Page 93 of Midnight Ink

“You two have a safe flight back.”

With that we’re out the door and I’m one step closer to being alone.

The drive to the airport is doused in silence.

I stare out the window, watching the trees blur past in green streaks. It’s raining again now, though not as much. Just a little sprinkle. My leg bounces, but once I realize I’m doing it, I stop. Thankfully he hasn’t tried to talk to me. I’m skating a razor-sharp edge.

He could have said it. I think that’s the worst part. He could still say it, but he’s not.

Because he doesn’t feel this way.

Every so often I sense him looking over at me. My heartbeat picks up when I feel it. I try so hard not to look at him.

We park and unload our bags. He thanks our driver and everything on the outside feels normal. People passing by don’t notice that my heart’s breaking, and I don’t know what I can do to fix this. There’s no going back, and I don’t know what that means for us now. I don’t want it to be like that. Just because Ian doesn’t love me the same way doesn’t mean it’s the end of us, right?

Except that’s exactly what it feels like.

Inside the airport, Ian checks his bag and I carry mine, hoping Maddox will have a less chaotic trip back to New York. We get cleared through TSA, IDs, tickets. Apart from that we don’t speak.

We couldn’t get seats together on the plane, and I was disappointed at first, but now I’m glad. I need space.

When we take off, I close my eyes and breathe through the panic.

Ian’s voice plays in my mind.

Five things. The tray in front of me, the leopard purse on the floor, a baby next to me, my bouncing knee, the screen on the back of the chair in front of me. Four things. The seat, my jeans on my skin, my mother’s necklace around my neck. My heart breaking. Three things. I hear the movie next to me, the wheels on the food cart, and Ian’s voice telling me it’ll be alright. Even if that’s in my head.

Abruptly Ian appears next to me, looking up the aisle. “I’m not going to force you to talk to me,” he says quickly. “But I need you to know it’s not that I don’t feel things for you. I do Jules, I⁠—”

I swallow. “Ian, go back to your seat.”

“Listen, it’s not that I don’t feel these things, it’s just⁠—”

“Go back to your seat!” My jaw clenches.

“Sir, you need to return to your seat, you can’t block the aisle,” I hear a flight attendant say. Ian straightens and concedes, going back to his seat, and again he could have said he loved me.

But he didn’t.

Maybe it’s not fair to be this angry, but it takes too much energy to be rational right now. Our car pulls up to my apartment building, and I just don’t know what to do. “Jules, wait. Can I have a minute please?” he asks the driver. He nods and Ian follows me out of the car. “Please listen to me.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t.” My voice feels hollow. “I respect how you feel. I understand this is hard for you. But I can’t keep doing this anymore, Ian. I’m done waiting for you.”

I don’t know what it’s going to take, but I know I can’t have him in the way I want to. Ian gave his heart away and there’s nothing left for me. I’m tired of being lonely. “It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just⁠—”

“He’s not coming back, Ian.” I hate the way he flinches, and maybe I shouldn’t say this, but I have to. It’s the truth. “He’s not. I don’t know what it’s going to take to make you see me. You said you’re tired of being lonely, and you know what? I am too. I can’t keep accepting less than you’re willing to give me. I understand there’s a part of you that will always belong to him. But I deserve more than bits and pieces. I can’t force you to feel things you don’t, though. It’s not fair to either of us. I need some space, okay? I’ll see you next week for work.”

I pull myself away, hurting so bad it takes everything in me not to turn back to him. I’m breaking, but I can’t do this anymore.

I’m done chasing Ian.

I almost don’t answer the knock at my door.

Once Ian left earlier, I fell asleep. I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until I got home. It’s dark now and I glance at the clock. It’s nearly ten. Shit, I slept a while. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I make my way to the door, hoping to hell it’s not Ian.

When I swing the door open I look down. Anna’s baby-blue hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and a small smirk slips onto my lips when I see the fleece pajama bottoms she’s wearing. Bubblegum pink. So not what I’d picture for her. “Well? Do I have a stepdaddy?”

“Not now, Anna.” I disappear inside and hear her shut the door softly.