Текст книги "Tough Enough"
Автор книги: M. Leighton
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
THIRTY
Rogan
Victory. It surges through my blood. I can taste it on my tongue, sweet and tangy. I can smell it in the air, mingling with sweat. There is no feeling in the world like winning. It makes me feel alive when, for a lot of years growing up, I wasn’t sure I’d survive.
But I did.
Against the odds. And here I am, on top of the world.
My first conscious thought as I do a slow turn of triumph in the center of the ring is of Katie. I squint past the bright lights, scanning the sea of faces for hers, but I can’t find her. My gaze drops to the first row, to where my brother is parked in his wheelchair. I frown my question at him, nodding to the upper rows. He shrugs. He doesn’t know where she went, even though he was supposed to keep an eye on her.
I feel a thin thread of unease unraveling in my gut. I don’t know why she would leave her seat like that. My agent was supposed to bring her to me in the locker room in another ten or fifteen minutes. Now I don’t know where she is. Maybe the bathroom . . .
I pull my attention back to getting through the next hour. After all the regular post-fight shit, I can disappear back into a world where it’s just Katie and me. For as long as we’ve got left.
As usual, my trainer joins me in the ring. I’m surprised when my agent, my publicist, my benefactor and Victoria Musser show up as well. Surprised and pissed off. No one told me Victoria would be here. And why the hell is she? She has no place at my side.
I hide my irritation, putting on a polite smile for the cameras. I hate everyone touching me and posing with me, though. All they want is a photo op. Pieces of shit.
As flashes go off in every direction, I think to myself that it’s probably not that big of a mystery why they’re all here. It’s great press for my agent; my publicist; and Senator Sims, my benefactor; and his son. And, of course, it’s a great photo op for Victoria. Not to mention a convenient plug for the show on which I’ll be starring at the beginning of the season. I guess it’s even logical. For media whores, that is.
If anything, their presence only makes me more anxious to get away, to find Katie. She’s like an island in a sea of sharks and suckerfish. It seems she might be the only person on the planet who wants nothing from me except . . . me. My time, my attention, my love, my touch. And I’m more than happy to give her all those. For as long as she’ll have me.
The circus continues, following me all the way to the locker room where they hover at the door, pounding me with questions. Senator Sims, who has now been joined by his wormy son, is proudly answering questions to my left when a beaming Victoria wiggles her way in at my right.
I have to make myself hold steady and not lean away when she latches on to my side. The media, always observant, doesn’t miss the way she drapes herself over me. I grit my teeth when it takes the questions in a different direction.
“Victoria, does this mean you and Rogan are back together?”
“Rogan, you were at the top of your game tonight. Did that have anything to do with Victoria’s presence?”
“Rumor has it that you two patched things up on the set of Wicked Games. Is that true?”
“Victoria, the word was that Rogan dumped you. What made you take him back?”
“How about your relationship? Is it open? Our sources say that you two have expanded to include Rayelle Parker.”
As if on cue, the corps of reporters parts and Rayelle comes slinking through, making a beeline for me. With a kiss to Victoria (on the lips, I might add), she insinuates herself between Senator Sims and me, stretching up to kiss the side of my neck. It only takes me a few seconds of both women hanging themselves on me, running their hands up my bare stomach, to realize what the hell is going on.
Publicity for the show.
This is all a publicity stunt.
That’s when I look up and see a familiar dark head. It catches my attention, bobbing at the very back of the throng of paparazzi. It’s Katie. I see her shrinking away from all the commotion, backing down the hall with my brother trailing along in her wake. Her face is as pale as a ghost.
THIRTY-ONE
Katie
I’m nauseous, paralyzed. If I thought the remembered fears of my past were incapacitating, this feeling, this horror is enough to bury me where I stand.
It’s extremely upsetting to see Victoria and Rayelle rubbing themselves all over Rogan, to hear insinuations being dispensed left and right. It’s extremely upsetting that Rogan is doing nothing to remove himself from the situation or disabuse anyone of the conclusions being drawn. But none of that is as agonizing or confusing as the presence of Senator Sims and his son at Rogan’s side.
I’ve known Senator Sims for years. I’ve hated him for almost as long. He’s responsible for the police declaring the fire that disfigured me an “accident.” Seeing him turns my blood cold, yet it’s nothing compared to how the man to his left makes me feel.
Calvin Sims.
My ex.
