Rundown (Curveball Book 2) (6 page)

“
I’m
glad you told me how you feel. You may not be ready to believe me
yet, and I get it,” she tells me, barely above a whisper. 
“But I’m not giving up, Drew.  I love you so much.  And
when you’re ready, I’ll be here, or there…wherever you are.”

Still
holding onto my hand, she rises on her tiptoes and softly presses her
lips on mine.   I feel alive for the first time in days, and it
requires every ounce of self-control that I have not to push for
more.   

Too
quickly, our lips part and I immediately miss her taste.  She
takes my hand, places it over her heart and whispers, “all yours,”
before turning to leave.  I quickly grab her left hand forcing
her to briefly pause, and rub my thumb over her knuckles out of
habit.  

Something’s
missing.
  

I
don’t speak as her hand slips from mine, and like an idiot, I let
her walk away.  It’s not until she’s out the door that it
hits me that she’s taken off her wedding ring.

Once
on the plane, I sit down next to Brett who is busy with a last minute
call.  I need a distraction, so I take the opportunity to
listen to my voicemails.   

After
the first message from Breanne, I could kick myself.  She’s
right, I am stubborn.  If I had just listened to that message, I
doubt I would be headed to California.  Her second message is
sweet and full of concern.   By her third message, she’s
taken on a more spirited tone, which reminds me of our conversation
right before we finally made it out of the woods.   But
instead of calling me out for my behavior like she did then, she
confesses that she’s fallen for me and hopes it’s not too late
for me to really hear her out.   She may have lied about
how she felt about me and purposely pushed me away, but it’s clear
she had instant regret and tried to make it right.  If only I
hadn’t let my insecurities drive my decisions.

In
between her voicemails are two from my mom, asking me to call about
coming home soon, with a reminder of how nice upstate New York is in
the fall. 

“
Hey,
are you done yet?” Brett interrupts.

“
Hold
on a second,” I tell him, and hit play on the last message, which
is from Agent Patterson.  He wants me to call him ASAP as he
believes he has a lead on the case and needs to ask me a few
questions. 

I
drop my phone in my lap and look out the window.  My mind starts
reeling through every possible scenario, and the last place I want to
be, is on this plane.  

“
Did
you catch up on all of your messages?” Brett asks.

I
turn to face him, but instead of answering, I lean in front of him
and call to Everett who is sitting in the aisle seat across from
Brett. 

“
Hey,
have you talked to Patterson?  He left me a voicemail about
details on a lead in the investigation.”

Everett
leans across the aisle.  “They’re looking deeper into Mark
Sullivan’s death and how it could be linked to the Innovation
Airways sabotaged flight.  His body is being exhumed on Monday.”

“
Are
you serious?” I blurt out, gaping at Everett as he nods his head.
 “Why didn’t you tell me?” I press.

“
I
believe you instructed us not to mention anything related to
Breanne,” he states and raises an eyebrow.  I’m sure he’s
just waiting for me to challenge him so he can rub this in.  Instead,
I sit back and look out the window. 

    “
Here.”
I turn back to look at Everett, who’s holding out a folded piece of
paper.

“
What’s
this?” I ask, taking it from him.

“
Something
you should have read earlier.”  I take the paper, noticing
that it’s been taped, and look at him before reading it.  It’s
Breanne’s letter–the one I tore up and threw at him earlier this
morning.

“
What
made you think that I’d want this?”

“
I
knew you’d come around eventually.  I just didn’t expect it
to take this long.”

I
open the letter and start reading as the plane begins backing away
from the jet bridge.

Drew,

I
love you.  I love you so damn much.  

If
that’s the only part of this letter you read, I wanted it to be
that.  I wish that I could take back the way I’ve treated you
over the last few days.  If that was possible, I would do it in
a heartbeat. 

You
were right about everything.  I lied.  I don’t hate
you.  My feelings for you are the exact opposite; I was just too
much of a coward to admit it at the time.

Before
we even spoke, I was drawn to you, though I never could have imagined
what an amazing man I now know you to be.  I’d say you brought
me back to life, though I’m not convinced I was ever truly living
before you claimed my heart.   I have so many things I want to
say to you, face-to-face, but I’m not sure when or if you’ll give
me the chance.   I’m not saying I deserve your
forgiveness, though I hope you’ll at least hear me out.   

You’ve
done so much to show me that I have nothing to doubt, and I want to
be able to do the same for you.   I don’t know how, but
I’m going to make this right.   I’m not giving up on us
and I pray you haven’t either.

