Brody’s words hammering at me…
He has more reason to be terrified than any of us do.
Then you love Gavin… at least a part of him.
Because he loves you, and I guarantee you that he loves her.
I have no clue if Brody’s wisdom knows what the hell it’s really talking about. But I know one thing that he is absolutely correct about. I do still love Gavin and because of that, I do need to reach out and give him a chance to explain himself.
Sitting down at the kitchen table, I open up my laptop and search out the cost of a flight to New York this weekend.
Glancing down at my watch, I mutter a curse when I see how slowly time is moving by. Lindie nudges me in the ribs, leans over, and hisses at me, “Try to act like you’re enjoying this. Try to act like you’re happy to see your fans.”
Looking up at the next woman in line, I plaster a smile on my face as she shoves my book at me. “Mr. Cooke… it’s an honor to meet you. I loved Killing the Tides so much. It’s my favorite book of all time. I’ve read it seven times already, and oh my God… I can’t believe I’m standing here talking to you.”
I struggle to keep my smile in place, which has become a fucking chore I detest lately, and say, “That’s very kind, love. Who should I sign this to?”
“Marie… sign it To Marie, With Love, if you don’t mind,” she gushes. “My friends will die when they see it. Oh, and can I get my picture with you?”
I hastily make out the inscription and stand up from my chair. I move around the side of the table and Marie plasters herself to me while Lindie takes our picture with the woman’s phone.
“You weren’t smiling,” Lindie growls at me, so I put back on my plastic pose of flashing teeth and she snaps another photo.
“Perfect,” Lindie says, and the woman squeezes the air from my lungs with a vicious hug.
“Thank you, Mr. Cooke. Thank you so much. You’re amazing. Just the nicest man. Thank you so much.”
Yeah, I’m a fucking really nice man. I’m so amazing that I left the woman I love, who is pregnant with my child. I left her behind and stuck my head in the sand for weeks, and now that my head is free, I don’t know what the fuck to do.
Pain wracks my chest when I think of Savannah… all alone, pregnant, scared. I ache to talk to her… to touch her. I’m going crazy with wonder… how is she doing? How is the baby? And yet, I’m too fucking scared to even pick up the phone to call her.
There hasn’t been one day that has passed since I walked out of my home… walked away from Savannah, that I didn’t regret my actions. At first, my deepest regret was in hurting her. It was something I didn’t think I had the power within me to do. Yet, I let my anger drive my actions. I let my anger drive my car all the way to the airport, where I boarded a plane for London. I cursed at Savannah in my head so many times for getting pregnant, even though I know it was an accident. I cursed her for making me fall in love with her, and then doing something so stupid as to ruin it all.
Then I turned the anger inward and castigated myself for my selfish actions and shortsighted vision. As the weeks rolled by, there wasn’t a day that didn’t dawn where I picked up my phone to call her several times. I chickened out, time and again, because I knew there was ultimately a point where Savannah would grow to hate me, and there would be no point in trying to work around that.
Then my deepest regret came when I realized that I had a baby coming. My own flesh and blood… my DNA… my heart, was growing inside of Savannah’s belly every day. I was missing out on every single thing, and my regret festered and then turned into bitterness.
I became a dark, selfish asshole once again. I drank too much and got high a few times, enjoying the numbness it brought me. The only aspect of my prior life I didn’t sink to was the women… the countless, nameless women. I had no desire for them, because everywhere I looked, I saw Savannah’s face.
Savannah’s sad, fearful face. The face I left her wearing when I walked out.
I see her everywhere. Every woman standing in this line wears her face… because I want it to be so. I would kill to get just one real glimpse of her again.
Another book is shoved under my nose, and two young women stand before me. I can tell by the nervous looks on their faces that I won’t have to overly engage with them. I vaguely note about another thirty people standing in line, which means I have another good hour to an hour and a half of this shit before I can be done with it. I told Lindie this morning… no more signings. I was done with this shit for good.