I wiped my face for the bazillionth time. “But our flight’s not until later, and I don’t think we can change it.”
“Yes, I can. Watch me.”
Three hours later we were on a plane heading home. I was physically and emotionally exhausted, yet sleep was impossible. A tornado of emotions swirled through my brain, as I relived every moment, over and over again. My head found a resting spot against Chase’s shoulder, while his fingertips ran up and down my arm, my cheek, and my hair. His touch was consoling but not enough to erase the day’s events. Not enough to erase my frustrations. We barely spoke. Chase seemed comfortable in our silence, but it killed me. All he heard in court was the twisted, fucked version. Nothing that bastard said in court was a lie, and yet it was so far from the truth. Maybe that was enough for him. Maybe he believed that was my fucked up story and why he wouldn’t let me explain.
“You need to eat something. It’s been hours since breakfast, let me flag down the flight attendant.”
I said nothing. My stomach was in such a tight knot there was no way in hell any food would fit. I shook my head no and surprisingly he let it go.
The rest of the flight and car ride home remained quiet. There was an uneasy feeling between us, a sullenness. Pete slowed the town car to a stop in front of my apartment building.
“I figured you would want to be home.” He shrugged and glanced in my direction. “I promised Asher I’d meet him early tomorrow morning, so I’m gonna head back to my place.”
Confusion wrinkled my face, and tears immediately pricked the back of my eyes. Something really was off. Why hadn’t he mentioned meeting his best friend once over the past two days? I looked away, hoping to hide my impending breakdown. We hadn’t spent a night apart since our first night together, and he picked tonight to leave me. Alone. My emotional wall of iron instinctively started to re-erect. My heart literally ached. I was dirty and deceitful to him. I was no longer his pure sweet.
I faced the window, waiting for Pete to open the door. The sound of the trunk opening and closing interrupted the chilly silence. I crossed my arms tightly across my chest and stroked my upper arms. My chill had nothing to do with the August night air. I needed out of the car. Now.
Chase leaned across the seat and kissed my cheek. His warm breath tickled the nape of my neck, adding to my quivering. “Take a hot shower, crawl into bed and get some sleep.” His voice was flat, devoid of all emotion. Damn him for retreating into his head.
I did my best to lift my lips into a semblance of a smile. Then Pete opened my door and I stepped out. Maybe Chase just needed some space. Some time to process everything. Maybe I did too.
“Goodnight, Lil.”
Lil. Not Blue, not baby. Pete shut the car door and carried my bag up the walkway. I was crumbling and fast. My hands shook so hard, I barely fit the key in the lock.
“Everything okay, Ms. Porter?” Hell no.
“I’m fine, Pete, just a long day. Thanks for your help. I appreciate it,” I whispered, grabbing my luggage before finally closing the door on the third worst day of my life. My trembling body crashed against the hardwood, searching for support. Boneless, I slid into the fetal position and sobbed. And sobbed. I let every emotion I held in all day wrack through me. Anger, humiliation, frustration, heartache, and disappointment—I was ... devastated. Just when I let my guard down and trusted again. I trusted him.
“You idiot!” I screamed, smacking my tight fists against the hardwood floor. I was crying too hard to finish my own sentence, I should have just told him. Not that screaming at myself changed a damn thing. There were no do-overs.
I was schooled on that life lesson one rainy night in my childhood bedroom three years ago. If life handed out do-overs, I would have sucked it up and gone out to celebrate my stepmother’s birthday. Instead, I bailed to sulk at home all alone, too embarrassed over the scene fuck-face made the night before. That fucker had tried to save face by publicly dumping me, despite the fact that I had already ended things. I also would have answered his fifteenth call in a row that stormy night, instead of hitting ignore. Then I would have realized how plastered he was and called one of his loser friends or his scumbag cousin to track him down and get him home. And I definitely would have remembered to lock the front door instead of reaching the end of the Internet researching all things Boston. I was moving that fall, thanks to the scholarship I’d just earned. But life didn’t hand out do-overs. I couldn’t go back and change those small decisions preventing the wicked nightmare that followed. Just like I couldn’t go back in time and trust in myself enough to tell Chase everything that happened. Knowing all of this didn’t make it hurt any less. This hurt.