by Gemma Weir
I tried to buy a ticket this morning. I had my phone in my hand, but I couldn’t convince myself to click on the website. Standing in the middle of the airport, I pause at a crossroads. Figuratively and metaphorically. If I head one way, I can buy a ticket back to the UK, but the other way leads me to a ticket to Canada, where I’d always planned to go as the last stop on my backpacking adventure.
I wipe the errant tears that refuse to stop falling down my cheeks with the back of my hand and try to rationalise my decision. I should go to Canada; my plan shouldn’t change just because I met a man and fell in love. But just the thought of being on the same continent as Echo seems too tempting. I love him, and that doesn’t just stop and go away.
Leaving him is the best thing for both of us. So I need to be as far away from him as possible.
I walk up to the British Airways ticket desk, and my breathing gets shallower with every step until I’m virtually hyperventilating.
“Good afternoon, how may I help you?” the lady behind the desk asks.
Staring at her, I force out the words. “I was wondering when the next flight to Manchester is?”
She clicks at her keyboard. “There’s a flight leaving at 6.50 p.m. today,” she says, flashing me a bright smile.
I glance at the clock behind the desk. “That’s in two hours.”
She nods. “Shall I see if there are any seats left? It’s a busy flight, but you might be in luck.”
I pull in a decisive breath, and answer, “Yes please.” As she clicks at her keyboard again, I glance over my shoulder and scan the crowd. My heart screams that I shouldn’t be leaving. I force myself to stay still as my skin tingles with the urge to run from the desk and back home to Archer’s Creek.
I feel like I’m drowning, fighting the current that’s dragging me under and holding me beneath the surface. My heart hurts, and I rub at my chest, trying to soothe the ache.
“Ma’am?” the sales clerk says. Lost in thought, it takes me a moment to realise she’s speaking. I turn back to the desk. She looks back down at her computer, then up at me. “You’re in luck. There’s just one seat left available on that flight. It departs at 6.50 p.m., arriving in London at 10.00 a.m. There’s a three hour, fifteen-minute layover at Heathrow. Then you’ll arrive in Manchester at 2.20 p.m.”
I hear her speaking but barely absorb any details. I nod and hand over my parents’ emergency credit card to pay for the ticket. I check my bag and head through to security. What only feels like minutes later, I’m buckling my seat belt as the plane taxis down the runway.
I watch through the window as Texas becomes smaller and smaller. We break through the cloud, and I lose sight of my home completely.
My girl’s running at a hundred miles an hour, but I hope I’m quicker.
Jumping on the back of my bike, I make it to Austin airport in record time. I even buy a fucking ticket so I can get into the departure lounge, but she’s nowhere to be seen.
I knew it was a fucking long shot, finding her in an airport filled with thousands of people, but if there was even an ounce of hope, I had to fucking try.
I don’t remember riding my bike home or pulling up to the house. My and Livvy’s home. Something inside me snaps, and I explode. Tearing through the house, I smash and pulverize everything in my path. Finally, I’m staring at the bed. My anger disappears, and in its place is crushing devastation.
I’ve lost her.
She’s gone, and I’ve no idea where.
I need to find her, but where the fuck do I even start? She might have gone back to the UK or she might still be in the States somewhere, but she’s a needle in a haystack and I have no idea where to begin.
Pulling out my phone, I call her for the hundredth time. It doesn’t ring, just goes straight to voicemail. Her sweet voice sings out and my chest hurts, knowing that I may never hear it in person again.
The beep to leave a message jolts me back to the present. “Livvy, where the fuck are you? You ran. You fucking promised you wouldn’t run anymore. I love you. I fucking love you, Livvy. It’s not safe for you to be out there on your own, so get your ass back home. Just fucking call me and tell me where you are. I love you, Livvy. Come home to me.”
I end the call and stare at the phone in my hand. Sliding to the floor, I sit with my phone cradled in my hands and pray for her to call. The light starts to fade and shadows take over the room. Time passes, but I’m unsure how long I’ve sat there. Long enough to know she hasn’t called.
