“I’ve never met her, but I’m sure she’s lovely.”
“She is lovely, and quite fun.” His voice sounded light. Hopeful. Intoxicated. “And a little bit twisted.”
“Twisted? Heavens, not that.” I laughed. “Is this the part where I say I’m happy for you?”
“Only if you really are.”
I flashed on all the good times I’d had with Charles; we used to laugh a lot. He was stuffy and pretentious, without a doubt. But he was a kind, decent man, and he deserved someone better suited for him. “I am happy for you, Charles. Very happy.”
“I was really angry with you, Chloe.”
“I know,” I whispered, my eyes filling with tears. I did what I had to do for myself, but I did leave a pretty big mess behind me. “I’m so sorry for what I did to you.”
“At the time it didn’t make any sense to me, but now I see that it was for the best. As mad and embarrassed as I was, it really was the best thing,” he said softly.
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Send me whatever you need to, and I’ll get it right back to you.” I sniffled a little. “And congratulations, Charles.”
“Thanks. Bye.”
I said good-bye and hung up. In a way, it felt like the last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. He had finally moved on, and it was all truly over.
I was now the opposite of the woman I very nearly became: the kind of woman who would marry a man she wasn’t entirely sure she was in love with, just for the security, for the good life. For the supposed good life.
I’d created my own good life, up on this ranch with a bunch of crazy dogs. And, Sinatra connection fully acknowledged, I did it my way. And I’d made my own bed before I chose to share it with someone new. Except I had hurt that someone—the last person I wanted to hurt.
I looked at the phone, then looked away. I picked up the phone, then put it down. I scrolled through to find his name . . . then turned it off. He was getting on a plane in a few hours. The last thing he needed was me crashing through right now.
I went to bed, curled up in the sheets that still smelled like us, and tossed and turned all night.
At 5 A.M., I finally got up, threw on some clothes, got in my car, and headed for Monterey Regional Airport.
I was crashing through.
chapter fifteen
I had zero plan. I had no idea what I was going to do or what I was going to say. All I knew was that I was barreling toward the tiny Monterey airport wearing Lucas’ shirt, old jeans, and a nervous grin.
I slalomed through the few cars that were out at this hour, driving way too fast through the morning fog. I didn’t know what airline, I didn’t know where he was connecting through; all I knew was that he was on some six thirty flight that I was bound and determined to . . . to what?
Hell, I’d figure that part out when I got there. When I saw him—the only person I’d thought about since I got off the phone with my past the night. And after being able to finally, amicably part with my past, I knew that I wanted only one person for my future.
I pulled into short-term parking, grabbed a ticket, and ran for the main terminal. I pushed through a throng of travelers, and spied a familiar face.
“Dr. Campbell!” I cried out, breathing heavily. The chocolate pudding hoard was beginning to take its toll; my cardio was crap. I ran on, pushing through the stitch of pudding in my side. “Dr. Campbell!”
“Chloe?” he called back. “What are you doing here?”
“Lucas . . . Is he . . . still here? I need . . . I need . . . Crap, I need to start jogging . . . again . . . Lucas?”
“He just went through security,” Lucas’s dad said, looking confused. “Are you okay?”
Dammit! I looked toward the space beyond the huge security line, but didn’t see him. Dammit again. “Yeah,” I said, still searching. “I just wanted to see him before he left, and tell him—”
There! Right there, a redhead above all the others! Six foot three, remember?
“Lucas!” I shouted, and took off in a sprint. Barreling toward security, I saw him look around, as confused as his father.
“Chloe?”
I didn’t care that he’d already gone through security and was still holding his shoes; I just ran. I didn’t even see the other passengers. I also didn’t see the TSA agent coming for me as True Love attempted to trump Homeland Security.
For the record, it does not.
Suddenly a scanning wand was waving in front of my face. “Just where do you think you’re going?” an irritated voice asked. The TSA agent, a rather large woman, was standing there with one hand holding her wand, the other hand on her can of . . . ah, shit . . . mace.