“I love Eddie, but for fuck’s sake, fire him and put me on retainer!” Maddison laughs to himself in the hall as he heads back to his room.
For the first time in days, I laugh. I smile. My mind has clarity.
But as I lay in bed with the blackness surrounding me, I pull a couple of pillows into my side, needing to hold something like the sad fuck I am. It’s something, but it’s not her, and my muscle memory misses the feel of her in my arms every night.
Anxiety runs through every nerve in my body, flowing through every fingertip, refusing to allow rest to find me. My throat is thick as I attempt to swallow, and my lungs are shallow as the realization hits me.
What happens when you learn you need love, but then you don’t have it?
45
STEVIE
My dad’s flight left a couple of hours ago, and I already miss him. But after a few days away from Chicago and Zanders, even though I knew he was in the same city as me, the fog began to lift from my mind. Clarity started to take over, and at this point, the only thing keeping my feet moving forward is the overwhelming determination to put myself first.
Zanders might not have chosen me, but from here on out, I’m going to.
Since the version of happiness that I want, the one where Zanders is in my life again, is off the table, I’m going to choose the next best thing. And that’s a life far away from him where I can walk outside my apartment and not see his. Where I can go to the dog park and not wonder if I’ll spot Rosie. Where I can work on an airplane without him being one of my passengers.
It might not be my happiest life, but it will be happy enough, and the overwhelming need to feel a spark of joy in my life is the only thing driving my decisions.
As the final seconds wind down on game four in Seattle, I want to cheer on the plane with Indy, but even though I truly am so happy for Zanders, my exhausted body doesn’t have it in me to celebrate. And on a selfish note, part of me hates that I won’t be on board for the finals if and when that series comes.
Though, no one else knows that yet.
From the second I stepped onto the plane tonight, I’ve taken it all in, knowing it’s the last time I’ll be on board.
The back galley where I met one of my closest friends floods me with memories of Indy and me having way too much fun this season, all while staring at half-naked hockey boys and getting paid for it.
Rio’s seat where I thought I had lost my hearing a time or two from walking past his blaring boom box.
That damn cooler, stocked to the brim with drinks, including sparkling water that Zanders refused to get himself.
The exit row where I saw him for the first time.
The trip where he caged me in and undressed in front of me, which I didn’t mind one bit, though I protested at the time.
All the flights he and Maddison would make me laugh while I tried to give the security briefing.
But all those memories are just a culmination of one—this is where I fell in love with him, and for my own sanity, I need to get away and try to forget.
The headlights from the team buses shine through the aircraft windows as they pull up planeside, causing my heart to beat so fast I can feel it drumming through my whole being. But that’s nothing in comparison to my body’s reaction to seeing Zanders board the plane first.
He’s never first. He’s usually towards the end of the crowd, leisurely taking his time, but not tonight. Tonight, he’s the first one off the bus and onto the plane, and as soon as he steps foot in the aisle, his eyes dart to the back where I stand. I attempt to hide, wanting to get this final flight over with, but his stare burns into me.
He’s dressed to impress as always, and tonight he looks a bit less haggard than the last time I saw him. Without a moment of hesitation, his strides pick up pace, quickly passing the exit row and continuing to me.
“Oh shit,” Indy mutters next to me, but I’m stuck in a daze, eyes locked with his, watching him charge in my direction.
I should move or hide or anything, really, but I can’t. My feet feel as if they’re stuck in cement, holding me captive to whatever is about to happen.
I don’t want to talk to him. After forty-eight hours of clarity, I don’t want to talk to him and have him remind me he doesn’t want to be with me. The message was loud and clear. But at the same time, he’s the only person I want to talk to. He’s the only person who could make me feel better, even though he’s the one who caused the pain.
Heartbreak is a real bitch like that.
“Stevie.”
Oh fuck.
“Can I please talk to you?” he pleads, hazels soft but begging.