The doorbell rings, followed by an insistent knocking that doesn’t seem to be going away. Sighing loudly, I force myself off the floor; my stiff muscles protest as I make my way downstairs. I throw open the door and brace my arm against the frame. “What do you want, Gus?” I say, voice hollow and lifeless. I must look like shit, because Gus’s eyes widen and he pulls in a shocked breath.
“Where is she?” Gus asks.
I let go of the door and walk away, leaving Gus to either follow me or go back home. What little furniture I had is now destroyed, the TV’s smashed and upside down on the floor and the BarcaLounger is in pieces strewn all over, courtesy of the baseball bat I found in my rage.
Gus’s eyes roam over the destruction, but he merely steps over the mess and follows me into the kitchen. “Echo, where is she, son?” he asks again.
I ignore him, and opening the fridge, I pull out a couple of beers and hand one to Gus. I twist off the cap, lift the bottle to my lips, and down it in one long swallow. Grabbing a second bottle, I open it, and take a long sip. “She’s gone,” I finally say.
The sympathy in his eyes almost breaks me. “Where?”
“I don’t know. Away from me,” I say. Weariness flows over me, and I sigh, rubbing my face. “She got on a plane to somewhere, but even Brandi doesn’t know where she’s going. She took everything. She planned it. She left me.”
Downing my beer, I open and close the cupboards, searching for something stronger. Finally, I find a bottle of whiskey. I open it and swig straight from the bottle. The liquid burns as I swallow, my chest heating as the alcohol settles.
Gus silently waits for my attention. “Surely you’re not just gonna let her go?” he says angrily.
I pause for a second and pull in calming breaths before I turn to face him. His angry expression mirrors my own and a diatribe bursts out of me. “I love her. She’s my fucking woman. My fucking old lady. Of course I’m not gonna just let her go,” I shout.
Fire sparks in his eyes. “Thank God for that. So how we gonna find her?” he asks.
I sigh and shake my head. “I don’t even know where to start. I went to the airport and searched for her, but she was gone. There were about fifty flights that left this afternoon. I figure she will go home, but she could be anywhere in the world by now.”
Gus’s fist slams down onto the counter. “So that’s it. You’ve given up before you’ve even tried,” he shouts.
Growling, I straighten and square up to the old man in front of me. “She’s my woman. It’s my fault she’s run away. I’ve been a fucking idiot since the attack. She’s my fucking forever; that’s not something you just walk away from. I’ll find her, and I’ll figure a way for us to be together. I just have no idea where to fucking start.”
He nods, approval clear on his face. “Okay then. Lick your wounded pride tonight. Then tomorrow we track down your woman. That girl loves you too. You need to find her and bring her back home where she belongs.”
The flight’s a blur of tears and guilt.
Should I have left?
Have I made a massive mistake?
I spend three hours in Heathrow, questioning every decision, almost convincing myself to get back on a plane to Texas. On the flight to Manchester, I eventually cry myself to sleep, only waking up as the plane hits the runway.
As I look out of the window, the view of cold and rainy Manchester is a sobering one.
Home.
The familiar skyline feels alien. I shuffle off the pla
ne, through the airport, and into the cold British daylight. The airport’s just like I remember, a concrete jungle dotted with travellers smoking desperate cigarettes the moment they pass through the doors. I drop my backpack at my feet, uncertainty overwhelming me. My parents are somewhere in the middle of Eastern Europe, Russia or Belarus, and our house is sold with new people now calling it home.
I pull out my phone and go to dial James, but the black screen reminds me that I turned it off. My fingers hover over the power button. It’s been hours since I ran away from Archer’s Creek.
Echo will know I’m gone.
I pull back, fearful of what I’ll find when I turn it on. A hundred messages demanding I come back, or nothing except silent relief that I’ve left?
I think the silence would be worse.
Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I walk over to the taxi rank. “Piccadilly Gardens, please,” I ask the taxi driver.
He nods and pulls out of the airport and into the traffic towards the city centre. We reach the gardens and the driver slows. “Whereabouts, love?” he asks.
