Finding London (Flawed Heart #1) (24 page)

London

“Over the past few months—despite, or maybe because of, each varying aspect of him—I’ve fallen for the enigma that is Loïc Berkeley.”

—London Wright

There. I’ve done it. I’ve officially applied to eight jobs, all within driving distance of my current residence. Granted, it took me longer than it should have to commence my job search. But getting Loïc to fall for me felt like a full-time job for a while. Then, once I got him, I was obsessed with spending time with him, and when he was at work, I was thinking about spending time with him.

But he’s gone for two weeks for annual training, and there’s no excuse not to get on with being an adult and finding a job. I have two Loïc-free weeks to fill. His training is up in northern Michigan where there is little but fields and forests, so his cell service is nonexistent. He said he would try to call me a few times on the base phones.

I haven’t applied to any jobs outside of Michigan—yet. I’m hoping one of the eight will work out, and I won’t have to.

Truth is…I’m happy here. I don’t want to move.

I close the lid of my laptop and make my way out to the living room where I find Paige eating a bowl of ramen noodles.

“You know, we’re not in college anymore. There’s no excuse to be eating those. Do you realize that each packet has sixteen hundred milligrams of sodium? That is well over half of the amount of salt you’re supposed to have in a day.”

“You sound like your mother,” Paige responds before sucking a long noodle into her mouth.

“Shit, I do, don’t I?” I plop down on the other end of the couch.

“Totally,” Paige answers.

“I’m sorry.”

“No biggie. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”

I squint my eyes toward Paige. “I don’t know if that applies here.”

“Sure it does. So, how’s the job search going?”

“Oh, great!” I bounce up. “I’m done actually.”

“Already?” Paige looks skeptical.

“Yeah, I know. I thought it would take longer, too. But, once I finished my résumé and cover letter, it went quickly.”

“Where’d you apply?”

“Like, eight places—a few online news outlets, a couple of actual newspapers, and a few news stations.”

“Sweet. I hope you get a job as the local traffic girl. That’d be fun, and you’d get to be on TV.” Paige sets the now empty bowl down on the end table next to her.

“No way. I’m not going to be a traffic girl. That’s lame. I want to write about real news.”

“Well, you have to start somewhere.”

“It won’t be with me smiling widely, wearing an entirely too tight pantsuit and loads of makeup, while pointing to a screen where all the places with traffic backups or accidents on I-94 are lit up,” I argue.

“Fine. Who knew you had so many scruples? I just thought you wanted a job.”

“Not just any job. If I’m going to work, I’m going to be doing something that makes me happy even if I have to start off making next to nothing. Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about money, and since I’m not desperate, I don’t have to be a trashy traffic girl.”

Paige dramatically leans back. “Yikes, what did traffic girls ever do to you?”

“You know what I mean.” I laugh. “How’s your job search going?”

Paige majored in marketing and wants to work for a promotions company of some sort. I just hope she doesn’t use her backward knowledge of sayings as a foundation for marketing strategies.

“Eh.”

“What does that mean?” I chuckle.

“We’ll see. I’ve been applying. I haven’t had any calls for interviews yet. Hopefully, something comes through.”

“What should we do for the next ten days? I’m depressed just thinking about it.” I sigh.

Creating my résumé, cover letter, and then applying to eight jobs only took up four days of my two Loïc-free weeks. Ten more days seems like an eternity.

“Is that how long you have until Loïc comes back?”

“Yeah.”

“It doesn’t matter. We can do whatever. Neither of us has interviews or anything lined up yet. Maybe we should go somewhere?” Paige suggests.

I nod thoughtfully. “You know my mom has been bugging me to come visit. Maybe I should suggest a girls’ getaway. I don’t want to hang out in Kentucky for a week though. Where do you want to go?”

“Let’s do Vegas. We haven’t been there since I turned twenty-one.”

“So, you mean, in, like, a year?” I chuckle.

“Yeah, I guess. It seems longer.” She smiles. “I’ve been craving that pasta we had at the bistro in The Venetian.”

I groan. “Oh, that was so good.”

“I know. I seriously dream about it.”

“Okay, let me text her.” I send a quick text to my mom.

Before Paige can find something we want to watch on the DVR, my mom texts back.

I look down at my phone. “She’s in. She’s calling her travel agent now to book it. She says to start packing. She’s going to arrange for us to fly out tomorrow.”

“Yay!” Paige claps. “Your mom doesn’t mess around.”

“She probably wants to lock us in before something comes up, and I change my mind.”

“Well, whatever. She always plans the best vacations.”

“It’s our travel agent, Margaret. She’s planned enough of our trips to know what we like.”

“True. Let’s go pack,” Paige says excitedly, hopping off of the couch. “I hope I have enough cute outfits. We’re not going to have time to go shopping tonight.”

“It’s fine. We can shop in Vegas.” I follow Paige out of the living room.

“You’re right. So true,” Paige answers.

Well, I suppose if I have to spend the next week and a half without Loïc, there’s no better way to spend it than with my mom and best friend in Vegas.

I returned from Las Vegas two days ago—well rested, tanned, overly fed, and shopped out. Actually,
rested
might be a stretch. Even though we spent many of our days lounging in the sun by the pool, Paige and I also spent an equal amount of nights out at the clubs. Anyone who has ever been to Vegas knows how exhausting that is.

So, in truth, I’m probably still slightly exhausted from the trip even though I slept the entire day after we got back. I might also be mildly jet-lagged as well. I’m using those two excuses as reasoning behind my current predicament.

Let’s face it…I should just go to bed.

That would be the rational, logical behavior, but I’ve never been much of a rule-follower if said rules impede on my happiness. London first, logic second. At least I know myself enough to admit it.

