by Tessa Bailey
A minute later, he hangs up and makes his way toward me slowly. I fight back the need to turn and run out the door. Something is coming and I don’t want to face it. When he reaches me, I realize I haven’t been dancing in long minutes. I’ve just been standing motionless amongst the group of swaying bodies.
“What’s up?” I manage.
He’s staring at me so hard, it’s a wonder I can stand under the weight of it. “That was my racing coach. Their driver was injured this morning during practice. They have an alternate, but he has no experience on this particular track.”
I nod, as if I could even process that information. I need him to rip off the Band-Aid. To give me the bottom line. “Okay. What does that mean?”
“They need me for the Italian Grand Prix. Tomorrow afternoon.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
There’s a horrible feeling you get when you wake up on a Monday morning thinking its Saturday. Then you slowly remember, as you enter wakefulness, you have a whole week ahead of you instead of a lazy day off watching television and eating bagels. This moment, where Shane is telling me he’s leaving tomorrow, it’s that Monday morning feeling multiplied by a thousand. Only, I didn’t get my week. I didn’t have a chance to prepare myself before Monday morning blindsided me. I’m in the deep end with no time to make it back to the shallow side. And if I’m honest with myself, this feeling I have right now, the cantaloupe-sized crater in my stomach, tells me I was fooling myself if I thought I could have readied myself for this.
“Willa.”
Shane snaps me back into myself, his panicked voice telling me he’s been saying my name for a while. His handsome face is a mask of worry, instead of elated, the way it should be. This is his dream. He has a serious offer on the Claymore and his racing team needs him back behind the wheel. In a matter of days, his future has been sorted out for him. Yet he looks like his world just caved in. It hits me, then. It’s because of me. He doesn’t want to leave me. For a split second, I ponder if I could be selfish enough to keep him here. Make him stay and give me the week he promised. Maybe…more, even. If he stays, there’s nothing stopping me from extending my time here. We could have even longer. If he says no to the race, that is.
Disgusted, I push that idea over the side of a cliff. If I’m even partly the reason for the fear in his eyes, I will never forgive myself. And this will only be the beginning. There will be more races. More offers. I can’t expect him to turn them down. This is what he’s wanted his whole life.
Underneath all these valid reasons is the one that I’ve been trying to ignore. But it’s there, circled and underlined with a black Sharpie. It’s the ugly monster that has been hiding under my bed, finally crawling to join me among the sheets, suffocating me until there’s nothing left.
I’ll ruin him. I can’t make another human being happy. I’m incapable of it. What I did to Evan, the way I wore him down until the spark left his eye when he looked at me. If I did that to Shane, if I changed a single thing about him for the worse, I would never recover. I could have handled a week. Even I can’t screw up something that quickly. The thought of him altering his path—for me, a girl who can’t commit to a brand of gum—it’s terrifying.
“Willa, say something.”
“Sorry.” I force a smile onto my face. “That’s great, right?”
He rocks back on his heels. “Great.”
“When do you leave?” I ask, then hold my breath.
“It would be early in the morning, but I haven’t agreed to go yet,” he answers slowly. “I told them I’d call back after I thought about it.”
I try and look perplexed, even though my heart wants to jump out of my throat. “What is there to think about?”
“Is this really how you’re going to play it?”
Dammit. This is going to be even harder than I anticipated. Not only am I battling the selfish urge to throw myself into his arms and beg him to pick me, but Shane is far too astute. In a short space of time, he’s learned what makes me tick. He knows me. He’s disappointed in me already. It’s there in his eyes. He was hoping for more from me, a much-different response. Good. The sooner he realizes I’m not what he wants, the better.
When I don’t have an answer to his question, he takes my elbow. “Let’s go upstairs and talk in private. I’m not going to get a damn thing from you otherwise.”
No. I can’t be alone with him. I’ll crack. “I said, there is nothing to talk about. You’re being ridiculous. Let go of my arm.”