“Anywhere here’s fine.”
He pulls to the side of the road, and I pay him before he speeds away, lost into the flow of cars. It’s afternoon and the gardens are bustling with life, people fill the urban oasis as they pass through the city or stand admiring the burbling fountain.
I sling my pack over my shoulder and walk quickly, leaving the gardens behind me and heading into the maze of tall hotels and apartment blocks. My feet know the route, and minutes later, I’m standing outside the Greek restaurant that James and Dan live above. I push the buzzer and wait, but no one answers.
Pushing again, I hold my finger on the button, letting the shrill sound sing out. “Bloody hell, you only have to press it once. Who is it?” James’s voice makes tears instantly pool in my eyes; it’s been a long time since I saw my best friend.
“You should be more polite. It could be someone important,” I say.
“Liv?” James asks, shocked.
“You gonna let me in or what?” I say. Feet stomp quickly down the stairs, and then I’m airborne. James’s arms are wrapped tightly around me, and tears stream down both of our faces.
“God, I missed you,” I say.
“Me too,” James says. Pulling back, he wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. “Tea?” he asks. I nod and let him guide me upstairs.
Slumped on James’s old battered sofa, I watch him busy himself in the kitchen. “Liv?” Dan says as he wanders from the bedroom. I stand and rush towards him to be pulled in for a tight hug. He holds me away from him and smiles broadly. “Bloody hell, Liv. What the fuck happened to you?” Dan asks.
I look down at my jeans, trainers, and hoodie. “What do you mean?” I say. With a laugh, Dan kisses my forehead and walks into the kitchen, quickly wrapping his arm around James’s waist and moving him to the side to take over the tea making. He hands me a steaming cup, and both men sit opposite me on the love seat.
Dan stares at me again. “I mean, look at you, Liv. If that’s still your name? You’re practically a different person. The curls, the trainers, everything. Bloody hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of heels, and I was sleeping with you for six months.”
I pull a cushion from beneath me and fling it at Dan’s head. “Dan—” I cry. Outraged, I start to speak, but James cuts me off.
“Liv, what are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be home for another five weeks,” he asks.
My mouth drops open, the words frozen on my lips. A tear spills down my cheek. Another follows, and then the floodgates open and my chest shakes, sobs racking my whole body.
“Oh, Liv,” James cries. Scooping me into his arms, he cradles me in his lap and slowly rocks back and forth as I sob into his chest. Dan leaves, gently kissing my head before slipping out the front door.
“It’s okay, Liv. It’s all going to be fine, I promise.” James’s soothing voice calms me, until my sobs subside and silent tears replace them. “Whatever’s happened, it’s going to be fine.” I shake my head in denial and bury myself against my best friend. Closing my eyes, I eventually fall asleep.
I dream of Echo, only for my heart to break when I wake up alone and remember that the man I love is hours away and not mine anymore. I did this. I broke my own heart. I was unhappy in Archer’s Creek, but I left half my heart with Echo and I feel desolate without him.
He blamed himself for my attack, and I should have tried harder to make him believe that it wasn’t his fault. I love him, and I walked away instead of fighting for us. I still had five weeks with him, and maybe I could have found a way to stay. Instead, I ran, and I’ve got no one to blame for how I feel now but myself.
I spend the next four days on James and Dan’s sofa.
“Enough. Get your stinky bum off my sofa and go have a bloody wash,” James shouts. I pull the duvet over my head and groan at his intrusion. “The pity party’s over, Liv. Time to tell me what the bloody hell happened.” James rips the quilt from me and hauls me over his shoulder before unceremoniously dumping me under the running shower.
The water washes away the grime and tears, until I feel almost human, and walking out of the bathroom, I find James and Dan waiting expectantly for me. Kissing me gently on the forehead, Dan hands me a plate of toast and a hot cup of tea.
They silently watch me, until finally James leans forward with his hands steepled in his lap. “Time to talk, sweetie. What happened out there? Where’s Echo?”
