Chapter 31
31
EVE CASSIDY
Freaking Phil. He spent most of the night convincing me via text to at least drive Foster to the airport and give him some closure.
Is that a bad idea? Probably. But here we are, strolling from my car which is parked in the airport garage. I insisted on carrying his bag even though it’s almost half my size but midway through our walk, he gently takes it from me.
‘I can carry my own bag,’ he states. The warmth in his voice is no longer there and it stabs at my heart a bit.
I don’t know what I was thinking because deep down, I knew that he couldn’t stay in Portland. His life is in Florida – and on the road, with every energy drink extreme sports event available to man – and he loves it. Even I can’t deny it’s what he was meant to do. He’s not the top FMX rider because he runs around partying and vacationing. He works his ass off, and he deserves to return to it after everything he’s recently been through. Knowing Foster as well as I do, I’m certain he can’t wait to reunite with his bike and hit the track again.
He flashes me a shy grin as we stop before the boarding screens to look for his flight. He casually drops his bag onto the floor, then reaches into his pocket to retrieve his phone, navigating through the screens with nimble fingers to find his electronic ticket.
‘Care to share your thoughts?’ he asks, casting a brief glance in my direction before shifting his gaze to the boarding screens again.
‘You don’t want to know,’ I say, peeking at his phone to glimpse his flight number.
Then I nervously scan the departure board, half-hoping to spot the words ‘CANCELED’ or ‘DELAYED’ next to his flight number but to my dismay, it simply reads ‘ON TIME’.
I can’t help but feel conflicted. Part of me – a big part – wants him to stay. The other part is waving a red flag and I’ve ignored that before. I can’t be with someone who keeps things from me. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way twice now.
‘I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you,’ he says, slowly strolling over to a bench just before the passenger-only zone. ‘But I will pay you back,’ he murmurs. ‘You didn’t have to step up, but you did, and for that, I’ll forever owe you.’
I force a smile as if it were no big deal. Like, I’d do it for anyone. But the truth is, I wouldn’t. The only person who’s ever made my heart stop and caused me to take weeks off work, even after not seeing him in years, was him, and now it’s time for us to say goodbye for good.
‘You don’t owe me anything,’ I say, my voice soft, trying to convey that there are no debts or obligations between us.
‘Except for one divorce,’ he says, with a tinge of sadness. ‘I promise I will take care of it as soon as I return.’
Why does the thought of that hurt? I insisted he take care of it, fueled by my frustration over his failure to disclose the truth earlier, so I don’t doubt by next weekend, I’ll be a single woman again.
‘Flight 857 to Tallahassee, Florida, is now boarding at Gate 4A.’ The words that I’ve been fearing ever since I told him to buy a ticket now reverberate through the airport corridors, enveloping us in their weighty significance.
As our gazes lock, I see a flicker of panic and perhaps a touch of regret in his eyes. Yet we remain motionless, not even making a single effort to change our positions.
He finally releases a heavy breath. ‘I suppose that would be me,’ he mutters, rising from the bench but hesitating to pick up his bag. Instead, he reaches his hand toward me, offering to help me up, and I accept it.
His sudden one-armed embrace envelops me, pulling me into his warmth and closeness. I respond by holding him just as tightly, feeling the strength of his uninjured arm around me, and I feel safe. I breathe him in, allowing his cologne to fill my senses, making the moment all the more intense. One I’ll never forget. Is this the last time I’ll have him this close? He kisses the side of my head, his lips lingering.
‘I left something with Phil, for you.’
‘Oh?’ I say, wondering what on earth that could be.
‘Yeah.’
I find myself standing there, not wanting to utter the words that will make this real. As the announcement for his flight echoes through the air for a second time, I realize that I have to let him go, even though every fiber of my being resists.
‘I guess this is goodbye then, huh?’ I choke the words out.
He steps back, his fingertips slowly gliding down my arm, before he grasps my hand tightly.
‘I suppose so,’ he says in a hushed tone.
‘Text me when you land?’ I request. ‘Just so I know you got home safe.’