The guy I thought I loved. The guy who had a dark side that I didn’t see until it was too late. The guy who broke hearts and bones and spirits like some people break bread. The guy who, in a fit of rage, set me on fire. The person who has inhabited more of my nightmares than the boogeyman.
And they’re both standing beside the man I let myself trust, the man I confided in. The man I fell in love with.
My head spins. My heart shrivels.
How? Why? How could this be?
Suddenly, I feel claustrophobic. It’s as though the train of my life has flown off the tracks and all its cars of past, present and future are colliding. Everything is piling up into one big mess, a heap of twisted truths and inconceivable realities threatening to crush me under their weight.
My lungs are failing. My head is spinning. My oxygen is running out. Slowly, I back away from the fervent crowd as it encroaches on Rogan, pummeling him with questions.
Across the tops of their heads, jewel-green eyes lock on mine. He stares at me for a few intense seconds, something unfathomable darkening emerald to jade. My stomach flips over and my chest constricts. I thought I knew this man, but I knew nothing. I only saw the façade. And the unfortunate truth is that there’s nothing beneath it, no more to him than this. Lies. Cameras. Action.
When I’m far enough away that I can no longer feel the body heat of the horde, I inhale sharply, ready to bolt back down the hall. Why did Kurt come to find me at the front doors when I’d left for air? And why the hell did he bring me here? Did he want me to see the real Rogan? Or did he just want to hurt me? Maybe that’s who he is, too. Just a cruel, cruel person. Like his brother.
An internal alarm blares when I hear a short pause, a hush almost, followed by a barrage of questions.
“Who’s that, Rogan?”
“Is that the girl from the stands?”
“Is she the one you saw before the fight? Who is she, Rogan?”
Panic. That’s exactly what I feel when I see every eye turn toward me. After that, it’s just chaos. Voices raised, people clamoring, everything closing in on me.
Before I can get away and before Rogan can get to me, Victoria somehow slips through the crowd and appears at my side. She loops one arm around my shoulders and hugs me to her.
I don’t move away from her. Having someone, anyone familiar close to me is somehow comforting, like a buffer.
I shrink against her side, wishing I could disappear entirely. I feel like a deer in headlights, frozen. Terrified.
Then, as though every facet of my worst nightmares are coming to life in a single evening, Victoria reaches up with the hand on my shoulder and gently sweeps my hair away from my neck, exposing my scars for the flash of cameras, for the fodder of the media.
I’m so shocked, so completely taken aback by the gesture, I simply stand there, mortified and stunned. I can’t even lift my arm to cover my shame.
“Guess who told me all about your little secret,” Victoria hisses next to my ear, her smile never faltering as she looks into my eyes and then presses her cheek to mine to pose for the multitude of pictures being taken.
Guess who told me all about your little secret.
Agony rips through my insides. Rogan. He told her. He told her about my scars. The ultimate betrayal. How could he do that to me? Why? Why would he do that to me?
It’s like I don’t even know him. Like I never did. It was all just an act to get the girl who no one else could get. And I let him. I let him in, let him close. But I was misled, deceived. On every possible level. By the first person I’ve trusted in years. By the first person I’ve loved in forever.
Flash, flash, flash. Cameras being shoved in my face, microphones being held out to me, curious onlookers dissecting my every word and move.
“Are you affiliated with the charity?”
“Are you a representative at the benefit?”
“How do you know Rogan?”
“Are you a victim of abuse? Do you have a story to tell?”
With my mind spinning, I listen to their questions, still too stunned to move. I can only assume they’re asking about abuse because the charity is one for abused children. I’m sure that, by the look of my scars, they think I might very well be one. I can understand their rationale, and perversely, I almost wish it were the case. Somehow it doesn’t seem quite as humiliating as the truth. But still, my lips can’t form an answer, my throat can’t utter a sound.
I look up for Rogan. He’s gone. I look at Calvin. His face is contorted in a sneer that I remember all too well. I look to my side at Victoria. She’s as smug as I’ve ever seen her.
“Told you he’d be mine,” she whispers, winking at me for the reporters, even though they can’t hear what she’s saying.
I urge my numb legs into motion, taking one step back. It feels so good I take another. Then another. The closer I get to freedom, the farther away the faces get, the more my muscles cooperate. Three, four steps later, I’m running through the maze of halls behind the stadium, looking frantically for a way out. Any way out.