Shane’s jaw tightens as he considers me. He nods once, as if he’s come to a decision. Then I’m being thrown over his shoulder. For a second, all I can do is gape as the room turns upside down. Kitty doesn’t stop dancing, but waves at me as if her son carrying me from the room like a sack of flour is the most natural thing in the world. I marvel over that briefly. Are these people all fucking crazy? Oh, but then, I get pissed. He’s taking away my ability to avoid him, my feelings. That is unacceptable. I rely on avoidance. It’s all I have.
We’re halfway up the stairs before I find my voice. “When you put me down, I am going to claw your goddamn eyes out.”
“Good.” He pulls a key ring out of his pocket and unlocks my door, then kicks it open with his booted foot. “Anything will be an improvement from that bullshit you attempted to feed me downstairs.”
He hefts me off his shoulder and sets me on my feet with such little effort that my outrage boils over. I shove against his chest with both hands. Hard. He leans into it, not backing away, but coming toward me. That look I saw in his eye at the airport, the breathtaking anger I’d first noticed, is there. Only this time, it’s directed at me, and it’s tempered with hope. Determination. I can’t take it. It hurts. It feels like a fist to the gut.
“That’s right, girl. Fight me. Show me you give a damn.” He keeps walking, and I keep shoving, but he won’t give me an inch. Finally, my back hits the wall and with a sob, I make one final attempt to push him away. He stands firm, trapping me between the wall and his body. I can feel the tears burning in my eyes, but I pretend they don’t exist as I glare up at him.
“Why don’t you tell me what the hell you want from me?” I shout up at him.
“What I want?” He’s shouting back and I love that about him, even as I hate him for forcing my hand. I love that he’s not treating me like I’m fragile. But I am. Where he is concerned, I’m made of glass. He doesn’t know that, though. I have that going for me. “I want one word from you, one word that tells me I’m not crazy. That I’m not imagining what it feels like when we’re standing in the same room together. God, the thought of getting on a plane without you, babe… I can’t breathe for thinking about it.”
My whole body is shaking. No, he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Right now, he might mean it, but it’s only a matter of time before he realizes I’m unfixable. I’m damaged goods. This is what’s best for both of us, he just can’t see it yet. I know what I have to do, but my heart wants to explode just contemplating it. Starting in my neck, I numb myself. I let it coat my insides and harden like a plaster cast. I watch his expression change as he watches me, like he sees it happening. He knows he’s lost. I want to fall into a heap on the floor in that moment.
“I don’t know what you thought this was, Shane.” Somehow, I look him right in the eye. “I’m not going to lie, I wouldn’t have minded another week to have fun. But that’s all this ever was. Fun and temporary.”
“No. I don’t accept that.” His lips meet mine, driving them apart for his tongue. It’s an angry kiss, a wild one, but there’s so much more behind it, a tiny sound leaves my throat. My hands fly to his shoulders and cling before I fall at his feet. Finally, he pulls away, both of us breathing heavily. “Does that feel temporary to you?”
No. The exact opposite. It feels like forever. Digging deep, I find the nail in the coffin and pound it home. “It’s not enough for me. I don’t feel whatever it is you feel.”
He’s gone still. The fi
re he had behind his blue eyes when we walked into the room is gone. My numbness is starting to fade, and I’m seconds away from taking it all back. I’m incapable of seeing him look this helpless. Not Shane, the one who never gives me an inch, the one who carried me up the stairs over his shoulder mere minutes ago. Gathering my remaining resolve, I duck under his arm and walk toward the door. I need to get out of there. Need to get some air, or I’ll never leave. I’ll tell him anything he wants to hear and it will all be true.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble over my shoulder, wanting to sob when I see he still hasn’t moved. “I’m going to get some air. I’ll, um…see you later.”
That’s a lie. I’m not coming back until he’s gone.
…
I drift for hours around Dublin. In my haste to leave the Claymore, I’d left my messenger bag behind, along with my cell phone and wallet. Thankfully, I still had twenty-three Euro in my pocket leftover from that afternoon that lets me remain in an all-night coffeehouse for a bulk of the night, staring into nothingness. I wish like hell I had my camera, but it’s stowed firmly in my bag, like always. If I had it, maybe I could distract myself, get lost in the emotions of others instead of my own.
