and despair - will hop on the next plane to Miami to try and win him back.

"Nope." he replies.

"Then - thinking about anyone in particular?"

"Nope." he repeats without even a pause.

It is Doug's turn to be quiet now and as he reaches up to rub his head, his brother's words get lost in the line as a siren roars by.

"Whoa, Doug did you hear that?  That was the sound of real crime happening!  How jealous are you?"

"Did you hear me, Pacey?"

He didn't.  And something in his gut is telling him he doesn't want to hear it either.

"I said, Joey came in here the other day."

His stomach is suddenly knotted, and he wishes the siren had drowned Doug out long enough for him to change his mind, to decide against telling him she was there, not tell him whatever it is that is going to come next.

"Uhh huh." he mumbles.  He doesn't want to know.  But he has to know.  He won't ask.  But he will be told.

"She dropped off some stuff from Bessie.  But I checked up on her.  She looked awful, Pace - miserable."

He can feel the sweat starting to form on his neck - a combination of the fierce sun beating down on it and a surge of longing for her that he can't control.

"She asked for you - I could tell she was trying not to, not that she didn't want to know - just that she didn't want to put me on the spot."

The sweat trickles over his skin and into the collar of his shirt, and he believes if he concentrates hard enough on not listening to his brother, he can instead feel every ounce seeping from every pore.  No such luck - "She asked me where you were...and... I told her."

His lips are dry, cracked.  He should have checked the woman's bathroom for chapstick.  Why didn't he do that?  Why is he standing here worrying about this? Why did Doug tell her where he was?

"You promised me." he says quietly, his shock covering the simmering anger in his voice.

"I know I did, little brother - but hear me out."

Simultaneously, across the long distance lines they both take a deep breath.  His is long and ragged - the thick humid air filling him with heat.  His brother gives a brief explanation of how Joey tried not to ask, how it almost seemed like it hurt her to even look at him - to even recognize his similarity reflected in his brother.  And he tells him how she struggled not to cry in front of him - and how she lost the battle and broke down in his cruiser.

He closes his eyes, and he can see her - a hundred different images and in each one he loves her.  But he can't see the one Doug is describing because if he does it will break him.

"Thanks for looking out for her." he finally says.  Why can't he be a normal guy and feel petty joy that she is sad and miserable?  Why does he have to stand at a pay phone a thousand miles away and still feel an ache for her that barely ever dulls, let alone subsides?

"I'm sorry I broke my promise to you, Pacey," Doug sounds genuinely contrite, "but I broke my promise to her too - she didn't want you to know how upset she was, and I said I wouldn't mention it.  However, I thought she deserved to know where you were, and you deserved to know that she still cares for you."

He knows the thought is too destructive to even contemplate this early in the morning - but he wonders if there is a bar anywhere nearby where he can disappear long enough to forget this entire phone call.

"Is there anything you want me to tell her?" his brother offers.  Yeah - he wants to say - tell her I still love her.  That despite the fact she lied, and she was cowardly, and she literally broke my fucking heart - I am standing here right now knowing that if she appeared in front of me - I would take her back - I wouldn't even hang up the phone  before wrapping her up in my arms, covering her in kisses until we were both unable to breathe.

"I gotta go, Doug - one of those bizarre 5 minute Miami rain showers is heading over me so I've gotta get covered." he can hear the dullness in his voice - the edge of wanting to cry.  His brother attempts a pep talk but quickly gives up and they part, with a promise to talk again in a week.

There is in fact a rain shower.  That wasn't a lie.  He walks through it and lets it cool him off, but it is unable to rid him of the feeling that he is all raw nerves and exposed heart.  The walls he'd been building to protect himself have been chipped away first by the previous night's companion, and then by his brother who took the sledgehammer of his encounter with Joey Potter to them, decimating the rest.

As the rain passes over him and he walks back into the sun, he wonders if he even has the energy to build himself new walls.  Somehow he will have to do it, because without their protection the options are still far too painful to face.