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“Let’s wait a minute longer. He might come through any moment.” Panic laces her voice. “God, he doesn’t even know New York. Frederick has never allowed us to visit.”
I whip my head around to look at her, the suggestion preposterous in my mind, but her expression sends chills down my spine.
Conviction boils in the depth of her eyes. Frederick, the selfish, sleazy prick. She, and my son, lived with that fucker for years. Fuck.
And I don’t even need confirmation, facts or proof—her somber expression holds not a hint of exaggeration. That man threatened her before. I fear not allowing a trip to New York might be only a drop in the ocean of manipulation my former mentor is capable of.
Our eyes lock, and bitter regret coils around my bones, stripping me momentarily of my anger and hatred and replacing it with compassion, with a need to protect her.
The hustle and bustle of the airport moves to the background, rendering Blue’s broken stature in sharper colors. Her remorse radiates grimly and I want to make everything better for her. I pull my hands from my pockets.
A loose strand of hair is glued to her tear-stricken cheeks. Her nose is red, her eyes a new shade of blue that I haven’t seen before.
Somewhere deep inside me, empathy tries to break free and capture my heart. We stare at each other, our eyes communicating without words.
I step closer and her chest heaves with a sob and a hint of relief. I brush the damp hair from her face and she leans into my palm ever so slightly. A sound somewhere between a sigh of solace and a sob of regret escapes her.
I lean in, our noses almost touching, her breath warm on my skin. The war raging within me is a losing battle. On all fronts. I can’t be with her and I can’t stay away. I want to punish her and protect her at the same time. I want to make her feel better and throw her under the bus. I hate her so much, and I love her even more.
I drop my forehead the last inch, connecting with her skin, the scent of her equally intoxicating and repelling.
“Why?” I rasp, the loaded one-word question scratching my throat.
Blue’s shoulders shake. Hesitantly, she places her palm over my heart and the simple, yet significant touch almost unravels me.
Her phone rings and we jump apart as if an electric current ran through us.
“It’s Mila.” She answers, listens and gasps. “Oh my God, thank you. We’ll be right there.”
Relief jolts through me before she even speaks, because her body relaxes so visibly I know Mila called with good news.
“He’s at Casa Cassi.”
* * *
Gina
From the moment I realized Sebastien bought a plane ticket and sneaked out to come over here, I ran to Massi. Without thinking, considering the miserable state of our relationship, the betrayal, the lie, I was pulled to find him. Because in this dark moment, no one can make me feel better. Even hating me, he is still my rock.
We spend an eternity driving to the restaurant. An eternity filled with relief. And something else. The moment we shared at the airport had a thorny hope swelling inside me. One that will probably cause me more pain soon. But that’s the thing about wounded, damaged people, we know we’ll survive.
So here I am, fighting atrocious New York traffic, letting the hope glow inside me. Massi probably pitied me, but still I don’t think a man full of hate would look at me like that.
I know all his looks. By now I believe I know all his darkest corners. And many of the bright ones. And that look at the airport seemed too real to pretend it didn’t happen. But pretend we do. And there is nothing I’m going to do about it because the wounds I inflicted are too raw.
If I released the arrow, can I also be the one tending the wound? Is that possible? Do I have any right to stand by this man? He hates me, he said. I robbed him. And I did. But I believed I did it for him.
We don’t speak anymore, the moment at the airport replaced by the relief and anticipation, and it hits me suddenly. It hits me hard. My mother’s instinct pulls me out of my internal quarrel with a fresh jolt of worry spreading through my mind, seeping into my limbs.
I have to face my son and his father reuniting under the worst circumstances. Just thrown into a sea of complicated feelings without a lifeguard in sight. Oh, that role should be mine. But even I, with my heart hardened by the ordeals of the past, know that I’ve lost that privilege.
I thought I was protecting them. Instead I hurt them both. And now they’ll face each other, lost, vulnerable, without a chart to navigate these waters.
Over the years, I’ve imagined this moment many times. When things were really difficult with Frederick and I was forced to tackle motherhood by myself, I’d often fantasized that when we returned from the park or movies, Massi would magically be waiting for us.
The fantasy grew so strong over the years that at times I thought I might be slipping into a delusional world. And yet I believe that fantasy helped me survive. Helped me cope.
No matter how much I endured, nothing prepared me for this scenario. A scenario where the two most important men in my life face the truth about their connection without the benefit of a supportive environment, without guidance. And it’s my choices that have led us here.
