Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Flynn
Ally gives me the key to the MINI Cooper without any resistance, and I sell it for five hundred dollars more than I paid for it.
I’ll be back, so I don’t make a big deal over saying goodbye to Monroe.
He gets a short text with which he replies with a thumbs-up emoji.
Callie and Rupert insist I keep my trunk of belongings at their house until I return.
With my credit card, I fly to LAX and catch my first glimpse of the ocean on the way to my hotel.
It’s been two weeks since June stopped texting me back. This might be the dumbest thing I’ve done, but it feels like the bravest too. I don’t know where her parents live.
Where to find the best chicken fingers.
Or whether I should let housekeeping in my hotel when I’m not here.
With my feet officially in West Coast sand with endless miles of ocean in front of me, I text June.
Flynn: Hi
She doesn’t respond, so I keep walking down the beach. It smells fishy as I get closer to the water. The breeze feels bigger. The sun feels hotter. Everything is grand.
Flynn: If I were to send u something what address would I use?
No reply.
I don’t want to tell her I’m here. Not yet. I thought about asking Ally for her address, but I didn’t trust her not to tell June. I stare at my phone, racking my brain for something that will get her attention. Maybe I’m making this too difficult.
Flynn: Falling in love with you was easy. Falling out of love with you is impossible. I know. That’s a me problem
All of my messages say delivered. Is she reading them? I don’t know.
After I get my fill of the beach, I find insanely good chicken at The Red Chickz. Hot chicken tenders with French toast, homemade honey butter, and syrup. I might not return to Minneapolis. I bet there are drugs in these crispy tenders. They are that good.
I take a photo and send it to June. Let’s see if she reads the name of the restaurant on the wrapper and realizes there are no Red Chickz locations in Minnesota.
When she doesn’t respond, I finish my meal and go back to the hotel.
The next morning, I send off another text.
Flynn: Good morning. Are u spending the day with your grandma?
No reply.
Callie gave me a list of things to do here if I had time to waste while waiting for June to give me another chance.
So I visit the Los Angeles County Museum of Art first. I channel my inner Callie and find works of art that interest me, then I stare at them for fifteen …
twenty minutes. Canting my head to the right then left like Callie does.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I quickly grab it. But my excitement dies when it’s Rupert texting me.
Rupert: Did you reunite with your lover?
I roll my eyes.
Flynn: No. She won’t answer my texts
Rupert: She performs tonight at Segerstrom Concert Hall with the Pacific Symphony
Flynn: Thanks
I look it up on my phone. It’s less than an hour by train or bus.
Rupert: Callie has a friend who can get you a ticket. Pick it up at the box office. It will be under your name
Flynn: Tell Callie thx
Rupert: Will do. Don’t forget to grovel
I send him the eye roll emoji. But yeah, I’m not beyond groveling at this point. Since she’s performing tonight, maybe that’s why she hasn’t responded.
Segerstrom Concert Hall is intimidating without June by my side. I feel like everyone is staring at me, even though they’re not.
“Hi, I think there’s a ticket here for me. Flynn Morley,” I say to the lady at the box office.
“Can I see your ID?” she asks.
I dig my wallet out of the pocket of my linen pants which Callie bought me.
“Enjoy the performance,” the lady says, handing me the ticket.
“Thanks.” I make my way to the concert hall.
“Can I help you find your seat?” an older gentleman dressed in all black asks.
“Uh, sure.” I show him my ticket.
“You’re in the front row.” He points toward the stage. “But on the opposite side. So you can go out this door and make your way to the other side and someone there will help you find your seat.”
“Thanks.”
Front row? Who’s Callie’s friend? Do I want to be in the front row? Will June’s parents be here? What has she told them about me and what happened between us?
An usher on the opposite side escorts me to my seat as a handful of musicians warm up on stage like they did in Minneapolis. I check my phone again.
Nothing.
Flynn: I’m thinking about playing my kazoo tonight. U have any plans?
When the hall is filled, a violin player enters the stage. Everyone applauds, so I do too. But I don’t see June. They go through some tuning thing before the conductor comes on the stage and the concert begins.
I scan the program and there’s a picture of June.
Dang, she’s so stunning. All I can do is wait patiently for her performance.
When the moment arrives, I take a deep breath as she steps onto the stage in a long dress that could double as a wedding gown, the color of champagne.
Delicate straps of lace and pearls. Her hair is partially pulled up with locks framing her face.
Earrings matching the pearls on her dress.
She flows with grace, sitting in a chair center stage, poised posture as her body molds to the cello.
When the applause ends, she looks to her right and smiles.
I wonder if her parents are at the opposite end, recipients of that smile.
As she settles back into her stance, composing herself, her gaze slides along the front row like an afterthought, like she’s not really focusing on the people in the chairs.
But her eyes backtrack, landing on me. Her lips part, a tiny line forms on the bridge of her nose as she ever so slightly squints.
I don’t make a big deal of the moment, keeping my smile as subtle as her expression. She closes her eyes, inhaling while bringing the bow to the strings. The song is “Serenade” (Schubert).
One song.
One performance.
A standing ovation.
She takes a bow, leaving me in awe and breathless.
After the show, I crane my neck to see her parents past the sea of people funneling toward the exits. I see Henna’s long, blond hair and Bodhi behind her, but they’re on the opposite side.
“Excuse me. Sorry. Pardon me.” I shoulder past people in front of me, eliciting a few rude comments. By the time I make it to the exit where her parents were, they’re nowhere in sight.
