Katie

What have I done?

I’m sitting on the edge of my bed and my suitcases are packed at my feet and the sun is close to setting. There’s a voice mail from Danika on my cell and my hotel phone asking me out to a late lunch, but I couldn’t bring myself to call her back. Couldn’t bring myself to do much of anything today but pack. I haven’t seen Jack since he left me reeling in the hallway of the restaurant, his words ringing in my ears, lighting up my heart.

I love you, Katie.

I didn’t say it back. I didn’t say it back.

I feel the same way. But didn’t return the words. If I’d said them, he would have stayed, I think. Maybe? Could he have left me if I’d looked him in the eye and told him? He definitely wouldn’t have given me one, final tortured look and vanished into the mass of moving people, right? No, not Jack. He would have swept me up and celebrated.

Instead of being honest and admitting I’ve taken some wild leap into love, starting the moment we met, I fell into my usual pattern weighing the good and bad. Pro: It will make him happy. Con: I’m still leaving. Pro: It’s the truth and I’ve vowed to be honest with Jack. Con: Telling Jack I love him back won’t solve our problem.

Stay with me. I need you so much.

Boom. X marks the spot. I’ve been steeling myself against an unknown worry and words spoken in passion had uncovered it neatly enough. Knowing that a relationship between Jack and me could lead to him being reliant on me doesn’t make me care for him any less, though. Doesn’t make my heart beat any differently. God, no.

After coming home last night and showering, I’ve been sitting in the same spot in a T-shirt and underwear, petrified. Petrified that driving a wedge between us means Jack is out there somewhere right now, using alcohol to mask the pain.

But that only validates my worry that I’ll funnel all my energy into keeping him healthy, doesn’t it? I want to believe in him, the way he begged me to. I’m dying to have faith. The clock is mocking me, though. Calling me foolish for sitting here and waiting for Jack to show up. Why would he have left last night . . . if it wasn’t to alleviate the stress I created the only way he knows how? He won’t call me for help, either, if he needs it. Because I’ve severed the very hope I created.

Is this how life would be if I stayed? Sitting in the near-dark, waiting for my boyfriend to show up? Staring at my phone, hoping for and dreading a call from him or Danika, asking me to get in a cab and bring him home? Or worse, a call from the police saying he’s accidentally taken someone else’s brother away. Does my love outweigh the fear?

One thing is for certain. My flight leaves early in the morning. I scheduled the wake-up call for lack of anything better to do and it’s coming at half-four. What is my plan? To sit here and wait through the night for some miracle to occur?

I can’t do it. I can’t sit here waiting for disappointment.

I’ve been stationary so long, my knees protest when I stand, moving in a cyclone of activity around the room. I pull on the jeans and sweater laid out over the desk, shoving my nightshirt into the front pocket of my suitcase. When I’m forced to search for a tissue to wipe my running nose, I realize I’m crying. So I stop, take a deep breath and steel myself, before shoving my feet into my runners and leaving the room, dragging my suitcases behind me.

I’d rather sit at the airport and wait until morning arrives than spend another second in uncertainty. This way, at least the decision will be made for me. I’m leaving New York, there’s nothing more to it, and if I’m not sitting on my hotel bed like a sap, Jack can’t arrive to either deliver a painful goodbye or apologize for slipping up.

As I step into the lobby downstairs, my heart is being wrenched from my body. I’m not returning to Ireland as my whole self. There are pieces of me scattered all over the island. In Hell’s Kitchen where Jack kissed me in the park, on the subway where Jack sang while holding out his hat for donations, upstairs in my room where we made love, a few blocks away in a church basement, where Jack bared his soul.

My steps stutter beneath the giant chandelier, but I force myself to keep moving, my focus narrowed down to the string of taxis waiting at the curb. It’s Saturday night. People are all dressed up for dinner, piano music swells in the lobby with a lively tune, luggage carts wheel past. There’s something very ungratifying about the world continuing on as usual when your insides are collapsing, isn’t there? Shouldn’t someone ask me if I’m all right?

I’m not. I’m not okay.

Then again, I wouldn’t be okay even if Jack spent the night, held me until my wake-up call and kissed me goodbye at the curb. I would have crumbled then, too, right? I’m only speeding up the inevitable, while holding on to that final image of him an inch from my face. I love you, Katie. That’s how I’ll remember him. Not some other way both of us will regret.

Stepping out into the crisp evening, horns, whistles, wind kick up around me. The valet takes one look at my suitcases and gestures for the closest yellow cab to pull up. It takes him two attempts to pry the suitcase handle from my hands, which would be embarrassing if my blood wasn’t freezing, ceasing to flow, my legs turning to concrete—

“Katie!”

The return of my blood flow is so immediate and unexpected, I sway left and almost fall into a potted tree. The world around me blooms back into color, starting with Jack. He’s halfway down the block, stopped in his tracks and his expression will remain with me until I’m a grandmother, knitting beside a fire. He’s dying. Oh my God, is he dying?