I
love you,

Breanne

“
Damn
it,” I growl, punching the seat in front of me.  
Why the
fuck didn’t I listen to her messages or read this before?

“
Drew,
are you alright man?” Brett asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I
look out the window and bite my clenched fist when I see that our
plane is next on tarmac for takeoff.  Turing my attention back
to Brett, I can see the tension written all over his face, yet it’s
not even a fraction of what I’m experiencing.  

“
Not
even fucking close.”

Out
With The Old

By
the time Corinne pulls into the driveway, I can’t remember leaving
the airport.  I’m not even sure I actually went.  Seeing
Drew so hurt and pissed at me was surreal.  I’ve really made a
mess of things.  
Did I seriously walk away and let him board
that plane without putting up more of a fight?
 
Is he
really moving across the country to get away from me?  

Exhausted,
I walk into the house determined to go through the motions of a
typical weekday morning, though my thoughts are miles from here,
stuck on a man who’s likely soaring over my head at this very
moment.  

After
eating breakfast with the kids and dropping them off at school, I
head back to the house, not really sure what to do with myself.
 Sarah had an appointment with a divorce attorney today, so
until it’s time to get Maddie from pre-school, it’s just me.  I
drag my aching body up the stairs as quickly as my tired limbs will
go, which is sluggish at best.  Though torturing Corinne got me
the chance to see Drew, the conversation didn’t go as expected, and
now my body physically hurts as much as my heart…not to mention I
reek.  I wonder if showering before going to the airport would
have increased my chances of Drew taking me back, and I have to
laugh, because if I don’t I will absolutely cry.

Once
inside my bedroom, I automatically stop at the edge of my walk-in
closet.  Since Mark died, I have spent countless hours in there,
privately crying my eyes out with wine and chocolate.  It’s
amazing that I haven’t gained 20 pounds from that alone.  I’m
so tempted to go in and collapse like I’ve done all those other
times, but I won’t.  Though my heartache is heavy, I need to
be strong.  I’ve told myself time and time again that I’m
done being a victim, and I vow that I will no longer allow myself to
engage in that kind of behavior.  My resolution to fight for
Drew won’t last long or make much of a difference if I don’t have
a plan.  

With
my hands gripping the edges of the doorframe, I take in the contents
of the closet and realize that I never could have done anything but
cry in this space.  Over half of the belongings in here are
Mark’s, left utterly untouched since the last time he was here.  I
wander inside, brushing my fingers over the fabric of his clothing,
the silk of his ties, and the leather of his belts.  
How can
I move on when I’m constantly submerged in the past?
 I
step back and take in the rest of my bedroom and see it as if I’m
looking at it for the first time.  It’s exactly the same as
when I shared it with Mark.

“
It’s
time,” I say to myself.  

I
head back downstairs with renewed purpose, ignoring my sore muscles.
 After digging through the basement I find a handful of unused
boxes and grab a bunch of garbage bags before heading back upstairs.
 I find a 90’s R&B station on Pandora, blast the music and
gather my thoughts on where to start.  I decide that most of the
clothes, aside from a few memorable pieces, can be donated to
Goodwill.  

One
by one, I carefully pull Mark’s shirts and slacks from the hangers,
allowing myself to indulge in memories associated with each item, and
fold them neatly in a pile.  Although I promised myself that
there’d be no more crying in this room, the tears being shed now
are a different kind.  They feel good, cathartic even.

Before
long, what used to be Mark’s half of the closet is empty and I’ve
filled six bags for donation.  I load the bags in my car, and
then grab a glass of water and head back upstairs to finish what I’ve
started.  I head over to his side of the bed and focus on a pile
of Mark’s things that haven’t been touched since the last morning
he was home.  I pick up his watch, the one I gave him for our
5
^th
wedding anniversary, and gently place it in a box
after wrapping it with tissue paper, thinking how nice it will look
on Colin when he’s bigger.  I wrap several more items from his
nightstand and place them in the same box.  When I’m satisfied
that I’ve saved the important pieces of memorabilia, I take a
garbage bag and get started on the things I can throw away.  Such
as the supersized container of TUMS, a few cigars that never made it
to the humidor and the stack of magazines he hadn’t even begun to
read. 

Knowing
that there are more items like these, I head into the bathroom and
toss his toothbrush, shaving gel, razor and every other toiletry that
I saved, into the garbage bag.