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I don't pay attention to him, continuing my walk back toward the front desk. My eyes water, tears leaking down my cheeks. Someone comes up and asks if I'm okay, and I ignore them. My mind feels blank, zombie-like. I don't feel the cool air anymore. I don't feel the cold tiles against my bare feet.
I feel nothing.
I wait back in line, the tears seeming endless as they leak from my eyes. I don't wipe them away, feeling like they deserve their justice. They deserve to grieve, too. This will be the last time I cry over Roman Hall. I'm going to take this time.
The lady behind the front desk cocks her head to the side when she sees me again. Her eyes widen when she sees my tearstained face. "Are you okay?" She stands from her seat, leaning over the desk as if she can help me.
No one can help me.
I slide my ticket back across the desk, pushing it toward her. "I'd like to exchange my ticket."
She frowns. "Where would you like to go?"
"Hawaii."
She stares at me a moment, then sits back down, starting her clicking and clacking all over again.
"I have a flight that leaves for Maui in one hour."
"I'll take it." I feel dead inside as the words leave my mouth. It's not even something I'm sure I want to do anymore, but I do know one thing.
Home used to be wherever Roman was.
Now that he gave his love, his heart, his soul to someone else, I don't have a home anymore.
And I feel more lost than I ever have in my entire life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ROMAN
1999
"We'll miss you, Roman. Don't be a stranger," my therapist, Mr. Hyde, says to me as he grabs my hand. His shake is firm, while his other hand goes up to my arm, giving my bicep a firm squeeze. His blond hair looks yellow in the Florida sun, swept and combed so perfectly to the side, not a hair out of place. He’s a perfectionist, probably needs his own therapy, honestly. But him getting me to where I am now, I can’t complain.
The last six months spent in treatment was the best thing I've ever done. Not something that I wanted to do in the slightest. But I came here with a chip on my shoulder and a hole in my heart. Treatment was something that was coordinated between my manager, my parents, and my boys. They thought I needed it, even if I denied I had a problem at every turn. But walking out of here, I have to say it’s probably the best thing I’ve ever done for myself.
Six months ago, I was at the darkest point in my life. The only sustenance I had was drugs and sex. The high life of rock and roll and being famous gave me the fuel to keep going. But I realize that wasn't healthy, because I was sick on the inside.
"I won't," I say, sliding inside the taxi.
He taps on the roof of the cab, and I’m off.
Next stop?New York.
The taxi drives through the city, nothing but blue skies, palm trees, and green grass in every direction I look. I crack the window, and humidity and salty air slap me in the face. Florida is awesome, but this isn’t my home.
My parents ask why I don’t just come home to Wisconsin. Why I decide to continue being away from family, friends, and everything that I know and love. They’re worried that moving out to somewhere I don’t know anyone or anything is going to lead me down the same path I’ve been on the past four years.
They don’t understand that I’m not just movinganywhere. I’m moving to where I was always meant to go. I’m going to the place where I was supposed to build my life with Luna. We were supposed to grow there, chase our dreams. She wanted it so bad.
I’m doing it.
For her. For us.
She might not be here with me now. I might not know where she is, or what she’s doing, but she’ll come back. Because she’s mine. She always has been. She’ll be mine before she’ll ever be anyone else’s.
I’ll be ready, and I’ll be waiting.