A single tear escapes, but I quickly wipe it away. “Echo and I were just a holiday thing. It’s over.”
“Bullshit,” James exclaims.
My head shoots up, and I throw James a shocked look. “What?”
“I said bullshit. Liv, I’ve known you for years, and I’ve never heard you speak about someone like you did about him. You love him. So stop talking crap and actually tell me what happened,” James snaps.
I pull in a deep breath and start to speak. “After the attack, he started to pull away. I was pretty beat up, so I just thought it was the bruises, you know? But when they started to fade, he just stayed away. He felt like my attack was his fault, that he didn’t protect me. By the time I decided to leave, he was just keeping me there out of a misplaced sense of responsibility.”
A look of sympathy flashes across James face. “Oh Liv, did he tell you to leave?”
“God no,” I blurted. “But I never saw him. He’d have the other biker guys guard me and then come back in the early hours. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t want me to touch him. I just couldn’t do it to either of us anymore.”
James tilts his head to the side quizzically. “Why would you need a guard? I thought Wyatt was dead?”
I nod. “He is, but Mimi, who helped him hurt me, she disappeared.”
“Do you love him Liv?” he asks. Wide-eyed, I stare at James, unable to answer. “It’s not a difficult question Liv. You either love him or you don’t. So do you love him?”
I sit up straight and try to lace my voice with certainty. “It doesn’t matter if I love him or not. He didn’t want me there, so I left.”
Dan’s hand shoots into the air, and he suddenly speaks. “Did he tell you that he didn’t want you there?”
My eyes flit from James to Dan before they drop to my hands and focus on my chipped nail polish. “No. He didn’t have to tell me.”
James hangs his head as Dan speaks. “Oh Liv. What have you done?”
“I did the best thing for both of us,” I say, blinking back tears again.
James stands and walks across to me, kneeling at my feet. “You’re an idiot. Liv, I don’t know Echo, but I can tell you now that he didn’t want you to leave. He feels responsible for Wyatt attacking you and terrified that Mimi is still out there and could hurt you again.” Shaking my head, I try to deny his words, but he interrupts me. “Do you love him Liv?”
“That’s irrelevant,” I say.
Dan laughs softly, his
eyes flitting to James for a second before returning to me. “Olivia May Townsend, love is never irrelevant.” Standing, he grabs my phone and hands it to me. “Stop being an idiot Liv and phone your man.”
I turn the phone over in my hands and stare at it. Lifting my head, I face the boys. “What if he hasn’t called?” Two sets of sympathetic eyes look back at me.
James speaks first. “He will have. But if by some very slim chance he hasn’t, then Dan will break out his emergency vodka stash and we’ll get you absolutely plastered.”
A grin twitches at the side of my lips. “God, I missed you guys,” I say.
Dan’s smug face grins back at me. “Yeah, yeah, we missed you too. Now stop stalling and turn your phone on,” he orders playfully.
Pulling in a deep breath, I slide the SIM back into my phone and press the power button. My phone surges to life, and the silence is deafening. He didn’t call. Tears stream down my face, and I turn to James, unable to look at my silent phone any longer.
The first beep makes me jump, then a chorus of beeps burst from my phone as messages and voicemails appear.
James and Dan left an hour ago, and I’m still just looking at my phone, trying to build up the courage to do more. Finally, I urge my fingers to move and click on the texts. Eleven new messages. Eight are from Echo, two from Brandi, and one is from Gus.
I click on the one from Gus and read it quickly.
Gus: Young lady, what have you done? We’re all worried about you so please call.
Shame consumes me, and I drop my phone into my lap. I never really thought about how my leaving would affect the people I left behind. I feel so selfish. I was so consumed with leaving Echo, I never gave my friends a chance to say a proper goodbye.
I miss Archer’s Creek and my life there.
Lifting my phone again, I click onto Brandi’s messages.
Brandi: I love you too. I’m gonna miss you so much. I wish you didn’t have to go ☹.
Tears well in my eyes, and I blink them away to look at her second message.
