Chapter 18: Autumn

I had one last appointment with the doctor, but the drive was pretty quiet. I kept telling Dallas he could stay behind, but he kept insisting he needed to come with me. I think a part of him was hoping I wouldn’t be cleared for my flight back to Paris. I think part of him—just a small part—was hoping I’d have to call my boss and tell him I had to stay longer because either something had gone wrong, my brain was exploding, I was quitting because I was frustrated, or some other bullshit he wanted to happen.

“I bet you’re ready to get back to work, aren’t you? Paris, I can’t even imagine,” the doctor said, swooning in the office as Dallas walked out.

That was the thing about small towns—people didn’t give a damn how others reacted to their bullshit. It was one of the reasons why I had been so anxious to leave. In Paris, if someone didn’t like what you were pedaling, you knew it.

When we got back to Dallas’s house, I went straight upstairs. I needed to pack and make some phone calls that would cost me a pretty penny, and then I needed to try to see if I could access my email from somewhere. I thought about maybe trying the public library on my way out of town, hail a cab and sit there for a couple of hours. I was pretty sure I’d have plenty of shit to come back to after not talking to anyone for an entire month, so I needed to make sure things were going well with my design line.

After all, I had taken time off to come see my parents because once I returned, I’d be face-deep in planning my very first fashion show.

I dragged my things out of the drawers my mother originally packed everything in, and made sure to grab all my toiletries. Some clothes had been stuffed under the bed, so I dug them out and crinkled my nose at their smell. I went in search of a plastic bag to put them off in, but Dallas simply ripped them from my hands to put them in the washer.

“Dallas, I don’t have time—” But, before I could get a word in edgewise, he had started the laundry, leaving me down to three outfits.

He wouldn’t talk to me, but he damn sure was making my exit a hell of a lot harder than it needed to be.

I went back upstairs, letting his comment roll off my back. I wasn’t sure what his angle was, but I took out my phone to call a cab. Of course, my doctor’s appointment was scheduled the same day as my flight out, and I had spent the extra money to get a direct flight from my Oklahoma hometown all the way to France. No layovers, no nights in other countries, just a direct flight that would kick me in the gut. But, it would get me back to a city that embraced me, unlike this pothole of a town I’d been stuck in for the past month.

I jammed the last of my shoes into my suitcase, wondering how I’d ever gotten so much shit in there in the first place. I sat on it and forced the zipper closed, sighing when I heard the crackling of tires roll up the loose gravel driveway.

My chariot had arrived to whisk me away to the airport. I grabbed my toiletries and shoved them into the front of my bag, ready to go.

I did one last double check to make sure I had all my chargers, but when the tires on the loose gravel started crunching away, I threw my bag down the stairs and rushed for the door.

“No, wait! I’m right here!” I yelled, tossing the door open. It shouldn’t have shocked me one bit to see Dallas in the driveway. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I shrieked.

“I’ll take you to the airport,” he muttered.

“Like hell you will! You’ve been trying to postpone me all damn day. Taking too long to get to and from the doctor’s, throwing my shit in the washer. And now you’re getting rid of my cab?”

He grabbed my bag and heaved it into the back of his truck before sliding into the driver’s side seat. I didn’t know what the hell his problem was, but I was beyond tired of it. The more he acted this way, the more it showed me the truth of the conversation we’d had a few days ago that had pissed him the fuck off.

The more I realized why I hadn’t originally told him about Paris.

I rolled my eyes when he swung the passenger’s side door open for me, but knew I ultimately didn’t have much of a choice since my flight was leaving in less than two hours. So I climbed into his truck, and he cranked it up. The silence between us hung heavily in the air the entire time, so awkward that I wanted to melt directly into the seat.

On one hand, I could see how this would be hard for him. I could understand why he’d be so reluctant to drop me off at the airport with things sitting between us the way they were. The last time we were together—really together—he had admitted that he would never stopped loving me, and I had shared with him the same sentiments. But the truth was that you didn’t treat someone you loved like this. You didn’t storm out on an argument and then give them the cold shoulder for days afterwards. You didn’t try everything in your power to stop the inevitable from happening.

