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“It’s the only thing I know about myself, definitively.” He sighs, mirroring mine. There’s a beat of silence as we both consider what this means, as if we were ever going to be anything more than a toxic fling. “So, where does this leave us?”
“Back where we started.” I tell him. “You’re my best friend’s brother. There isn’t any future between us. And I’m going home.”
I watch his knuckles curl into fists at his side, and then his abs flex as he reaches up to run his hands through his hair. “Claire, don’t do this.”
“There’s nothing left to say.” I assure him gently. “It’s fine. If you want to call me a taxi, we won’t even have to sit together all the way to the airport.”
“I’m not sending you to the airport.” He snaps. I’m exhausted, tired of this fight already, so I’m grateful when he relents, his shoulders slumping. “I’ll call Simon to come get you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I almost laugh. I don’t know where his pilot spends most of his time, but asking him to fly all the way to Costa Rica just to take me home to Oregon sounds insane. He’d likely be tired by the time he even gets here. “I’ll fly economy and I’ll be just fine.”
“I don’t even know if there’s a flight soon. Sometimes there are days between them, and if there is one, it’s probably to JFK or Atlanta, which means you’ll have a layover and—”
“There’s a flight leaving in the morning.” I say quietly. “And I’ll be on it, whether you drive me there or I have to walk the whole way.”
The defeat in his gaze as he watches me hurts as much as the denial, which has faded now as he realizes he has no choice but to accept this.
“When do you have to go?”
Chapter forty-nine
Claire
No matter how hard I insisted, he refused to just drop me at the airport.
No, as if the hour before I left and the drive to the airport in stony silence weren’t torturous enough, he parks the car and jumps out, pulling the gun out of the back of his pants and putting it in the glove box between us.
Remy must notice my eyes on him because he looks up to meet my eyes. “Can’t take a gun through security, Claire. Not even me.”
I have so many questions, not the least of which is why the hell he brought a gun with him to do something as menial as deliver me to the airport. Was he planning on driving me to the middle of nowhere and pulling that trigger? The question that comes out of my mouth, though, is just one word. “Security?”
“Security.” He nods, straightening the collar of his suit jacket. I feel woefully underdressed in his presence, and not in the way that I like to be. I’m wearing cutoffs and a crop top, just casual and comfortable enough to last a long flight. But Remington Boudreaux is back in his fancy black suit, cold and closed off, as if we’re complete strangers without any history between us. Though, to be fair, our history is brief. In the grand scheme of our lives, this time together was barely a blip on the radar, no matter how grand it felt. “I’m escorting you to the gate.”
I start to protest, but he shuts the door, closing me off from him. He’s at the trunk, pulling my bag out of the back, and I have a feeling if I wait, he’ll come do the same thing to me. Maybe he wants to be sure I get on the flight, needs to see it for himself. And I suppose that’s fair, considering the last time I tried to come here, I was intercepted and sold off to some sadistic fuck whose identity I still don’t know. I decide to spare him the trouble of dragging me out, too, and go to join him at the back of the car.
He doesn’t let me take the suitcase from him, clicks the key fob to lock the door, and then leads me to the squat building ahead of us. I follow him, not knowing what to do with myself, trying hard to deny the tension still between us. I’m not sure it’s sexual anymore. Now it seems to border on frustration, annoyance, anger. There’s nothing left between me and my best friend’s brother, so I just need to get him out of my head. That’s exactly why I’m going home without Rhea, knowing she’ll be pissed when she figures out what I did.
I cross my arms around my middle and follow him to the bag check, through security, where I think he’ll finally leave me, and to the gate where he slings into the only set of open seats and pulls his phone from his pocket. We haven’t said a single word to each other since coming in, and it feels as weird to sit next to him as it would to take the other empty seat closer to the desk. Through the huge windows, I can see the plane lined up, as if they’re just waiting for the approval to start boarding. Most people are standing, so I stay standing, too, watching anxiously for the first sign it’s time for me to board.
That sign comes just a few moments later, when the Gate Attendant calls for all passengers in business class and Remy clears his throat. “That’s you.”
I stare at him for a moment, then glance back at the people in crisp suits and nice slacks and dressy tops queuing up. “I’m not on business.” And I guarantee everyone will know that, based upon my attire.
“I upgraded you to business class.” He says briskly, as if that’s that. And I guess it is, because he just stares at me, waiting for an argument or something. I just nod as he rises, standing so that he towers over me.
We’re close enough I think he can hear my heart racing, the anxiety of flying again mixing with the nerves of saying goodbye to him. “There aren’t assigned seats, so just go find a spot you can get comfortable in. The flight attendant will help you if you have any questions.”
I’m supposed to go, to turn away, but I’m helplessly rooted to the spot. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, but it feels unfinished. It’s like something is missing from the moment—a hug, a kiss, a handshake? I settle on forcing a smile. “Thank you.”
It feels woefully inadequate to say thank you. Those two words can’t even begin to encompass whatever happened between us, or to express gratitude for the fact that he saved my life. It’s not even a valid show of appreciation for this man walking me through security and sitting at the gate beside me. But it’s all that comes from my tongue before it feels like it will shrivel up inside my mouth.
I see his eyes darken, his jaw tighten, but he says nothing. So, I turn and make my way to the woman standing at the podium, her hair held back by a silk scarf and a smile on her face that’s so brilliant I want to cringe away from it. Looking at her is like opening my eyes to the sun directly overhead, but I manage something that she accepts as a smile as she nods me on.
It takes everything in me not to look behind me, not to turn back and cast one last glimpse at the man who tore my world apart in the space of a few weeks. It’s not until I’m slinking into a comfortable leather seat at the back of the business class section that it hits me that I’m not going to be able to forget him no matter how hard I try.
Remington Boudreaux is, without a doubt, my first love. At twenty, I’ve finally found someone I could give myself to without reservation.
And now, I have to let him go. First love doesn’t last. It’s there to teach you what to look for, and what to run from, but it’s not meant to last a lifetime.