All at once, things start moving again. The valet taps my shoulder and grunts, indicating that my suitcases have been loaded into the boot of the cab, Jack starts running towards me and I realize I’ve made a stupid, impulsive decision by leaving for the airport without saying goodbye. My bones brace for Jack to reach me, to grab me, but instead he veers towards the cab, dragging my suitcases from the back, tossing them onto the sidewalk like they weigh nothing. The valet and cab driver aim a litany of curses at Jack, which shakes me out of my stupor. “It’s okay.” My tone is pitiful and tearstained. “It’s okay. I-I . . . he’s with me and I must have gotten the time wrong . . .”

Having finished removing my luggage from the cab, Jack wheels around with an incredulous look. “Must have gotten the time wrong?” He whips out his cell and checks the time. “It’s six goddamn thirty. Your flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow.”

“I was only trying to make it sound plausible,” I whisper, like a feckin’ idiot. Without glancing around, I’m aware of everyone on the sidewalk staring. And my stubborn Irish roots gnarl around my throat, heat searing the backs of my eyes. “You’ve been gone a full day,” I shout at Jack. “You scared me and I couldn’t wait around anymore.”

The worst of his irritation fades. “Okay, honey. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry you were scared.” He slumps back against the cab, closing his eyes. “Jesus. You were leaving.”

“Where have you been?” Someone give me a housecoat, because I sound like a scorned wife. And so be it. “Where did you go?”

Green eyes hold mine steadily, but some wildness still floats in their background. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

“You going to need a cab for that?” asks the perturbed valet. “Otherwise I’m going to need this lovers’ quarrel—entertaining though it is—to take place elsewhere.”

Jack pushes off the cab, stooping down to pull one of my suitcases out of the pile he made. “We only need this one. Can you give her a claim ticket for the rest?” He replaces it in the boot and slams it shut. “She’s not leaving yet.”

I should be indignant over decisions being made on my behalf, but the relief is like a cool blanket of snow, covering everything. Not only is Jack here, but he’s fine. Clear-eyed, agile and determined to take me somewhere. I’ll happily go anyplace with him on the entire planet, but I don’t pass on the sentiment, because he doesn’t appear receptive at the moment, his brows drawn, jaw tight.

Finally, Jack approaches, hovering a foot away with enough presence for ten men, scrutinizing me as the valet scribbles on a pink tag, handing it to Jack. “Done and done.” The man opens the cab door and waves us in, knocking on the roof when Jack and I are seated on opposite ends of the vehicle. “Best of luck to you.”

Something tells me I’m going to need it.

Jack

Surely there are things I’m supposed to be saying right now.

Well, I can’t think of a fucking one.

I apologized for scaring Katie, so at least that’s out of the way. Now I’m working on recovering from the heart attack that seized my body when I saw her loading luggage into a cab. My limbs are numb, but somehow at the same time, my muscles are tight enough to snap. Lava pitches around in my stomach like I drank straight from a volcano. If I’d been thirty seconds later, she’d be gone right now. Flying through the Midtown Tunnel on her way to JFK, already putting me in her rearview. Is that where she wants me? Has everything I’ve done over the last twenty-four hours been for nothing?

“Where are you headed?”

It takes me a good five seconds to figure out the driver is speaking to me. Instead of Saint Peter welcoming me to heaven because I’m actually lying dead back on the curb. “Uh, Canal and Church. Thanks.”

Katie shifts in her seat, her voice softer than a whisper. “What’s happening there?”

“Nothing,” I rasp, dragging both hands down my face. “Probably nothing.”

“You’re angry with me.”

“I . . . fuck, I don’t even know.” Honesty is my default with Katie. Lying or softening isn’t even a consideration. “I can’t feel anything right now.”

She blows out a breath. “Imagine a full day of the exact opposite.”

I reach over to take her hand, because I hate hearing her leftover worry, but they’re bundled in her lap, leeching her knuckles of color. “The only thing on my mind for the last twenty-four hours has been you. It has been all Katie. Nothing else.” My swallow is heavy. “Just like you gave up four years for your father, gave up most of your trip for me . . . I gave up the thing I want most today. Time with you.” Worried she’s going to cut off her circulation—and dammit, needing contact—I pry her hands apart and warm them between mine. “I should have called. I’m sorry. I knew if I heard your voice, I would stop what I was doing to go be with you. And I’m done being selfish.”

Her back straightens in a way that’s become familiar. “You were never selfish. The drinking wasn’t about you being selfish.”

“In a lot of ways, it was.” I bring her hand to my mouth, laying kisses on her knuckles. “I was so focused on blocking out my own pain, I stopped seeing how much it hurt everyone else. Then I met this feisty redhead who taught me all about selflessness. So I can’t hide and be selfish, anymore, without being aware. Without caring about the effect it has.” I smile against the back of her hand. “It’s kind of a pain in the ass.”

She lets out this adorable half-sob, half-laugh that crams my throat full of pressure. I’m already reaching for her when she launches across the seat into my arms. Her face buries in the crook of my neck, soothing the center of my chest, spreading to reach every corner of my body. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I wouldn’t have made it to the airport.”

“If you had, I’d have come and gotten you.”

“I just couldn’t sit there anymore.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” I squeeze her tight as I can without breaking bones. “I think I got ahead of myself, wanting you to trust that I wouldn’t fuck up. I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not.”

The nerves I’ve been swimming in all day return with the ebbing of my numbness. “I guess we’ll find out when we get where we’re going.”