I see a red Exit sign up ahead and I lunge for it, pushing through and out into the cool, dark night like a woman possessed. I run in a straight line, aiming for the lights of the street in front of me. When I reach it, I hail a cab, a skill I’m glad I never lost, and I give the driver the airport as my destination. I don’t care that I have only the clothes on my back. I don’t care that my belongings are still in the room I shared with Rogan. I don’t care that I’m acting irrationally. I have to get out of here. I can’t be in this city anymore. For the second time in my life, it’s taken from me everything I hold dear.
Everything.
THIRTY-TWO
Rogan
I’ve felt protective before. Over Kurt. Over my comrades in Delta Five unit. I’d fight to the death for them. But even my feelings for Kurt, my damn brother, don’t hold a candle to the almost violently protective surge that’s pumping through my veins right now.
Katie.
Seeing her expression just now, seeing the sheer panic on her face when this bunch of nosey asshole reporters saw me notice her . . . God, I just wanted to tear through them like teeth through meat, ripping and tearing and killing.
But I know better. I know better than to start something that could go sideways with her caught (physically and emotionally) in the middle. She could get hurt, and I couldn’t live with myself if that happened. So, without a word, I turn and run through the locker room, heading for the door that leads into an anteroom and then out into the hallway. It should empty out somewhere behind Katie, some place that I can get her and get her the hell out of here.
But when I burst through the door, there’s no Katie. The hall is full of the same reporters, all as voraciously curious as a tank of barracudas who’ve caught the scent of blood. Besides them, there is only Victoria. No Katie. Even Kurt is gone.
Unconcerned with niceties or worrying about the damn cameras, I reach through the crush of bodies and grab Victoria’s arm. She turns a blinding smile on me that only serves to piss me off even more. I’m not playing her games right now. “Where’s Katie? Where’d she go?”
“How am I supposed to know? She was here one minute and then she was running down the hall like a scared rabbit the next. I guess she freaked out over those scars.”
Scars? For about a tenth of a second, I’m confused. What happened while I was coming for Katie, while I was running through the back rooms?
I don’t ask because I already know the answer. I see it on Victoria’s face. The satisfaction, the malice. I wind my fingers around her stickish upper arms and haul her up against my chest, hissing down into her face, “What the hell did you do?” She doesn’t answer me, just smiles. “You bitch!”
I’ve never hit a woman. Never even considered it, but looking down into these smug eyes tries my patience like never before.
“She’s not right for you, Rogan. She never was. You just needed a little help in seeing that.”
“If you’ve hurt her, so help me God . . .”
Victoria has the audacity to arch her back and make this into an even worse spectacle. “You know I like it rough, baby.”
I throw her away from me like the trash that she is and she stumbles backward. “You know, Tori, you’re the only woman I’ve ever known who I can truly say I hate.”
Without another word to her or anyone else, I take off down the hall, praying that Katie’s waiting for me back at the hotel.
Only she’s not.
After a twenty-minute ride because of traffic, a ride during which I’d done nothing but hit REDIAL on Katie’s cell number, I took the elevator up to an empty hotel room. I feel a pang of panic when I see that all her stuff is exactly where she left it, but she’s nowhere to be found. Where the hell could she be? If not here, where else would she go?
Fear clenches in my gut, a cold fist wrapping around my stomach. What if something happened to her? What if she got railroaded by the press somewhere else at the coliseum? What if she got hurt somehow?
Sweat breaks out on my forehead, but I push all that emotion down, deep down. I have to think. I have to find her.
Rational thought brings Kurt to mind. He’s gone, too. He was supposed to keep an eye on her. Maybe he knows where to find her.
Furious with myself, my brother, my nasty bitch of an ex-girlfriend, I dial Kurt. He answers after the first ring.
“Where is she and why the hell weren’t you keeping an eye on her?” I preempt the instant he picks up.
“I checked the hotel and she’s not there.”
“No shit. That’s where I’m at.”
“You just need to calm down. There’s—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down. She’s upset and I need to find her. I need to find her because you couldn’t do the one simple thing I asked you to do.”
“I’m at a little bit of a disadvantage, if you haven’t noticed,” he replies bitterly.
“Not this time, Kurt. I give you that excuse practically every day of our lives, but not this time. All I asked was for you to keep an eye on her. Your eyes work just fine, damn it.”
To this, he says nothing. Silence is my only answer.
“I have to find her,” I growl in frustration.
