He kicked the covers off and rolled to his side of the bed, climbing out. Stabbing his legs into his jeans, he turned back to face me, anger blazing in his eyes. “I must look like such a fool to you.”
“What? No—God no, Lucas,” I said, shocked. I moved across the bed, kneeling up and reaching out to him. But he stood just out of arm’s reach. “It’s nothing like that. I—I—You’re—”
He stared at me, hard. He seemed to be weighing something. “I gotta go,” he said, eyes cold.
“What? No way! You have to stay; we have to talk about this,” I cried, jumping off the bed and grabbing his arm before he could walk away.
“There’s really nothing to talk about. You lied to me. I can’t go through that again. I can’t get involved with a girl who’s lied to me since the beginning. I’ve gone down that road before.”
“You think I’m the same as Julie?” I asked, horrified.
“Right now? I think you might be exactly the same as Julie—and I can’t get suckered into that again.”
He turned and left.
chapter fourteen
The worst day ever was also the longest day ever, creeping by like frozen molasses. I spent the morning shoveling dog shit. I spent the better part of the afternoon on the phone with the local ASPCA, making sure that the dogs that were rescued from the ring yesterday were transferred to me once they were given the immediate medical care they needed and fully checked out. I’d need to call Lou in on this one too. I’d never handled this many dogs at once, and especially dogs that’d been bred for only one reason. Would they be able to be socialized? Would they be able to trust?
It didn’t matter. Whether or not they were ultimately adoptable, they’d come here and not be on chains, not be in the cold, not be expected to fight and snarl and shred . . . They would only be expected to chase balls and gobble treats. That, I could promise every one of them.
By lunchtime, there was no call from Lucas. I gave him the space he clearly wanted. Whether it would be a forever kind of space . . . well . . . I wasn’t thinking about that yet. I couldn’t think about that. I went back over our conversation this morning, remembering the pain in his eyes when he realized that I’d lied to him.
And when I thought back, there were plenty of times when I could have told him the truth. I could have told him why I walked away from my wedding, and how it was a different situation from the one with Julie. He would have understood—of course he could have understood that. Oh, I had played this one very very wrong.
So for now, I waited. He’d said he might call, but I was choosing not to remember the might. Because if I thought about him leaving tomorrow without seeing me again and talking to me again, I’d lose my mind.
The early afternoon became late afternoon. I’d eaten a quick lunch, perhaps lingering in the doorway to my bedroom for two or twenty minutes. The bed was still messed up, pillows on the floor, comforter twisted into a ball at the bottom, and a very large dent in the middle where two entwined bodies had left their impression. The room smelled like sex. Weird and gross? No, naughty and naughty . . .
Fudge.
Dusk fell, and I still hadn’t heard from Lucas. Should I call him? Should I bother him while he’s probably packing and saying good-bye to his family?
I sat at the counter, chain-eating pudding for dinner. After the pudding, I paced. Sammy Davis Jr. paced with me for a while, but eventually he realized Mommy was nutso and went back to his bed by the fireplace.
By ten o’clock I’d finally had enough of the silence, and I grabbed my phone. Before I could dial, it rang in my hand. It was Lucas.
“Hey!” I said, a bit too enthusiastically.
“Hey,” he answered back. His voice was curt. Chilly. My skin broke out into goose bumps.
“How was your day?” I asked. This man was inside you less than twenty-four hours ago, and you’re asking him how his day was?
“Productive. Got everything packed up, signed off on things at the clinic—which is the reason I called.”
“Oh?” I asked. Now he needed a reason for calling?
“I wanted to give you a heads-up about the fighting ring you discovered. It looks like charges of animal cruelty are being filed against the property owners. Since I’m leaving in the morning, the police came down today to ask me some questions, take some pictures, stuff like that. I didn’t want you to be surprised when they call you too.”
“Sure, okay,” I said. Then a thought occurred to me. “I’m not in trouble for trespassing or something, am I?”
“No, you totally did the right thing in calling them. But promise me next time you wait for the authorities to get there before you go barging into some barn filled with fighting dogs. You were very lucky last night.”
“I’ll say,” I replied softly. “I knew I should have waited, but—”
“I’d probably have done the same thing, but wait for the cavalry next time, okay?”
“I will,” I agreed. “So . . . I know you said your dad was driving you to the airport in the morning, but . . .” My voice trailed off, hopeful. Interrupt me! Ask me to take you to the airport!
“But what?” he asked. He knew what I was but whating, but he wasn’t going to let me off the hook.
My heart settled somewhere very low. Dark side of the duodenum low. “So, I guess I won’t see you before you leave,” I managed.
“The day just got away from me.” His voice sounded careful, cautious.
“Twelve weeks. That’s a long time.”
“Chloe,” he said. But then he said no more.
Usually, any silence between us was comfortable. This silence was heavy and dark, and I didn’t like it one bit.
“Can I call you?” I finally asked. “While you’re down there?”
“Not sure how great the cell reception is down there.”
“Didn’t you get an international plan?” I asked.
