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She’d had a meeting to get to immediately upon landing, and as much as I’d bitched about her waiting for a later plane, she’d already had it scheduled to the very last possible minute.
With New York as her habitat, it probably took every ounce of concentration and a pledge of sainthood to make it there on time, in one piece, and with an inkling of schmooze left in the tank. She wouldn’t have much left for me.
I moved to the front of the plane, re-strategizing on the fly and focusing on the element of surprise. I was here, in the same city, free to chase her down until the sun came up if I had to. She didn’t know I’d flown home earlier than expected and keeping it that way would only amplify the reunion .
Jesus. Yeah. I liked the sound of that.
“Thanks, Gem,” I said, giving her a genuine smile as she stepped to the side of the main cabin door to let me by.
“Anytime, Mr. Brooks.”
I took two steps down the stairs when she called my name again. I looked back at her over my shoulder.
“She’s very lucky, sir.”
I shook my head and laughed.
“Me,” I corrected, tapping my chest with a wink before scooting down the rest of the stairs to a waiting Frank.
He stood, holding an open door and wearing a smile.
“Mr. Brooks.”
“Hey, Frank,” I greeted. “Straight to the office, okay?”
I’d start at the beginning and work my way around the city until I found her from there. I couldn’t wait to see her face.
“Yes, sir.”
The lights of the office were dimmed enough that they rubbed off on my hope, but I headed for the back anyway. As long as I was here, I’d check my desk for messages and change into one of my spare shirts before heading for Georgia and Cassie’s apartment.
I kept my pace to a near jog, but considering the strength of my desire to run, I counted it as a victory.
My door was cracked, the lamp at my desk illuminating the immediate surrounding space softly. My eyebrows pulled together at the sight, but I didn’t slow my gait, striding for the beckoning light at a canter.
The surface was clear except for two loose sheets of paper. I shuffled them to the side in a hurry, grabbing for the tray at the back where Pam often placed my messages when the photocopy caught my eye.
It looked like a screenshot of a message window on a phone.
At the top, a few short strokes of delicate scrawl demanded my immediate attention.
Ruck,
Of all the people in the world…my best friend?
I hate that I still love you after seeing this,
but I can’t be with someone who lies to me.
This doesn’t hurt good.
Benny
One word bled into the next as I tried to make sense of the simple sentiment, but a mushrooming cloud of dread jumped and swooped, swallowing me whole.
Bold and cruel, the screen of the messaging page of the TapNext app taunted me.
TAPRoseNEXT (7:00PM): You’re a very nice guy, but I can’t continue talking with you anymore. I’ve gotten more serious with the man I’m seeing and this just doesn’t feel right. I’m sorry. Good luck with everything, Ruck.
BAD_Ruck (6:45AM): I get it. I do. But I think we should meet in person, just the two of us. Please, Rose.
“No,” I muttered, reading the words in a flash and reliving each of the seconds that led up to them and followed. “No, no, no, noooooo!” I screamed into the echoey silence.
So lost in the haze of new and all-encompassing love, I’d foolishly, faithfully believed I’d get the chance to straighten everything out in my time. Practiced, planned, and in a completely unmessy setting. That was what I’d been after, the meeting in person. I figured I could control the situation. She’d have the space to react and I’d have the chance to explain. I’d naïvely thought an in-person revelation could even be a little idyllic. But as I ran through the hours and the days I’d kept it to myself—the time I’d harbored my secret even after learning of our faux foursome with our friends—I knew I’d missed my chance.
Sometimes time is valuable, but it can also be your worst enemy. Because, no matter the root of my intentions, lies never led to romance.
This. This moment, this feeling.
This was hell.
I jumped into action, pulling the phone from the pocket of my pants and considering all the ways I could fix it. I was a fixer, a problem solver. I could fix this.
Couldn’t I?
I fought the tightness in my throat, but it was potent in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
I opened my text messages and typed out several drafts.
Me: Please, let me explain. I know it doesn’t look good.
Delete.
I shook my head and scrubbed at my face, willing the right words to come.