It doesn’t help that Paige went out with a group of our friends tonight, leaving me alone in our house to think. I don’t do well with uninterrupted thinking time and no one around to talk me out of my actions.

So, here I am, driving to Loïc’s, in just my PJs and flip-flops. My pajamas happen to be nothing more than a pair of yoga shorts and a flimsy tank top. My attire isn’t even suitable to stop and get gas in. That’s how much I wasn’t thinking when I decided to bolt out of the house in my quest to get to Loïc. I blame Paige for not being accessible to talk me off of the ledge.

I let my gaze drop from the road to the car’s front panel.
Phew, I still have half a tank of gas. Problem averted.

I shouldn’t blame Paige. She begged me to go out with her. Maybe I should have agreed. I just wasn’t in the mood to go party. I hoped that I would be spending the evening with Loïc. I hadn’t seen him in two weeks because he was at training. He’d called twice while I was in Vegas, but we weren’t able to talk long either time.

I knew he was getting back today, and to say that I was excited would be a gross understatement. I’d practically been counting down the seconds until I would get to see him again, which was supposed to be today.

But then he called.

As soon as I heard his voice, I knew something was off. He said everything was fine, but I knew it wasn’t. I could hear it in what he wasn’t saying. His words were reassuring and placating, but in the empty spaces between each one were breaths of something that made my heart hurt. I suppose it was a sadness of sorts.

Red flags went up as soon as he told me that he couldn’t see me today.

“I have a headache and just want to lie down. I’ll see you tomorrow,” were his words.

I have been missing him every second of every day for the past two weeks, and he’ll see me tomorrow?

I reluctantly agreed and proceeded to sulk in my room for the next several hours. I refused to go out with Paige.

God forbid I do anything to take my mind off its current torture.

I let my brain wander aimlessly, going over everything that could be wrong with Loïc, until my thoughts were so loud that they demanded resolution. At which point, I jumped out of bed, grabbed my purse, and got in my car.

Undoubtedly, this wasn’t the most suave plan I’d ever come up with. Perhaps Loïc just needed a night to himself. Maybe he did actually have a headache, and I was just being paranoid.

Too late to second-guess myself at this point. Operation Snuggle Time is in full motion. Headache or not, when he sees me, he’s going to want to hold me. He’ll be happy I came.

And if we want to get technical, it is just after midnight, which is really tomorrow, so all’s good.

Over the summer, Loïc and I have grown so much as a couple. He still has his moments where he’s closed off and times when he tries to shut me out, like tonight, but he has come such a long way. He’s taken a while to get here, but I can’t fault him in the slightest. He’s gone through more in his life than most people have. He hasn’t had an easy road, and understandably, his experiences have created defense mechanisms, some pretty foolproof ways of keeping others out. I get it. He was hurt by many people, so what better way to stop yourself from being hurt than by closing out the world, building walls?

I want him to know that he doesn’t have to continue to keep me at arm’s length. I’m not going to hurt him. I love him. I love him more than I ever knew was possible, and it’s time I tell him. He deserves to know that I’m someone he can trust. I want him to understand that I’m in this for as long as he’ll have me.

Loïc is a walking contradiction of emotions. He’s hot and then cold, attentive and then elusive. He’s gruff and domineering, and in the next breath, he’s gentle and passionate. He’s equal parts serious and funny. Within a span of seconds, he can be a complete jackass and then the most romantic man alive. I love all of him, every conflicting side.

Over the past few months—despite, or maybe because of, each varying aspect of him—I’ve fallen for the enigma that is Loïc Berkeley.

He needs to know that, whatever is troubling him, whatever insecurities he might have, we’ll be okay. I’m not leaving him. I just know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he will own my heart forever.

God, I can’t wait to see him, to hug him, to kiss him, to tell him that I love him.

I almost miss his street but manage to recognize it first. I’ve only been here once when Loïc just stopped by to grab something, and I didn’t even get out of the truck. In the distance, I spot Loïc’s gigantic truck parked in the road in front of his house. A smile immediately graces my face. I’m in deep when the mere sight of his vehicle makes me happy.

As I get closer, I notice someone walking up the front walkway to the house. It’s not just someone. It’s Loïc.

And he’s not alone.

I slow my car to a crawl as I pass. My lungs burn as I hold my breath. I’m afraid to breathe with irrational fear that he’ll hear me gasp for air and turn to see me—or perhaps the utter terror racing through me will demand to be felt with that breath. Somehow, denying my body oxygen, even for these few seconds, is allowing me to prevent my mind from acknowledging the sight before me. To take in air would be to accept my reality that I’m here, alive, in this space of time where Loïc is holding another girl in his arms. Right now, more than anything, I wish I weren’t.

Hot tears burn down my cheeks. Loïc ambles up the sidewalk toward the front door with the girl. I can’t see her face because it’s nuzzled into his neck. Her long black curls fall over his shoulder, brushing his arm, as he walks. Her legs are wrapped around his waist, and one of his hands rests under her butt, securing her to him. Her arms cling around his neck with painful familiarity.

But all of this pales in comparison to the sight that hurts the most. It’s not the fact that her lips are probably kissing his neck or the cozy way in which their bodies are responding to each other or even his hand on her ass that causes the most pain. The single vision that thrusts the dagger into my heart with unrelenting force is the vision of him throwing his head back in laughter. His beautiful face is lit up with happiness…because of her. Whatever she said or did to elicit that reaction from him is what kills me.

This isn’t a one-night thing. He knows her. He loves her. If not love, then he holds a deep fondness for her.

His smile is genuine, and his laughter is real. In this moment, with another woman in his arms, he’s truly happy.

He’s giving her a side of himself that few people get to see. It’s a piece of himself that I’ve had to work extremely hard to get glimpses of.

God, it hurts so much.