He nods, and if I’m not mistaken, I swear I see a glimmer of tears welling up in his eyes, mirroring the same emotion I feel. His eyes lock onto mine with such intensity that the overwhelming sense of his impending absence, even as he continues to stand right in front of me, nearly stops my barely beating heart. Maybe I made a mistake? I did. I made the mistake of letting him in again.
‘Make sure to take your pain medication – the lower dose – once you board the flight. You don’t want to be sore mid-air.’ I struggle to keep my voice steady, fearing that my emotions might betray me as I anticipate returning to my apartment without him.
‘I promise I’ll stay on top of the weaning off the pain meds,’ he assures me.
‘OK.’
He lets go of my hand and stoops to pick up his bag, slinging the strap over his uninjured shoulder. He hesitates for a second, then makes his way toward the passenger-only area of the airport without saying the word goodbye.
As he walks, he looks back a few times. I manage to keep my composure each time, but I can’t bring myself to leave until he’s entirely out of view. Just before he disappears around a corner, he glances back once more. I raise my hand, trying to force a smile despite the turmoil inside me.
Turn back, you idiot.
He waves, but his gesture lacks enthusiasm and two seconds later he’s out of my sight. Gone. I stand there, waiting, until I hear the final boarding call for his flight. That’s when I know, he isn’t pulling a Rachel Green. Foster is not getting off the plane. My heart feels like it’s flatlining.
Don’t die completely, heart, I say to myself, turning to leave before I lose it in public. Please, don’t die .
‘I’m sorry, honey,’ Phil murmurs, perched on a bar-stool next to me, adorned with glow sticks on every limb and around his head as usual. ‘If it’s any consolation, he didn’t walk away from you easily.’
‘That’s the worst kind of consolation,’ I say with a heavy heart.
‘He did, uh—’ Phil stalls, reaching into his pants pocket, ‘—he left you something.’
That’s right. I forgot he’d said that.
‘What?’
‘This.’ Phil sets a folded piece of notebook paper on the bar in front of me.
For a second, I stare at it – wondering what it is but afraid to open it.
‘Did you look?’ I ask.
Phil nods. ‘I think you should too.’
I set my drink on the bar and slowly unfold paper that feels delicate. Like it’s been folded and unfolded over and over and may fall apart at any moment.
Once I’ve got it opened, I suck in a breath, seeing my own handwriting staring back at me.
‘I can’t believe he kept this,’ I whisper, my heart aching as I look at the note in front of me.
‘Me either. But he pulled it out of his wallet last night with tears in his eyes and said even though reading it hurt, it’s the only way he knew to keep you with him after you left.’
I cry, wiping the tears away so I can read the words I’d never forgotten. ‘Love should be enough.’ Where my name was signed is now crossed out with bright pink ink and instead, his name is scribbled underneath it.
Phil side-eyes me. ‘Thoughts?’
My own words being used against me doesn’t feel good. I wonder if this is how he felt the first time he read them? Words straight out of Judge Ashford’s mouth when he married us, used as a weapon. God, I’m a bitch.
Without realizing it, I wipe away tears that have fallen.
‘It’s alright, honey. Cry it out, sometimes it’s all we can do,’ Phil says, sliding his arm around me and pulling me close, allowing me to cry on his shoulder.
Foster kept the note I left on him at all times, for five years. Probably hoping one day love would be enough. And then it was, and everything fell apart again.
‘He’s not coming back, is he?’ I say through sobs.
Phil’s face contorts into a frown, and I can tell that even he wishes for a different outcome.
‘It would be so romantic if he did,’ he says softly.
I feel torn, like Phil is the angel on my shoulder, and my conscience is the competing demon. Thoughtfully reminding me why I shouldn’t feel anything for Foster because he doesn’t deserve it. But my heart is on Phil’s side, unfortunately.
‘I thought watching him leave would give me closure,’ I admit weakly. ‘But now it just feels like a sharp and painful word.’
Phil nods in understanding, knowing all too well the complexity of emotions in a situation like this.
‘I’m sure you’ll get over him eventually,’ he says, trying to offer some comfort.
I’m not so sure about that. This feels like an overreaction to a break-up we never got to have. I wanted love to be enough last time, and I hoped it would be so much more this time.