“Have you checked the airport?”
The airport. It makes perfect sense. She’s scared, upset, humiliated. She’d want safety, security, the comfort of the familiar.
“I’m on my way, but until I call and tell you that she’s okay, you get everyone you can find on her ass. I want her found and I want her found now!”
I hang up, throw on a pair of jeans and a shirt, grab my wallet from the room safe and retrace my footsteps back down to the lobby, where the bellman hails a cab for me. I’m in too much of a hurry to wait for the limo. I’d take a motorcycle if they had one, but . . .
In the back of the cab, I resume dialing and redialing Katie’s number over and over and over, all the way to the airport. If she’s not there, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know where else to look. I brought her here, to a city I know she mostly hates, and then I lost her. She could be anywhere.
I leave only one message for her, hoping that wherever she is, she’ll listen to it. “It’s me. I don’t know what happened, but I need to find you. You’re scaring me. Call me back. God, baby! I . . . I . . . Just call me back, Katie. Please.”
At the airport, I’m encouraged to find that the next flight back to Atlanta leaves in forty minutes. If she’s here, she’ll be on that flight to get back to Enchantment. I don’t hesitate to buy a ticket and make my way through security and on to the gate. I’m deflated when I scan the few faces I see lounging in the concourse chairs. I don’t see Katie’s. My heart is galloping as I spin and look in all the other fairly close chairs for her, too. No dice.
But then, tucked in a corner right next to the window, nearly out of sight, is a familiar head. My chest gets tight just looking at her. She’s holding her cell phone to one ear, her eyes cast down. Even though I can’t see much of her face, I can see enough of it to know that she’s still pale and that she’s been crying.
I don’t call out to her when I spot her. I just exhale, relief flooding my muscles, making me weak. Suddenly I feel like Daniels won that fight, not the other way around.
I make my way across the short carpet to where she’s sitting. When I get within a few feet of her, she glances up from under her eyelashes. Her eyes are big pools of dark blue misery. I watch them fill with tears and something that looks an awful lot like hate.
I slow down, approaching her cautiously. “Are you okay?” I ask softly.
“You need to leave, Rogan.”
“Not without you.”
“I’m going home. Alone.”
Alone. A lurch of my heart.
I gulp.
“What happened?”
Her eyes spit fire. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know.” Her voice is low and calm, but there’s venom in it. She’s livid, but I can tell how hurt she is, too. It slices between my ribs, through cartilage and muscle, right into my heart, like a scalpel.
“I swear to God, I don’t know. I don’t know what I did to hurt you, baby, but you have to know I’m sorry. I’ll fix it if you let me. Just tell me what I did. Tell me what happened.”
She glares up at me. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying. I looked up after the fight and you were gone. Then when I saw you in the hall outside the locker room, you were so pale. I must’ve missed it when I was coming for you. You have to know I’d never let anyone hurt you. Never.”
She makes a noise, a strangled noise like a wounded animal. She’s struggling to hang on to her anger, but she’s struggling hard. She wants to just be mad, but I can see that somehow I’ve ripped her heart out. Even though I don’t know what I did.
“Stop it, Rogan. Please. Don’t make me relive it. Just let me go. We don’t belong together.”
Her words cut like pieces of shattered glass. “Please don’t say that.” I knew that we might have some problems trying to make this work, but I was willing to try whatever I could. Anything. And I’d only do that if I thought we really belonged together. Which I do. But then to hear her say that we don’t . . .
I swallow hard. I search for the patience to handle this delicately, like I know she needs me to. What I want to do is pick her up and carry her out of here and then sit her down and make her talk to me, but that won’t work with Katie. In fact, if anything, it would only push her farther away. So I’m going slow. I’m being patient. As difficult as it is, she’s worth it.
“I don’t believe that,” I confess. “And I didn’t think you did either. What changed your mind?”
Her chin starts to tremble. “Haven’t you done enough? Do you really need to hear me say it?”
“I guess I do.”
She stares at me for several long seconds, a thousand emotions swirling in her eyes. But then I see her ball her fingers into tight fists and I know her anger is taking the front seat again.
THIRTY-THREE
Katie
I reach for calm. I grasp at control. I search for distance. “I shouldn’t have been with you anyway. You’re a fighter, for God’s sake. Watching you pound your fists into that guy tonight just brought back too many memories for me. I don’t need violent men in my life. I should’ve trusted my gut and stayed away from you from the first day that I met you.”
