Page 107 of The Escape Plan

This summer, I came up with the idea that the ending doesn’t matter as a shield. An attempt to live in the moment and not worry about the potential of getting hurt. Tocontrolthe potential of getting hurt.

But what I’ve effectively done is placed conditions on my feelings for Beckett. And that’s just not the truth of how I feel about him at all.

I still stand by what I wrote in my article—that sometimes with love, the beginning or end doesn’t matter, but the journey—but I no longer stand by that being mine and Beckett’s love story.

Because what we’ve got? I never want it to end.

“I don’t want to run away from love,” I say miserably. “I’m just so scared of having to live through that feeling, that rejection again. And the fear is so strong, it’s been overshadowing all my choices.”

Ezra pauses. And then, he smiles. “You asked me a moment ago how I know that Mae will never leave me, and the simple answer is: I don’t. I don’t know what the future holds. But I wake up every single day and choose her, and will continue to choose her, even when the going gets tough—because it does—because I love her. And when you really love someone, they will always be worth choosing. To the point that your fears of what you could lose in the process will come second to making that choice. So, make the right choice, Keeley.”

“There’s only one choice,” I reply, jumping up from the bench. There’s no time to waste.

It’s Beckett.

I choose Beckett.

And I choose him knowing that I can’t control how it looks or where we live or what tomorrow might bring.

I’m going to cut that lifeline and let myself truly fall. And instead of constantly bracing for impact, I’ll live in the knowledge that whatever the cost, I’ve made the right decision for me.

Forus.

Beckett deserves no less in life than to be loved unconditionally.

And you know what? Neither do I.

Chapter Forty-Three

Keeley

The two-mile drive backto The Serendipity takes approximately seven hundred and fifty-nine years.

First of all, Ezra insists on driving no more than five over the speed limit. Which is preposterous, given our circumstances. You’d think a shaven-headed, tatted-up dude who’s just been directed to “drive as fast as your Toyota can manage!” would have a littleFast and Furiousin him.

But no.

Ezra drives like a half-blind octogenarian who forgot to wear his glasses.

And as if that wasn’t enough, we hit every red on every single traffic light along the route and stop no less than three times for pedestrians on crosswalks. One of those pedestrians, of course, has a puppy who decides to lay down mid-crossing for a little rest.

I roll down my window, half considering sticking my head out and yelling at the guy to pick up his dog andmove it!

Ez, from the driver’s seat, grabs my arm and yanks me back down. “Dude, chill. Isn’t his flight later tonight?”

“Yes, but…” I cross my arms and glare. “That’s not the point.”

Ezra’s lips tick up. “What is the point, then?”

“I’m trying to make a statement! Profess my undying love!” I throw my arms out to accentuate my point.

Which, in combination with my current under-eye bags and bedhead, makes me look not unlike Becks’s beloved banshee.

Ezra snickers. “Becks is a lucky guy.”

“Drive faster, grandma!” I retort.

When we finally get to my building, Ez hardly stops the car before I’m flinging the door open, calling, “Love you, byeeee” as I race inside The Serendipity.

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