Around me, groups of students and people looking to sober up after a night of drinking, converse quietly. A few customers read quietly in the dark corners, absorbed by the words on the page. What has them out alone this time of night? Are they escaping from someone as well?
Several times, the memory of Shane’s broken expression comes back to me in such painful clarity, I’m forced into the bathroom where I cry silently in the stall, until someone comes in to use the toilet. They look at me curiously, but don’t say anything. I think it goes unspoken if you’re out alone at two in the morning, camped out in a bathroom stall, chances are you aren’t up for a chat. I lose track of the hours, until I wake to one of the baristas shaking my shoulder. When I leave the coffee shop, I have no other option but the closest park. Daylight is beginning to streak the sky, such a pretty blue that I resent it immediately. I want it to rain. I want it to flood the streets of Dublin and carry me away.
I watch two older men play chess for hours, half listening to their conversation, but mostly letting myself get lost in the static playing in my ears. Birds land on the bench beside me, at my feet, unafraid of me, probably assuming in their birdbrains that I’m a statue. It’s exactly how I feel. Like I’ve been filled with cement, head to toe. There’s nowhere for me to go hide and cry here, in the park, so every once in a while, I’m forced to wipe away tears as they leak out.
Finally, I get the nerve to ask someone what time it is. Ten thirty. Seriously? It feels like I left the Claymore in a daze a hundred years ago. It also feels like I’ve only been gone fifteen minutes. My brain is so fuzzy, it takes me another half hour to command myself to stand up from the bench and begin walking back toward the Claymore. Shane must be gone by now. Early in the morning, he’d said, a hundred years ago.
My plan is simple. Thinking straight for a long enough stretch to formulate it has been my biggest challenge, but now all I have to do is carry it out. I have to walk into the Claymore, grab my shit, and get to the airport. My flight back to Chicago isn’t until next week, but I will switch it. I will sit on a hard, plastic chair at the airport and wait in a standby line for as long as I need to. Just as long as I’m not in Dublin when he returns from the race. If I see him again, I don’t think I’ll have the strength to leave again. As it is, I’m walking through the door of the Claymore right now, selfishly hoping he’s standing behind the bar, strong and reassuring.
It’s Orla, though, and based on the sympathetic way she’s looking at me, I know he’s gone. Without stopping to acknowledge her, I walk through the pub, waves rushing in my ears. I let him go. There’s so much pain in my chest right now, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt this will stay with me forever. Far, far longer than Evan ever would. It’s not comparable.
Before I can enter the back hallway, Faith comes rushing out of the kitchen.
“There you are.” She’s wielding a spatula at me, but I don’t have the wherewithal to move. “Where have you been hiding, then?”
“I don’t know.” It hurts to talk.
“You don’t know?” With quick, jerky motions, she wipes her hands on her apron. “You have some bloody nerve, Willa. Running off like that. My brother has to race this afternoon and he spent the whole night looking for you. If you ask me, I think he was wasting his time.”
Her sharp words are actually welcome. I need someone to tell me I fucked-up. That I am a fuckup. It will justify what I did to carve myself out of Shane’s life. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, Faith.”
That pisses her off. As her face grows bright red, I marvel over how much she’s changed since the day I arrived. Gone is the smiling innocent and in her place is a woman. I wonder how I missed that transition. “You know what, Willa? I was wrong about you. We all were. You walked in here full of so much confidence. I thought, God, I’d love to be her. For just one day.” She points the spatula at me. “Look at you, now. Slinking out of here with your tail between your legs. You’re a coward.”
Okay, now I’ve heard enough. It’s starting to break through my cement interior now. I just need to go through the motions and leave before I crack and crumble. Orla doesn’t come to my defense and I can practically feel her silent judgment from behind the bar. I start to leave the room, but Faith’s next words stop me.
“He turned down the offer on the Claymore, you know.” I stop dead in my tracks. “He’s coming back. Today is his last race, and then he’s retiring.”
