Page 72 of Finding London

I let my brain wander aimlessly, going over everything that could be wrong with Loïc, until my thoughts were so loud that they demanded resolution. At which point, I jumped out of bed, grabbed my purse, and got in my car.

Undoubtedly, this wasn’t the most suave plan I’d ever come up with. Perhaps Loïc just needed a night to himself. Maybe he did actually have a headache, and I was just being paranoid.

Too late to second-guess myself at this point. Operation Snuggle Time is in full motion. Headache or not, when he sees me, he’s going to want to hold me. He’ll be happy I came.

And if we want to get technical, it is just after midnight, which is really tomorrow, so all’s good.

Over the summer, Loïc and I have grown so much as a couple. He still has his moments where he’s closed off and times when he tries to shut me out, like tonight, but he has come such a long way. He’s taken a while to get here, but I can’t fault him in the slightest. He’s gone through more in his life than most people have. He hasn’t had an easy road, and understandably, his experiences have created defense mechanisms, some pretty foolproof ways of keeping others out. I get it. He was hurt by many people, so what better way to stop yourself from being hurt than by closing out the world, building walls?

I want him to know that he doesn’t have to continue to keep me at arm’s length. I’m not going to hurt him. I love him. I love him more than I ever knew was possible, and it’s time I tell him. He deserves to know that I’m someone he can trust. I want him to understand that I’m in this for as long as he’ll have me.

Loïc is a walking contradiction of emotions. He’s hot and then cold, attentive and then elusive. He’s gruff and domineering, and in the next breath, he’s gentle and passionate. He’s equal parts serious and funny. Within a span of seconds, he can be a complete jackass and then the most romantic man alive. I love all of him, every conflicting side.

Over the past few months—despite, or maybe because of, each varying aspect of him—I’ve fallen for the enigma that is Loïc Berkeley.

He needs to know that, whatever is troubling him, whatever insecurities he might have, we’ll be okay. I’m not leaving him. I just know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he will own my heart forever.

God, I can’t wait to see him, to hug him, to kiss him, to tell him that I love him.

I almost miss his street but manage to recognize it first. I’ve only been here once when Loïc just stopped by to grab something, and I didn’t even get out of the truck. In the distance, I spot Loïc’s gigantic truck parked in the road in front of his house. A smile immediately graces my face. I’m in deep when the mere sight of his vehicle makes me happy.

As I get closer, I notice someone walking up the front walkway to the house. It’s not just someone. It’s Loïc.

And he’s not alone.

I slow my car to a crawl as I pass. My lungs burn as I hold my breath. I’m afraid to breathe with irrational fear that he’ll hear me gasp for air and turn to see me—or perhaps the utter terror racing through me will demand to be felt with that breath. Somehow, denying my body oxygen, even for these few seconds, is allowing me to prevent my mind from acknowledging the sight before me. To take in air would be to accept my reality that I’m here, alive, in this space of time where Loïc is holding another girl in his arms. Right now, more than anything, I wish I weren’t.

Hot tears burn down my cheeks. Loïc ambles up the sidewalk toward the front door with the girl. I can’t see her face because it’s nuzzled into his neck. Her long black curls fall over his shoulder, brushing his arm, as he walks. Her legs are wrapped around his waist, and one of his hands rests under her butt, securing her to him. Her arms cling around his neck with painful familiarity.

But all of this pales in comparison to the sight that hurts the most. It’s not the fact that her lips are probably kissing his neck or the cozy way in which their bodies are responding to each other or even his hand on her ass that causes the most pain. The single vision that thrusts the dagger into my heart with unrelenting force is the vision of him throwing his head back in laughter. His beautiful face is lit up with happiness…because of her. Whatever she said or did to elicit that reaction from him is what kills me.

This isn’t a one-night thing. He knows her. He loves her. If not love, then he holds a deep fondness for her.

His smile is genuine, and his laughter is real. In this moment, with another woman in his arms, he’s truly happy.

He’s giving her a side of himself that few people get to see. It’s a piece of himself that I’ve had to work extremely hard to get glimpses of.

God, it hurts so much.

I drive to the end of the street and turn the corner. An elementary school is a block down, and I pull into its parking lot, stopping my car across three spaces. There’s no one here to care anyway. I’ve barely moved my gearshift to park before I crumple against the steering wheel. My body vibrates as sobs rack through me. I cry into the dark space as howls of despair escape my lungs, and I ache everywhere. My entire body feels physical pain, as if it barely survived a cage fight with the current world champion.

How can emotional pain hurt this much? How can a stupid boy do this to me?

A vision of Loïc’s face invades my mind before I force it out. It’s too much. It’s all just too much to take.

Why?

I don’t understand why he would do this to me.

Was this some sort of a sick game to him? Was it all an act? Did he ever care at all?

So many questions plague my mind.

But I know that they don’t matter. None of the answers matter. What’s done is done. The reasons behind his actions will do little to pick up the pieces of my broken heart.

I hate him.

I hate him so much.

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