“Yeah, I did.” Translation: he didn’t want me to call him. “Listen, I’ve still got some stuff to do before bed, so I just wanted to make sure you knew they’d be contacting you about the dogs, okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, gripping the phone hard. “Lucas, I’m so sorry that—”
“Chloe, just don’t—okay? I can’t get into all this. Not before I go,” he said, sounding so tired. “I’m sure I’ll see you when I get back.”
Oh my God. This was so very bad. “Yeah, okay, Lucas. Be careful down there, okay?”
“Will do. You too. I mean it about waiting for the cavalry next time, Chloe.”
“Sure,” I said, my throat all lumpy.
“Bye,” he said, and that was it.
Ten minutes later I was still pacing around my living room, trying to decide whether I should call him back, when my phone rang. “Thank God,” I muttered, racing to pick it up.
But it wasn’t Lucas. It was Charles.
“Hello?” I asked, stunned. We hadn’t spoken in weeks, other than a quick phone call about sending back some gifts.
“Hi, Chloe, how are you?” he asked.
“Uh, I’m good. You?”
“Good—great, actually. How are things up north? Your mom told me about the ranch you started up there—a charity for stray dogs?”
“Kind of. I run a rescue shelter for abandoned pit bulls.”
“Ah. Interesting.”
“Did you need something?” I asked. It was almost eleven o’clock. Why were we making small talk; what was going on? Weird.
“I do need something, actually: your signature.”
“On what?”
“Your name is still on my life insurance, and we need to get that switched over.”
“No way. I’ll just kill you and retire.”
There was silence, then he laughed. And just like that, we moved into normal. As normal as you could be with an ex-fiancé.
“Sure, I’ll sign whatever you want. Just email it and I’ll turn it around.”
“Notarize it, please.”
“Fa
ncy,” I said. “So who’s your new beneficiary?”
“My new fiancée, actually. I’m getting married in six weeks.”
“What? Wow!” I sat down in surprise. “Who’s the lucky girl? Anyone I know?”
“Becky Von Stuffling.”
“I’ve never met her, but I’m sure she’s lovely.”
“She is lovely, and quite fun.” His voice sounded light. Hopeful. Intoxicated. “And a little bit twisted.”
“Twisted? Heavens, not that.” I laughed. “Is this the part where I say I’m happy for you?”
“Only if you really are.”
I flashed on all the good times I’d had with Charles; we used to laugh a lot. He was stuffy and pretentious, without a doubt. But he was a kind, decent man, and he deserved someone better suited for him. “I am happy for you, Charles. Very happy.”
“I was really angry with you, Chloe.”
“I know,” I whispered, my eyes filling with tears. I did what I had to do for myself, but I did leave a pretty big mess behind me. “I’m so sorry for what I did to you.”
“At the time it didn’t make any sense to me, but now I see that it was for the best. As mad and embarrassed as I was, it really was the best thing,” he said softly.
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Send me whatever you need to, and I’ll get it right back to you.” I sniffled a little. “And congratulations, Charles.”
“Thanks. Bye.”
I said good-bye and hung up. In a way, it felt like the last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. He had finally moved on, and it was all truly over.
I was now the opposite of the woman I very nearly became: the kind of woman who would marry a man she wasn’t entirely sure she was in love with, just for the security, for the good life. For the supposed good life.
I’d created my own good life, up on this ranch with a bunch of crazy dogs. And, Sinatra connection fully acknowledged, I did it my way. And I’d made my own bed before I chose to share it with someone new. Except I had hurt that someone—the last person I wanted to hurt.
I looked at the phone, then looked away. I picked up the phone, then put it down. I scrolled through to find his name . . . then turned it off. He was getting on a plane in a few hours. The last thing he needed was me crashing through right now.
I went to bed, curled up in the sheets that still smelled like us, and tossed and turned all night.
At 5 A.M., I finally got up, threw on some clothes, got in my car, and headed for Monterey Regional Airport.
I was crashing through.
chapter fifteen
I had zero plan. I had no idea what I was going to do or what I was going to say. All I knew was that I was barreling toward the tiny Monterey airport wearing Lucas’ shirt, old jeans, and a nervous grin.
I slalomed through the few cars that were out at this hour, driving way too fast through the morning fog. I didn’t know what airline, I didn’t know where he was connecting through; all I knew was that he was on some six thirty flight that I was bound and determined to . . . to what?
Hell, I’d figure that part out when I got there. When I saw him—the only person I’d thought about since I got off the phone with my past the night. And after being able to finally, amicably part with my past, I knew that I wanted only one person for my future.
I pulled into short-term parking, grabbed a ticket, and ran for the main terminal. I pushed through a throng of travelers, and spied a familiar face.
“Dr. Campbell!” I cried out, breathing heavily. The chocolate pudding hoard was beginning to take its toll; my cardio was crap. I ran on, pushing through the stitch of pudding in my side. “Dr. Campbell!”
“Chloe?” he called back. “What are you doing here?”
“Lucas . . . Is he . . . still here? I need . . . I need . . . Crap, I need to start jogging . . . again . . . Lucas?”
“He just went through security,” Lucas’s dad said, looking confused. “Are you okay?”