Slowly, I turn back. From her satisfied expression, I can tell my face reflects the shock she was hoping for. “Why? Why would he do that?”
Looking me over head to toe, she shrugs. “Good question.”
I’m halfway up the stairs before I realize my feet have started moving. I don’t know where the sudden urgency comes from, or what it’s directed toward. Only that I need to move fast. Get out of here. Get to the airport. I yank open the door to my room and fall to my knees, dragging my suitcase from under the bed. When I throw it onto the bed, intending to shovel clothes inside, something catches my eye. My camera is sitting on the bedside table, a glossy eight-by-ten picture trapped beneath it. My camera is always in my messenger bag. It shouldn’t be out of its case.
I rise to my feet, afraid to look, instinctively knowing Shane put it there for me to find. When I pick up the camera to fully reveal the shot, my breath traps inside my throat. It’s me. Taken the morning after we spent the night on Killiney Hill. I’ve just removed my shirt, and I’m walking toward Shane, the gray sky alive behind me. Oddly, he didn’t photograph me from the neck down, as I’d assumed he was doing. No. It’s a close-up of my face, as I look at him. He’d zoomed in to capture my expression, and I can see why.
It’s all over my face, in the damp welling of my eyes, the breathlessness he captured with the shot. It’s so obvious. I’m looking at the man I love.
He must have developed the roll of film last night, or stolen it days ago. I have no idea. I only know that I love him more for understanding me so perfectly. For knowing exactly how to show me what I couldn’t admit verbally, in the language I speak.
Slowly, I turn the photograph over in my hand. When I see the word LIAR scrawled in what has to be Shane’s handwriting, a watery laugh bubbles from my throat. I’m immediately flooded with relief that he knew I was full of shit. He didn’t believe me for even a second.
If he was downstairs right now, I would run toward him and jump into his arms. Just like I did the morning he arranged the call with Ginger. The fact that I can’t touch him and tell him out loud how I feel, causes me enough physical pain that I have to go back down onto my knees.
Because I love him so damn much. Oh God, it’s so powerful it’s a wonder I can contain it inside my body. This is that moment my sister warned me about. The moment I realize I’m not self-aware
. Not even close. I know nothing about myself or what life is capable of throwing at me.
It hits me in a blinding rush. He’s not here because he’s in Italy, about to participate in a dangerous race after my disappearance kept him awake all night. And he’s going to quit afterward. If he’s quitting for me, I can’t let it happen. I have to get to him before the race. Can’t let him go out there with my parting words echoing in his head. If something happens to him…
I snatch up my messenger bag, double-checking to make sure I still have the emergency debit card Derek gave me, and run down the stairs at a breakneck pace. Faith is standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed. “About time. There’s a cab waiting outside.”
“Where in Italy is the race?”
“Monza.” When I look at her blankly, she shakes her head. “Just get to Milan, then follow the crowd. They’ll take you to him.”
“Thanks,” I yell, already halfway out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Holy shit. Faith wasn’t kidding. I get off the packed flight in Milan, and I can barely move through the airport. Racing fans are traveling in droves, some talking excitedly about the upcoming race in accented English. Others speaking in languages I don’t understand. Jogging through the terminal, I do a double take when I see Shane’s face on a television screen in the waiting area, above Italian words I can’t read. It gives me serious pause. This event is much larger, more important than I imagined. It makes me twice as determined to reach him before the race starts. It’s imperative that he goes into it with his head in the right place.
I pace impatiently as I wait in line for a taxi, bombarded by memories of the last three weeks, of me and Shane. Our first meeting at the airport, the rainy night in the alleyway, the morning in my bed. The way he’d gone still as death last night when I lied to him, about my feelings. I’m drowning in these memories, in the need to reach him. He can’t race without hearing me say the words that threaten to topple me. For the first time in my life, I’m not running away. I’m running toward. Am I scared? Hell yeah. But I’m twice as scared of never again feeling the way Shane makes me feel. Knowing I make him feel the same way only increases the feeling of desperation to find him. I won’t screw this up because he won’t let me. I’ve never been more confident of anything in my life.