Sure, he had wanted to talk over lunch that day about making things work long distance between us. And sure, he didn’t even know what that long distance meant at the time…But dear God did he really expect me to do it now?

We pulled into the airport parking lot, and I promptly got out. I was already trying to pull my bag out of the back by the time he was stepping out of his truck, and seconds later, he reached his arm easily over me and pulled it out without a problem.

“You takin’ home my gravel or somethin’?” he quipped.

“Nope. Just trying to get home,” I said exasperated.

A heavy silence ensued again, letting me know that my comment had hurt him. But it was true; Oklahoma hadn’t been home in five years. And honestly, it had never really felt like home to begin with. Yeah, it was familiar and I’d fallen in love with my country boy while in college here, but Paris had welcomed me with open arms, forced me to grow up, and loved me even during my dirtiest of downfalls.

It had never once screamed at me without a good reason or shooed away my taxis when I needed them…

“Well, hope ya have a good flight,” Dallas mumbled.

“I’m sure I will,” I said stonily.

I grabbed my suitcase and wheeled myself into the airport, and that was that. I wanted Dallas to be happy for me, I really did. I wanted him to be as excited about this as I was. I wanted him to understand that Paris was my dream and that I’d achieved my dream at only 20 years of age! I had been hired as a premier apprentice in Paris before I could even legally drink in the States! God, that was a hell of a shocker when I’d gotten to France. I could remember the first night I’d ever gotten slammed drunk. I was with a few other apprentices, and we were at this fancy wine bar spending half our first paychecks on glasses of wine I found out later we could’ve gotten in a grocery for a fourth of the price. We’d ended up dropping $800 between the five of us that night, and we all piled into a taxi van afterwards, where we’d had an argument over whose place was bigger so we could all crash and vomit in one place.

It was a great memory and it was one that I wished I could share with Dallas, but I couldn’t because he had licked his wounds for days and now it was time for me to leave.

Time for me to go home where I belonged.

But I still wished he could just be happy for me.

Didn’t he understand that his current behavior was just demonstrating precisely why I hadn’t told him?

My heart screamed out to have him there. I wanted him to walk with me up to security until they made him abandon me because he didn’t have a ticket. I wanted to stand in his arms until the very last second. I wanted him to force me to sprint across the airport because he had to have me in the back of his truck one last time before we parted ways.

Damn it, I just wanted him to be supportive! To love me the way he proclaimed and to be happy for me no matter what.

But instead, he was just sulking in his truck.

I went to get my ticket before I checked my luggage onto the plane. The bag was way too stuffed to take on the plane with me, so I chucked out the extra money to keep me from having to convince the stewardess that it would fit if I shoved hard enough. I sighed and turned around to take one last look at Oklahoma through the airport windows, unprepared to see Dallas standing there.

Rooted on the spot, I watched him walk toward me. Someone shoved me out of the way so they could get to the desk, and Dallas automatically caught me.

“Hey,” he said sternly, his voice almost a growl, “this woman is just getting over a concussion. Have some decency.”

There he was.

There was my Dallas, unusual predatory flash in his eyes and all.

“What do you want?” I asked, not wanting to give in so easily.

“This.” He cloaked my back with his strong arms and crashed his lips onto mine. Beside myself, I couldn’t help but to instinctively snake my arms around his neck. A few romance-loving onlookers swooned and clapped for us.

Dallas’s tongue raked across my lips and I willingly parted them for him, feeling tears rise to my eyes. I loved this man with everything I owned and my body trembled with the force of it, like a twig in the wind. His arms held me to his body as if I weighed absolutely nothing.

“I love you, Dallas. Please believe me,” I said.

Breaking the kiss, he returned me to my feet. My gaze fluttered up to his towering form, a tear slipping out and running down my cheek before he brushed it away. Looking into his eyes, I could so easily see his pain and anguish. His betrayal.

“Have a safe flight,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

And then I watched him turn his back to officially leave.