Page 105 of Hot Shot

I frown. “What the hell does that mean? Of course it is.”

“You guys don’t talk about that kind of shit? Hopes and dreams?”

“Jesus,” Cade mutters.

“Yeah,” I say slowly. “We kind of did.”

“What does she really want out of life?”

I think about it. I think about all the times she was so touched by my compliments, because they felt different from how other people complimented her. How she always felt judged by her looks, not by her accomplishments—first as a kid when she was awkward and odd, then as an adult when she earned her living by her appearance. How her family makes her feel inferior because of their successes.

What does Carrie really want out of life?

She wants to contribute. She wants to accomplish something meaningful. She wants the same things I do: acceptance, belonging, approval. Love.

She said she has to go to Spain to prove herself. And yet in my mind there’s no need for that, because she proves herself to me every damn day, with the hugeness of her heart, the love for her family and friends, the desire to help kids she doesn’t even know.

Despair nearly swamps me. I was too chickenshit to admit how I felt, to take a chance on asking her to wait for me. I love her, but I’m not brave enough to trust her, to trust that she’ll be faithful to me, that she’ll come back to me. It’s so goddamn hard for me to do that, though, after years of having that drilled into me.

I remember that feeling when my parents were taken away—how helpless and frightened and lost I was. And I’m terrified that if I love someone and she leaves me, I’ll feel like that fourteen-year-old boy all over again. I can’t do that again.

But I’m not that boy. I’m a man. I’ve proven how strong I am.

I came so close to having it all. With Carrie. I have to get over that shit if I’m ever going to have the things I really want in life.

“I didn’t tell her,” I mumble. “That I don’t want her to go. That she doesn’t have to prove anything.” Then I remember that conversation at her place . . . when she said she wasn’t sure if she was doing the right thing. What if . . . what if she’d been waiting for me to tell her I didn’t want her to go? I smack a hand on the bar. “Dammit! I should have told her.”

I can’t ask her not to leave. But I can at least tell her how I feel. And maybe see if we have a future together.

Beck smiles. “So do it.”

“She leaves tomorrow.”

“That means there’s time.”

I shake my head. “She really thinks she needs to do this. I want her to know that she can.”

“You’d wait for her to come back?” Cade asks quietly.

“Christ. Yes. It fucking rips me apart, but yeah, I’d wait for her. If she wanted me to.”

Sid walks in the front door, ready to start work. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey, Sid.”

They make some small talk I’m oblivious to, my brain spinning. What the hell am I supposed to do?

Assess. Prioritize. Act.

I can’t just sit here with my thumb up my ass, crying because she’s gone. I have to fuckingdosomething.

Adrenaline flashes through my veins, making my skin itch and my muscles twitch. The need to act is a physical necessity. But I have to think things through. I can’t just rush over to her place the day before she’s supposed to leave and beg her not to go.

I need a plan.

Carrie

I sit on the edge of my seat at the American Airlines gate at San Diego International Airport, boarding pass in one hand, a big paper cup of coffee in the other, waiting for my boarding group to be called.

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