“Hey, sleepyhead.” I nudge her this time. “You have to wake up. I have a plane to catch.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “What time is it?”
“Almost six at night.”
Her eyes pop open. “It’s that late?” The sun has nearly set as she looks out the window.
“I’m sorry.” I apologize, for what I don’t know. But I am.
“It’s fine.” She sits up and rubs her eyes. “I’ll get dressed.” The sleep is present in her husky voice, and I find it as sexy as those thigh-high boots she wears.
“What time is your flight?” she asks as she moves around the room collecting her clothes.
“In a few hours. The plane will be waiting when I get there.”
“Oh right, I forgot. You don’t fly commercial like the rest of us commoners,” she jokes. “Private jet is your airline of choice.”
“It’s the only way to fly,” I confirm sardonically.
I’m mostly packed; I just need to throw a few T-shirts, my toiletries, and a pair of pants into my bag. I catch Tara on her phone when I walk out of the bathroom after we’re both dressed. She looks concerned as she scrolls through it.
“Everything okay?”
She draws her attention away from the screen and plasters on a smile. I find it difficult to decipher if it’s genuine or fake, but I would really like to know which way her emotions are swaying. Every second drawing us closer to walking out the door seems to be another tiny slice on the surface of my skin. IfIsmiled right now, it would most definitely be fake.
“Fine.” She slips the phone into her back pocket. She’s casual this evening, dressed in jeans and an NYU sweatshirt. “Disappear for an entire weekend and people tend to look for you.” She laughs, coming to stand next to me. I use the opportunity to wrap her in my arms.
“But wasn’t it worth it?”
She sighs heavily, hugging me back. “It was definitely worth it.”
“Good.” I kiss her on the head. We stand there hugging much longer than a normal embrace would be. I know the time has come for me to let her go, but it’s so much harder than I expected it to be.
“Take a ride to the airport with me?” The question flies out before I can stop it.
“Sure. I’d like that.”
Me. Too.
Way too much.
I should cut the cord right here. Instead, I take her hand and lead her out of the room. We don’t talk much in the elevator, or the lobby, or the limo. The silence says it all. On the way to Teterboro, the small private airport in New Jersey where we house the jet, Tara just rests her head on my shoulder while I gaze out the window, stroking her hand with my thumb. Every mile closer to the airport feels like another boulder dropped on my chest.
How am I supposed to get on that plane and leave this girl?
Then I’m reminded. That is exactly what Tara is, a girl. A girl who still has so much life to experience. A girl who doesn’t need a thirty-three-year-old man with a demanding and secretive job holding her back. My entire life I have been strong. My entire life I have always risen to the occasion, and this situation is no different. I know right and wrong. I know what needs to be done, no matter how badly it hurts, because that is who I am. Selfless acts reap no rewards except a conscience of clear. One of my West Point professors told me that once, and althoughI didn’t exactly understand it at the time, I fully understand it now. Serving in the military, being part of a brotherhood, I know the world is bigger than just me. In this instance, the world I am speaking of also includes Tara—and what’s best for her, which, regrettably, isnotme. The limo pulls onto the tarmac, and my chest actually constricts. Why, if this is the right thing, does it hurt so damn much?
The plane’s doors are open and waiting as Tara and I step out of the car. I can barely breathe looking up at the vehicle that is about to fly me away from her.
I have to do this.
I cup her face in my hands and pin her against the doorframe of the limo unable to speak.
I have to do this.
I have never been good at good-byes. It’s why I haven’t seen my family in nearly three years. Not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t want to say good-bye. In my line of work, you never know if it’s going to be the last time you see them. Or should I say, they see you. But I have to say good-bye right now. I owe her that at the very least.
“Thank you for coming to see me.” Tara surprises me by speaking first. It helps with the pressure building in my abdomen.
