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“No.” He held her hand to his chest, and his heart beat riotously under her palm as he said, “I’d never ask that of you.”
“There is no other way. I don’t want to live here permanently, but I also don’t want to be apart from you for months at a time. And I won’t ask you to give this up.” She traced the line of his wrist then let go of his hand completely. “I want you to be where you’re meant to be, where you need to be. Your dream is to inspire people with your work. That’s what you always say, so you need to be here, making movies.
“What I need is you.”
She looked away, biting the inside of her lip to keep from crying. There was a fine line between need and want. She didn’t need Chris to survive—she’d wake up every day like she had the day before—but she didn’t want to do it without him. “You told me once I should never apologize for asking for what I want. What I want is to teach, to get married, and have a family. I won’t stand in the way of your dream. Please, don’t ask me to change mine.”
An eternity passed before he said with a hoarse voice, “Okay.”
“I’ll meet you outside,” she said, and too many emotions flashed over Chris’s features to count: shock, hurt, frustration, confusion, and anger among them. His jaw was clenched but his eyes were hollow, and she turned away, unable to take his gaze any longer.
He let out a heavy breath. “Make sure you get your glasses. They’re in the bathroom.”
Then he left the room, and she finished packing. Taco had come out from his hiding place, and she gave him a pat on the head before heading outside. Chris was already in the driver’s seat, staring out the window. She silently got in, and he didn’t acknowledge her as he started the car.
The forty-five-minute ride to LAX was the longest forty-five minutes of Bronte’s life, nothing but silence for miles of highway. She reminded herself that she was doing the right thing, even if it felt like she was being ripped in two.
Finally arriving at the airport, Chris idled at the drop-off curb, his eyes never straying from the windshield.
“I did have a good time, Chris. Please know that.”
He nodded.
“I was thinking…”
Still, he didn’t look over at her.
“If we could live that plane ride all over again, I wouldn’t want you to tell me who you were.”
That made him turn to her.
“I wouldn’t change anything between you and me.” She finally understood what it meant when people said they would relive their hurt all over again if it meant they got to experience the joy of a relationship one more time. She’d never give up what she experienced with Chris.
His lips turned down at the corners, though he still didn’t say anything. He didn’t even try to touch her.
This was it.
The end.
“Goodbye, Chris.”
* * *
Chris kepthis eyes on Bronte’s retreating form until she passed through the automatic doors.
She didn’t even spare him a backward glance.
His hope had walked away from him. Again.
“Fuck.” His breath rushed out of him, and he released the strangled sob he’d been holding in, slamming his fists into the steering wheel. “Fuck!”
A horn honked behind him, and it spurred his anger. He rolled down his window to flip the guy off. He added a few curse words for good measure and jerked the steering wheel, cutting another car off in the process, leaving a flurry of angry horns behind as he sped east on the 105.
He may have deleted all the phone numbers of the guys he used to race with, but that didn’t mean he still didn’t need to get it out of his system. He needed to drive, to feel the gear shifts, hear the hum of the engine. He needed to go fast. He sped down the highway, weaving in and out of traffic, other cars honking their displeasure, but he didn’t care. He drove and drove and drove with nowhere in particular in mind.
Syd’s was a piece-of-shit bar located in the middle of Koreatown that Chris used to frequent. It was cash only and the sole place in the whole of Los Angeles where you could get a shot and a Pabst for five bucks. It stank of stale beer and had a layer of smoke you could barely see through most nights, so much so that you didn’t know what sticky substance you were stepping on since they probably only cleaned the floor once a decade.
Chris was so used to driving there, he could probably do it with his eyes closed, even after a year. He didn’t make any conscious decisions to take the exit then make a right and a left. It was as if his body knew what he wanted before his brain. He was split open, bleeding out until there was nothing but pain left, and he needed something to numb it.
