Page 91 of Hot Shot

I want to give Marco a photograph.

But what? I look at images on my Mac a couple of weeks later. I know he likes sea creatures, from his sculptures. I did a bunch last year on a snorkeling trip in Cabo San Lucas, and I scroll through images of whales, dolphins, coral reefs, and colorful tropical fish.

I want it to be special and I want it to mean something.

But why?

Hell. Fucking, fucking hell. Becausehemeans something to me.

I pause on an image of a humpback whale I took from a catamaran. The creature is big and yet somehow gentle. I know these whales are friendly and interact with other cetacean species, like dolphins, which I also photographed on that trip. And yet humpback whales have a loose-knit social structure, living alone or in transient groups.

Somehow this makes me think of Marco and his transient family life growing up. And yet he found family. Not blood family, but the kind of family you make.

Apparently he found family with Liz too, or thought he had. The idea that Liz came looking for him, possibly wanting to try again, makes me nauseous. Maybe when I’m gone, Marcowillgo back to the girl he loved, the girl he proposed to. Maybe he still has a chance to have that family with her. Now that he’s out of the Navy, there’s no longer an issue about him being away.

Sadness swells inside me and I close my eyes against the huge feeling of pressure, so powerful I can’t sit still. Propelled to my feet, I cross the living room to stand in front of the sliding doors onto the patio and the courtyard outside my condo. Darkness obscures most of the view, other than the exterior lights that illuminate a palm tree here, a flower bed there.

I swallow hard. Dammit, leaving him is not going to be easy. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Is it worth it? Going to Spain? What am I giving up to go there?

Well . . . nothing, really. Marco and I have never committed to anything. We both agreed this is a “romp” before I leave. I have to do this. I’m obligated to the school from which I accepted a scholarship. I’ve booked my flight, at a cost of more than a thousand dollars. I’ve made a deposit on the apartment in Madrid. I’ve finally done something that’s impressed my parents and my siblings.

Sadly, I turn away from the window.

I have to go. I have to do this to prove to my family that I’m worthy. To prove it to myself.

I impulsively applied for that scholarship after Hayden started seeing Beck, feeling a little abandoned by my friend, and knowing my modeling career was coming to an end. I was more surprised than anyone when I was accepted. Surprised and proud of myself.

I don’t really want to go.

Oh God. Realization slams into me.

My throat aches and I drop down onto the couch in front of my computer. I bury my face in my hands. I don’t want to go. I’m going to miss my family. My friends. Marco.

But I can’t be a quitter. I have to see this through. Getting involved with Marco was such a bad idea. Now I’ve gone and . . . okay, yes, I’ll admit it: I’ve fallen for him. Dammit.

He doesn’t feel the same. He knows I’m leaving and knows this is short term. I can’t abandon my dream for a man, especially a man I have no future with anyway.

I suck in a long breath and lift my head to focus on the image of the whale breaching. This one. I’ll get it printed and framed and give it to him before I leave. And I’ll hope that it reminds him of me.

Marco

“It’s too much.” Carrie slumps in the chair in Anna’s office, her chin nearly on her chest.

I reach out and take her hand, wanting to support her. “It’s a lot. But it can be done.”

She lifts anguished eyes to me. “I want this so much. The more I think about it, the more I can see it, how great it could be. But there’s no way we can get all this done before I leave.”

It’s true. There is no way. She’s leaving in just over two weeks.

“It’s not something that’s quick and easy,” Anna says in a soft voice. “And I totally agree that it needs to happen. I’m certainly willing to support it, and I know both of you are . . . but we really need someone to lead the project, since you’re going to Spain.”

Carrie sucks on her bottom lip briefly, and I want to lean over and kiss her.

We just had another meeting about Carrie’s idea to open a drop-in studio for kids to paint, and maybe do other kinds of art projects that would get them off the streets and keep them out of trouble.

Then Carrie’s head shoots up. “I know who can do this.”

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