Page 246 of Valentino

“Me too.” I pull her in for a hug and we hold each other close, my lips rest on her temple as regret runs a river of tears between us.

“If I could come with you…I would,” she whispers. “I wish I could.”

“I know.” I nod. “If I could change who I was…I would.” I hug her tighter. “I wish I could.”

I pull out of her arms and she screws up her face in tears.

“Don’t cry over me, Anna, I’m not worth it.”

“You are to me….” Her voice cracks, betraying her hurt.

“I have to go,” I whisper through the lump in my throat, I pick up my bag and kiss her forehead and before she says another word, I leave.

Without my heart.

Six hours later.

The plane is ferried down the runway and finally comes to a stop, people on the tarmac are working, scurrying around and packing bags onto the luggage cart.

There’s a busyness to them, an urgency of duty to their roles. Everyone’s motivated to get their jobs done.

Me…I sit at the bar and stare out the window watching them in a detached state.

I’m not out there with them, but I’m not in here with me either. My mind is completely blank.

I feel numb.

The last few years have been hard, harder than hard. And on days like today when it feels like the walls are closing in on me and that there’s no point to anything, all I want to do is to talk to my mom. To see her face, to feel her arms around me in a warm hug.

To bask in the glow of her unconditional love.

Nobody loved me like she did.

The plane on the tarmac blurs and I drop my head to blink away the unwelcome emotion.

Get it together.

I live a hard life; I can do hard things.

A vision of Anna comes floating through my mind from when we were in bed the other night, she was laughing and carefree, so relaxed and calm…and that’s what hurts the most. I know that she’s right; I can’t give her that life.

The type of freedom a normal man can.

A life with me would never be normal…and I want that for her; I want her to have every dream that she ever dreamed. To be able to go wherever she wants and to always feel safe.

I imagine her standing at the altar in a wedding dress…marrying someone else.

The life he would get to live in her arms, the happiness that was supposed to be mine.

The plane blurs again and my nostrils flare.

“What will it be?” the bartender asks, interrupting my thoughts.

“Scotch,” I murmur, distracted.

“A double?” he asks.

I drag my eyes to meet his. “Do I look as bad as I feel?”