One more block.
As I sprint across the intersection, blisters rising on my heels and the bottom of my feet, a couple of businessmen turn and step out of my way. It’s then that I see him, halfway down the block.
I slow to a half jog, not wanting to barrel into a crowd of reporters looking like a desperate, hot mess.
His lawyer steps up to the podium and raises both hands, saying something I can’t hear, and then both men turn their backs to the press gaggle and start to walk back toward the entrance. Just then, a heavily muscled man in a dark suit comes out of the building and stands in front of the doors, crossing his arms over his chest. Security to keep the press out.
I pick up the pace, hurrying toward them. This is going to be a complete pain in the ass if I don’t get there before he goes inside, an awkward phone call so that the guard knows to let me in, another fifteen minutes in the heat in front of the cameras, who will linger long enough to get more b-roll and film the reporter segments…
Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed by the need to get to Christian—Elijah?—I can’t keep it straight—right now. As soon as he steps back into the building, he’s going to be surrounded by people demanding to know everything, and once that happens, all bets are off. I might not be able to get to him even if I can get inside.
Christian turns and looks back over his shoulder. Over the traffic noise, I can’t tell if he’s responding to another question or telling them that the interview is over, but it buys me another few seconds…
His lawyer reaches out, puts a hand on his shoulder, and both men turn back toward the doors. Fuck. I hustle forward, but my shoes cut into my feet, a searing line of pain where the skin has rubbed raw. I can’t—
“Christian!” I shout.
He doesn’t hear me, but a couple of the bloggers look my way. I don’t give a shit.
“Christian!” I shout again, at the top of my lungs, and now they’re all looking at me.
Christian’s lawyer nudges his arms, and he turns.
I can’t stop myself. It hurts like a bitch, running with the skin on my feet in this condition, but I don’t care, I go toward him like there’s no time left.
For all I know, maybe there isn’t.
His face is a mask of confusion, but as I come closer his eyes widen with surprise, and then, as he registers the expression on my face, delight.
I barrel into him, still moving so quickly that it almost takes both of us to the ground.
And then, in a completely unprofessional display, I lock my arms around his neck and kiss him like I’ve never kissed anyone before in my life, like we’re alone in his bedroom, like this kiss will be enough to heal all the wounds between us, like I never want to stop.
I am lost in him. I never care to be found.
We kiss for so long that when we come up for air, I’m gasping for breath. Christian’s arms lock around me, our cheeks pressed together.
“I did it for you,” he says, his voice heavy and thick.
There’s nothing I can think of to say, except:
“I know. I love you. I love you.”
Chapter 48
Christian
Everything is complete chaos from the very moment I end the press conference, but there’s nothing comparable to when Quinn comes sprinting down the sidewalk in the summer heat and our bodies connect with such force that despite my strength, we almost end up sprawled out on the sidewalk on national television.
Not that it would matter much. Now that I’ve revealed a secret that’s sure to shock the nation, falling down probably wouldn’t get much press coverage.
Although, with the Internet, you never know.
Her kiss is powerful, furious, full of forgiveness.
It takes me by surprise, and at the same time, it’s exactly what I would expect out of a love like ours.
I want to tell her that her presence is a balm on my aching heart, that I would have done all this for her and more, that I know there’s a long road ahead of us, that I know this is just the start.
Instead, I choke out the only words I can muster: “I did it for you.”
And Quinn says the only words I want to hear. “I know. I love you. I love you.”
It’s only when I’m finally able to loosen my grip on her, to pull myself away, that we both become aware, once again, of the cameras, of the bloggers with their phones out, filming every moment of our reunion, and of the kiss, and inevitable live broadcasting of it to their audiences.
All across the country, I’m absolutely positive that we’re making headlines.
I don’t care.
All I care about is that she came back to me, and we have another chance.
I wipe the grin off my face and give the press a serious expression, then nod my head, steer Quinn by the elbow, and guide her inside the lobby, Frank on our heels.