Page 10 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

I cut off the next person, who is four people behind Delilah. The man in front of me waddles at an injured penguin’s pace. I dodge left and right, wishing I had extendable legs so I could clamber over Penguin Man and reach Delilah before she’s gone. By the time I make it off the airplane into the boarding bridge, I don’t see her. Not one strand of her curly brown hair.

With no other choice, I run, collecting dirty looks as I go.

“Excuse me.” That was my elbow catching Penguin Man’s arm.

“Sorry.” That was my bag, hanging off one shoulder, bouncing violently into the nice lady who sat beside Delilah. I turn and give her the softest eyes I can manage. “You’re an amazing person.”

She looks weirded out. Rightfully so.

I hit a slow jog, my bag banging against my hip, nerves and adrenaline pumping my lungs.

One step into the departure/arrival lounge, I see her. Delilah. My girl. She’s off to the side, tapping out a message on her phone, her eyebrows furrowed in angry concentration.

My heart is on a roller coaster, climbing up, up, up, happy and terrified at once, about to cross that scary line into we’re-going-down territory, and I say, “Delilah.”

FOUR

As soon as I’ve spoken, I realize I whispered Delilah’s name. She’s still focused on her phone. I’m still on the up portion of the roller coaster, chug-chug-chugging toward the unknown. Swallowing through the sludge in my throat, I say louder, “Delilah.”

She looks up. Her eyes scan the arrival area, pass over me, her eyebrows furrowing deeper. A second later, her gaze slips back to my face. Rests on me. She squints.

Sweat soaking through my gray T-shirt, I lift my hand and wave.

Her eyes widen.

My heart tips over its roller coaster edge, a rushing plummet toward the ground as I whisper “Delilah” again.

Delilah Lost-Love-of-My-Life Moon.

The fast-flip stages of shock play across her face: confusion in her darting eyes, denial as she takes in my non-Bieber hair and bigger body. Tears of utter relief and joy shine in her eyes, cutting me down and lifting me up at once.

Lips trembling, she says, “It can’t be you.”

“It’s me.” It’s us, I want to say. That guy doesn’t deserve you. I was on your flight for a reason. We’re meant to be. My ribs might crack from the pressure of holding in all I’m not saying.

Then Delilah says, “Oh my God.”

For those of you not following along, that was Delilah’s this-can’t-be-happening oh my God, and I’m a tad less worried about this roller coaster running off the tracks. But she repeats her “Oh my God,” and this time it’s definitely of the dick-punch variety.

I clasp my hands in front of my crotch and study her rolling carry-on bag, wondering if she managed to smuggle her shotgun onto the flight. Nope. Wouldn’t fit in there.

She stares at me. I stare at her. The roller coaster in my chest barrels faster.

Spotting Lennon in my peripheral vision, I move close enough to speak to Delilah quietly, but my mind blanks. Nothing comes out.

Anxiety rising, I proceed to spew words without thinking. “My father was laundering money and we didn’t know and we were forced into witness protection and I couldn’t contact you, but I’ve thought about you every day for ten years. I’m not even supposed to be talking to you now, but seeing you brought everything back and I’m so sorry for hurting you and leaving you and . . . fuck.”

I swallow convulsively, go to rub my eyes, but I don’t want to miss a second of Delilah’s gorgeous face, even if she looks like someone just told her we live in the Matrix and nothing she knows is real. “Delilah, I’m so sorry. I’m really not allowed to contact people from my past, so please don’t tell anyone you saw me, but I couldn’t let you walk away. Not this time. I just . . . I’m so sorry. I only left because I was forced to.”

She blinks. Opens her mouth and closes it, like she’s a fish lost on land. I want to be a lost fish with her. Or a pair of floating seahorses, mated forever, our tails tangled as our butts bump together with the tide. Her blue eyes go watery and red. Her breathing turns harsh and ragged. I reach for her—instinct, magnetism, my body drawn to its other half—and the moment shifts.

Her trembling jaw hardens. The water in her eyes solidifies into ice. “I have no clue what bullshit you just made up, but it doesn’t matter. What we had is in the past. I’m engaged now. Getting married to a great guy. Like, really great. Someone who treats me like a queen. And I need to get going. Long drive home and everything.”

Her eyes do another scan of me, from my toes to my much cooler hair. She gives her head a little shake. The chin trembling starts again. Abruptly, she shoves her phone into her purse and walks away from me. Doesn’t even glance back. Her pace gets faster and faster until she’s practically running.

My free fall begins, the death-defying race of my heart careening to the ground. Everything hurts. Breathing hurts. Blinking hurts. Existing hurts. I plant my ass on one of the lounge’s faux-leather chairs and grip my head before it hits the carpet.

Lennon sits beside me. “I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”