Dammit! I looked toward the space beyond the huge security line, but didn’t see him. Dammit again. “Yeah,” I said, still searching. “I just wanted to see him before he left, and tell him—”
There! Right there, a redhead above all the others! Six foot three, remember?
“Lucas!” I shouted, and took off in a sprint. Barreling toward security, I saw him look around, as confused as his father.
“Chloe?”
I didn’t care that he’d already gone through security and was still holding his shoes; I just ran. I didn’t even see the other passengers. I also didn’t see the TSA agent coming for me as True Love attempted to trump Homeland Security.
For the record, it does not.
Suddenly a scanning wand was waving in front of my face. “Just where do you think you’re going?” an irritated voice asked. The TSA agent, a rather large woman, was standing there with one hand holding her wand, the other hand on her can of . . . ah, shit . . . mace.
“Sorry, so sorry, I was just trying to get . . . his! His attention!” I jumped up and down again, pointing to Lucas on the other side of the glass partition. I could see him, he could see me, but there was an entire line of people, the X-ray machine, and the TSA staff between us. “Sorry, I just have to tell him that I . . . That I . . .”
The agent frowned at me. “Ma’am, do you have an airline ticket?”
“No, I’m not going anywhere. I just need to tell him—”
“Ma’am, then you can’t be down here,” she said, starting to turn me around. Her walkie-talkie went off, and she said into it, “I’ve got it. She just wants to talk to some dude who already went through. Nope, it’s under control.” She looked back at me. “Ma’am, do you have any idea what you did?”
“Yes, I cut ahead of some people in line. I know it was rude of me—”
“You cut ahead of some people in line at an airport. You came running at the security entrance, screaming your head off, at an airport. You looked like you were going to try to crash through a federal security checkpoint at an airport,” she said, her tone getting more and more serious. “It wasn’t rude—it was incredibly stupid.”
“Oh my God,” I moaned.
Lucas, standing there with a “what the fudge” look on his face, called, “Are you okay?”
“I think so?” I called back, then turned to the TSA agent. I snuck a quick peek at her name tag. Standing tall, shoulders squared, one foot posed slightly in front of the other, I gave her my best smile. “Monica—can I call you Monica?”
“Where is this going?” she asked, looking at me like I was a little crazy.
I couldn’t blame her, but pressed on. “Monica, I’d like to thank you for your service to our fine country. It makes my heart proud to see such a strong female protecting our airports, here in the great state of California and around our nation. As a former Miss Golden State, and a lifetime resident of California, I’ve had the great privilege of visiting all parts of our beautiful state, often by air travel. And every time I have, I’m always so grateful for the tireless work that you, and all of your highly trained and competent coworkers, do every day to keep us safe. So, thanks for the warning, and let’s keep California and America flying high,” I finished, beaming at her.
Several of the other TSA agents had leaned in to listen as well, and I shared my winning smile with them all.
“Sweetie, you feeling okay?” she asked, patting me on the shoulder.
“Truth?” I asked, still smiling.
“Oh, I think you’d better.”
“See that guy, the redheaded dude?” I pointed.
“Louis?”
“Well, Lucas, but yes.”
“Uh-huh?”
“I finally slept with him two nights ago, and I really messed things up, and I just adore him and he’s leaving for Belize for twelve weeks, and I told him something that really hurt him, and I just can’t let him leave without telling him something else: that I actually lo— And, well . . . that’s when you stopped m
e with your wand.”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded, looking me over carefully, then said into her walkie-talkie that she was escorting someone to checkpoint C.
I looked at her warily. “Is that bad? Is checkpoint C where you take—”
“Just walk with me, sweetie,” she said, rolling her eyes.
We approached the glass wall, Lucas following on his side, still looking confused, and we walked along the edge until we came to the baggage claim area—where people could walk out, but not in.
There was another agent sitting there, and she stood up when we walked over.
“Stephanie, why don’t you take your break,” my agent said. “I’ve got this for a while.”
The other agent nodded and ambled off.
Settling herself behind the podium, Monica spotted Lucas waiting on the other side, backpack in hand, looking very worried.
“Hey, Louis! C’mere! Your girl wants to talk to you,” she shouted, waving him over.
When he arrived, she said, “Okay, Louis, this girl wants to talk to you bad enough she almost committed a federal crime to do it. Although now that I get a look at you, I can almost understand,” she said, appraising him. Turning to me, she said, “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Chloe. Chloe Patterson.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll remember that. Okay, Chloe Patterson. Hit it.”
I started to walk forward, and she raised her hand. “Don’t make me get my mace out. Without a boarding pass, you can’t go past this line.” She pointed to the red line on the linoleum floor.
“Chloe, what the hell’s going on?” Lucas asked.
I walked up to the line, keeping my toes just on it, and when my TSA agent nodded, I took a deep breath.
“I’m so sorry to do this right before your trip. And I’m so sorry to have been such an idiot the other morning, after we . . . well . . . after that amazing night.”
“Chloe, I—”
“No no, let me say this.”
“Let her say this, Louis,” Monica said.
We both looked sideways at her, then I pressed on. “I don’t want to be your rebound.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding—”
“Louis!” she yelled, and he held up his hands.