Page 25 of Hidden Resolution
“No. Can you please drop it? I’m just tired and not looking forward to the long day of travel. The trip down scarred me for life.”
Her excuse appeared to be one Mason could get behind, and he flung an arm across her shoulders. “Fair enough. Let’s go.”
They didn’t speak much during the ride to the airport. There was nothing left to say. Everything meaningful and painful had been said that morning, when he’d calmly reminded her their affair would end the moment they returned to the real world. To his credit, he’d at least appeared remorseful.
Standing in line at bag check, Shonda could practically feel the distance stretching between them. The closer they got to the counter, the more reserved and distant Mason became. Whenit was finally his turn, he stepped forward, claimed his baggage tag, and, without so much as a goodbye, cast her one last indecipherable look before heading for security.
By the time she stepped up to the counter and handed over her passport, her hands were visibly shaking. Mason’s had to be the coldest goodbye in the history of all her relationships. Despite the brief length, it cut the deepest.
Through security, she found a seat near her gate and sank into the chair like an airless balloon. Mason lingered nearby, off to one side, leaning against a column with his nose buried in his phone. If he noticed her presence at all, he gave no indication.
Sadness settled over her like a heavy cloak.
Refusing to spiral, she pulled out her tablet and opened her social media accounts. A soft smile tugged at her lips when she saw Erica’s latest post on her wall: a lone “Hello?” followed by a frowning-face emoji.
Curiosity got the better of her, and against her better judgment, Shonda looked up Mason’s account. No recent updates. Everything was business-focused and impersonal. Unlike her, he clearly wasn’t a social media junkie. For a brief second, she hovered over the “Add Friend” button, but the thought of him ignoring her request made her stomach clench. In the end, she logged out and mindlessly scrolled through shopping sites’ daily deals. Retail therapy had its uses.
The boarding announcement called her back to the present. She and Mason reached the same spot in the line simultaneously. Awkward didn’t begin to cover it. Wordlessly, he gestured for her to go ahead, and she moved past him without comment. Once on the plane, he helped her stow her bag in the overhead compartment, then slid into his own seat several rows behind her, offering nothing more than a distracted smile.
His dismissal couldn’t have been clearer.
And if her eyes burned with unshed tears, at least he couldn’t see them from where he sat.
After disembarking and making her way to the luggage carousel, Shonda stood off to the side to wait. A sense of loss hit her squarely in the chest. Part of her wanted to curl into a ball and grieve. Another part wanted to scream and send Mason detailed directions straight to hell. But the biggest part of her, maybe the most harebrained, wanted to fight for what they’d found in St. Thomas.
Too bad he wouldn’t let her.
He’d already said his goodbyes. And now, directly across the conveyor from her, with his eyes glued to his phone, Mason looked every bit the man who’d moved on before she’d even taken off her damned seat belt.
How many messages could one guy have?
“Probably an inbox full of women telling him to suck it,” she muttered to herself.
Yeah, she was being petty. She hadn’t gone into their fling expecting forever, but she hadn’t counted on it hurting so much either. She’d invested more than time. She’d handed him her heart, unbelievably fast and foolhardily.
God, she should’ve known better at her age.
The carousel motor hummed to life, drawing her attention from her current obsession. Her black-and-white suitcase with its hot-pink ribbon tied to the handle was the first to appear. As she stepped forward to grab it, a kindly man next to her lifted it and set it at her feet.
“Thank you,” she said, mustering a warm smile.
She cast one last glance across the distance. Mason still hadn’t looked up.
Mentally flipping him the bird, she turned on her heel and headed toward the exit. From just outside the sliding doors, she tapped the remote starter to warm her car, then popped the trunk.
The sight of that gaping empty space stopped her cold.
There she was, thirty-three years old, standing in front of an open trunk, once again alone with no one to greet her with a smile or a kiss. No partner. No children to read stories to and tuck in bed. Nothing but a suitcase and an ache in her chest. She’d been so busy cultivating a career, she hadn’t taken time to create anything real.
The one true constant in her life was Erica.
That empty trunk was the perfect metaphor: sleek on the outside, hollow on the inside.
And she was pining after a man who was so far removed from wanting a relationship or family that he could be on another planet. Was it possible to reprogram her brain and heart to stop falling for emotionally unavailable bastards?
“God, I need a life,” she said morosely.
Seriously, it was time to get real. Time to find true fulfillment.