“My fists?” I try not to let the look on Rogan’s face affect me. He looks like I physically slapped him. “God, Katie, I would never, ever hurt you. Ever!” He raises his big hands up in front of him. “These hands will never touch you in anger. I’d rather die than see fear or pain on your face. How could you think otherwise?”
It burns in my chest like acid, that he could still, after all this, make me feel anything but disgust for him. And yet he does. He looks heartbroken that I would even suggest such a thing. And seeing him this way hurts me. Even though I hate him right this minute, and even though what he’s done is unforgiveable, I still don’t want to see him hurt.
“I’m not saying you would ever hit me. I’m just saying that I can’t watch things like that. I can’t cheer you on while you beat the crap out of another human being for money or fame or beautiful women. Or for whatever other reasons you do it.”
“I told you why I fight, Katie.”
“I know, but . . .”
I trail off, hoping he’ll just take that as enough explanation and go. Just go.
But he doesn’t.
“That’s not it, though. Or at least that’s not all. I saw you in the hallway. You turned so pale. I saw it. Something else happened.”
My stomach turns in on itself, like it’s going to eat a hole all the way through my spine, leaving me hollow in the middle. As hollow as I feel.
“Everything happened. Everything happened and everything fell apart.” It kills me that my voice is so deplorably small. Once again, my anger has abandoned me. As quick as that, as quick as his question. The agony of betrayal is the only emotion available to me now. Even when I’d rather hold on to my fury, I can’t find it beneath all the hurt. “I watched you pose with two women, like some sick love affair. I watched you smile with the man who had my case dismissed as an accident. And then I watched you have your picture taken with the person who set my car on fire.” Rogan’s brows knit together for a few seconds before he pales beneath his tan. I see how my words affect him, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t give him an inch or I’ll crumble. “And then, as if that weren’t enough, Victoria played her hand and exposed my scars for all the world to see. Scars that she said you told her about.”
I hate that my voice trembles. I hate that my chin quivers. I hate that he can see how weak I am, how weak and pathetic. But this will all be over soon and I’ll be on my way back to Enchantment. There, I can hide. There, I can lick my wounds in private. There, I can disappear until I find a new way forward. Until I can get away and start a new life.
Again.
Rogan shakes his head as though to clear it, like he’s overwhelmed. I guess he didn’t think he’d get caught so red-handed. Or maybe he just thought he’d never get caught at all.
When he finally collects himself, he drops to one knee in front of me, his eyes trained steadily on mine. “Katie, listen to me. I don’t know what she said or why she’d tell you that, but as God is my witness, I never told Victoria your secret. I’ve never told anyone. I would never do that to you. I thought you trusted me.”
Again, he looks wounded. And again, it kills me to see his hurt.
I remind myself that it’s probably not even real, though. It’s probably as fabricated as everything else has been between us. Facts don’t lie. And I’m drowning in facts right now.
I can’t give in. I can’t trust him. That’s why I’m in this position to start with.
“I did trust you, Rogan. And look where it got me.”
“I don’t . . . I didn’t . . . Katie, I swear I—”
“You’re the only one who knew except Mona. And even if she were going to betray me after two years, she certainly wouldn’t tell Victoria of all people.”
Rogan bows his head in defeat. I won. Only I don’t feel like the victor.
After several seconds of quiet, his head snaps up and his wide eyes lock onto mine. “Ronnie. Ronnie knew. From the night he attacked you. And I’ve seen him talking to Victoria on more than one occasion.”
I frown. I had forgotten about the incident with Ronnie. He most definitely knew my secret, saw my scars firsthand. And as much as I would love to refute the accuracy of what Rogan is saying, I can’t.
Even in my tiny little world inside the studio, I’ve heard the rumors floating around about Ronnie’s fascination with Victoria. If he knew how she felt about me, maybe he gave her some dirt to get in her good graces.
“I’m sure neither of us rank high on his list of favorite people,” Rogan adds, watching me with hopeful eyes. “Please, Katie. You have to believe me. I would never, never do something like that to you.”
Like he’s been able to do from the day we met, I feel Rogan softening me, taking the edge off my anger, soothing my hurt. Breaking down my defenses. But it’s no matter. The fact remains that he can’t be trusted. His associations prove that.
“Fine. I’ll give you that one, but what about Senator Sims? And Calvin? How could I ever trust someone who’s in league with men like that?”