I step to the side, behind one of the ushers, and text June.
Flynn: I need to see u. Where are u?
She doesn’t answer, so I call her, but she doesn’t have a mailbox set up. I shove my phone into my pocket and stab my fingers into my hair, turning in a slow circle and scanning every inch of the crowd. Every door. Every corner. She has to be here, or she’s leaving. Why would she stay?
I find the nearest exit and jog around the building’s perimeter. In a loading dock, Henna climbs into a black SUV with June and Bodhi behind her.
“June!” I call, jogging toward the vehicle.
Bodhi squints, and June says something to him. He kisses her forehead and climbs in the back seat. Her bodyguard shuts the door, standing in front of it with his hands crossed.
I slow my stride as I approach her because she’s not giving me a smile or any sort of vibes that she’s happy to see me. She’s in a simple black sundress instead of her performance gown.
“You were incredible tonight,” I say.
She frowns, looking so sad. “You’re here,” she murmurs looking sadder by the second.
“Listen, I don’t know why you came all this way, but my rich parents and even richer grandma are waiting for me in this expensive SUV.
We’re driving back to our mansion in Beverly Hills.
Back to our life where we don’t have to worry about caring for anything that matters. ”
I drop my head. “June …”
“I can’t do it, Flynn. I can’t magically not be wealthy, even if I tried.
And I’m not complaining. I’m sure that seems like a real privileged problem to have.
It’s just …” She shakes her head. “Since you found out about my life, I feel constantly judged, like I’m walking around on eggshells.
If I offer to pay for something, if I enjoy eating at a nice restaurant, wearing a pretty dress …
it’s all wrong in your eyes. I know love takes work, and it’s not always easy, but this is too much. ”
“June, I’m sorry—”
She holds up a hand. “Don’t be sorry. Not wanting to lose who you think you are and what matters most to you is not a flaw.
I don’t want you to change who you are to fit into my world, and you shouldn’t want me to change to fit into yours.
Our time was perfect, until it wasn’t. But that’s life, right?
Moments that become memories. I like our memories together, and I don’t want anything to ruin them.
That’s why I think it’s best if we let go before anyone gets hurt. ”
“Hurt? June, I quit my job, got on a plane for the first time in my life, and came her for you because everything fucking hurts without you.” I take a step backward as if putting space between us will keep me from losing control of my emotions.
“I know I’m an idiot. A fool. A coward. And a cruel asshole with a past that’s left me bitter toward a lot of people, maybe the whole world.
But I just …” I lace my fingers behind my head and stare at the night sky.
“God, I’m terrible with words. I just …”
I’m losing her, and I hate it. But maybe I deserve it.
“I love you.” I let my arms fall to my sides.
“I know that’s not original, and it probably means nothing because I’ve already said it.
But I’ve never said those words to anyone …
and I mean anyone before you. Not a mother or father.
No siblings. No family. Not a pet. Not even a fucking imaginary friend.
” I hold my fist at my head and slowly shake it.
“I love you. And I don’t know why you would love me because there is nothing special about me, but you said those words to me and … ”
Fuck …
I pinch the bridge of my nose. No. I’m not going to cry. Not now. Not with that guy standing a few feet behind her. Not with her parents probably looking at us out the tinted window.
“No one,” my voice cracks and I swallow hard, “has said those words to me.” I take another step backward.
She wipes tears from her face, unbothered by anyone seeing her. That’s probably normal. Sharing emotions. Feeling deeply. I fucking hate feeling anything. But here I am, feeling everything.
“I don’t want you to fit into my world, June. I want you to be my world.”
She chokes on a sob and shakes her head a half dozen times. “I hate you so much,” she stutters with a shaky breath. Then she turns and waits for her bodyguard to open the door.
I pivot and walk away with no regret. Not knowing would have been worse than knowing. At least I can move on with the closure from having said everything I could, even if the words aren’t enough. Even if I’m not enough.
I hear the vehicle pull away behind me, and I take a deep breath. This hurts. She’s it. I tried the falling-in-love thing, and I’m done. Never again.
“My dad expects you to keep a close eye on me.”
I stop.
“How are you supposed to do that with your back to me?”
I turn as she waltzes toward me with a big bag over her shoulder, feet clicking in flip-flops. “Thought you were leaving,” I say.
“I had to get my bag and tell my mom that you weren’t done breaking my heart, so you must be the one.”
“Thought you hated me.”
She stops right in front of me. “I hate you so much because I love you despite all common sense.”
I take her bag from her, and then I take the last step between us.
“Are you done breaking my heart?” She grabs my shirt with both fists.
I lower my head, brushing my lips over hers. “Probably not,” I whisper.
Not even close.
She closes her eyes and whispers, “Promise to always put it back together?”
I slide my hand to cup the back of her head, fingers in her hair. “Promise.”
When we kiss, I vow never to kiss another. If she leaves me, I will not kiss another woman. This is it. June is my all or nothing.
“I love you,” I say between kisses. “My first, now, and always.”
“Baby,” she grins, kissing a line from my jaw to my neck, tightening her grip on my shirt, “don’t ever say you’re not good with words. You’re the most poetic accidental romantic.”
I chuckle because I don’t know what an accidental romantic is, but as long as she calls me her “baby” and kisses my neck, she can call me anything.
“Are your parents coming back for us or at least you?”
“Nope.” She hugs my arm and nudges me forward. “We’re walking to the nearest hotel. You have some proper apologizing to do. And I thought it best to do it with a little privacy, since you’re such a screamer.”