Sadness steals over Rogan’s handsome face and stabs at my heart. “They’re just business associates, Katie. Nothing more. I had no way of knowing what they’d done to you.”
“But you can understand why I can’t have anything to do with them. Nothing. At all. Ever. Right?”
Rogan gazes intently at me. His silence might be more painful than anything else. Something tells me that this is the one thing he can’t explain away. Can’t fix. Can’t or won’t.
He looks defeated.
“Yes, I completely understand. And as much as I hate them both for what they did to you . . .” I see his jaw flex as he looks away from me, like he’s resisting murderous impulses. “As much as I’d like to tear them both limb from limb, there’s nothing I can do about it. They’re . . . I can’t . . . There’s just nothing I can do.”
Suddenly I feel desperate, desperate for him to explain it away in terms that won’t rip me apart. But I’m terrified that he won’t. “But why? What are they to you?”
“They’re . . . well, Senator Sims is my benefactor.”
I guess, when it boils down to it, I was secretly hoping that Rogan would be able to explain away his association with the two most awful men that I know. Part of me even expected that he might chase me down in Enchantment and explain it all away and we could pick up where we left off. But reality isn’t like a romance novel. Sometimes there isn’t a happy ending to be had. Sometimes things just don’t work out.
“So this is about money? You’d keep people like that close to you for money? Knowing, now, what they did to me?”
I’m incredulous. I’m confused. I’m devastated.
“It’s not about the money.”
“Then what is it about?”
Reaching out to take my clasped hands in his, Rogan closes his eyes and drops his forehead onto them. “Katie, please. You just have to trust me.”
You have to trust me.
That’s not an answer. Not a denial. Not an explanation. Not a promise or a platitude. Because it’s the truth. He can’t even deny it. He has no quick excuse or story to tell. So he’s hedging. The fact of the matter is Rogan has a price. A literal price. And nothing is worth more to him. Not even me.
“Trust you? Trust you? How can I trust you? I feel like I don’t even know you.”
There is a physical tightening of everything from my sternum to my navel. It feels as though an excruciating weight is bearing down on me and I’m struggling to resist. My muscles tremble with the effort not to be crushed.
I just want to fold over, to curl into myself and vanish. How could I be so wrong about someone?
You were about Calvin. Now it’s happening again.
Rogan releases my hands and leans into me, cupping my cheeks. I feel the tears that I can’t hold back stream from the corners of my eyes to pour over his fingers. His expression is urgent, determined. Desperate.
But he’s an actor. To be fooled would make me foolish.
“Katie, you know me. You know me. Better than probably anyone in my life, you know me. Please just trust me. One more time. I promise you I’m not like them. If there was anything I could do, any other way . . .”
I reach up to wind my fingers around his wrists and tug them away from my face. “There’s always another way. You just have to want to find it.”
Rogan drops his hands and leans back before running his fingers through his short hair, sending it shooting out in twenty different directions. “Katie, please! You have to believe me. Can’t you just . . . Rrrrah!” With that growl of frustration, Rogan straightens and turns away from me, lacing his fingers behind his neck as he paces. When he swivels back to me, he just looks . . . beaten. “I know you want me to fix this, but I can’t. I wish there was something I could do, but there’s not. This is beyond my control. Please, just give me the benefit of the doubt. At least give me some time to figure something out. Please.”
I take a deep breath and bolster myself against the desire to crawl into a corner and die. I gave my heart away and this is what it’s come to.
I’m resigned. The least I can do at this point is try to retain some amount of dignity. I stand to my feet, legs shaky, knees wobbly, and I pray for strength before I speak. “It won’t matter, Rogan. We’re just too different. We were kidding ourselves to think otherwise. Go back to your people. And I’ll go back to mine. All I ask is that you stay away from me. If you respect me or ever cared anything about me, you’ll do this one thing for me. Please.”
I’m glad my voice stayed strong through the end. I’m glad I was finished speaking, too, because, as I shoulder my purse and walk past Rogan, I’m overcome with the feeling that I can’t breathe, much less speak. Yet I walk on. I walk to another seat at the farthest end of my gate and I take it. I slip into it, my only thoughts of the door that will lead to the airplane that will take me away from here, away from Rogan. I just have to make it home in one piece and then I can fall apart.
And I will. But this time, I’m not sure the pieces will be big enough to put back together again.
