Page 152 of When We Were Us
It’s mere minutes before I’m asleep, with Hank pressed tightly against my back.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
hank
It’s justafter midnight and I can’t sleep. The darkness of the cabin is blinding as I stare up at nothing. Wrenley is pressed tight against me, with her head on my chest and an arm draped over my abdomen. I’m already used to her breathing, quiet and even.
But the reality of right now is a stark contrast to my chaotic thoughts and pounding heartbeat.
In just under ten hours, she’ll be gone. I don’t want her to go. I don’t know if I’ll be able to let her get on that plane. My rational brain tells me she’ll be back. She’s confirmed it. More than once.
My heart wants to believe it, but in the dark cover of night, it doesn’t.
She’s given me no indication I should believe otherwise. But the past is a brutal reminder, and suddenly, I’m twenty years old again and back on that dirt road under the hot August sun.
We don’t want the same things.
We’re too different.
Your life is here.
Can we please not do this?
No Hank… It’s over.
I kick a leg out of the covers, careful not to wake her, and scrub my free hand over my face. I lay there for another two hours, listening to her breathe as I run my fingers over her back. She stays asleep and I’m grateful. If she woke up, she’d likely want to talk. And right now, I don’t trust my voice.
A thin blanketof snow fell overnight. The forecast has been calling for snow for weeks. It’s still early in the season, so it probably won’t last long and will likely melt once the day warms up a bit. Still, I’m grateful we were able to book Wren a flight out of Bozeman instead of taking Beartooth pass into Cody, which can be brutal in this weather. It will also shave about two hours off our drive time, which I admittedly wish weren’t the case. I already feel like time is slipping away.
Passing through downtown, theThanks for Visiting Timber Forgesign turns intoWelcome to Timber Forge; Population: 1775in the rearview mirror.
Towering pines line both sides of the road as we leave city limits, and the highway snakes a long descent. Roughly one hundred thirty miles to go before I watch the only woman I’ve ever loved walk away from me again. Putting her on that plane is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Our hands are clasped together on the center console, fingers laced tight. Neither one of us is speaking much on the ride. She has her phone hooked up to the Bluetooth in the truck. It’s playing her favorite playlist when “Saying Goodbye” by Kameron Marlowe filters through the speakers, and my grip on the steering wheel tightens.
The irony of the lyrics have me clenching my jaw and Wren must catch them, too, because she picks up her phone from her lap and advances the song. “You’ll Think of Me” by Keith Urban fills my ears. Our eyes meet over the console, and I quirk a brow at her. She huffs a small laugh out her nose.
“Jesus, I never realized how fucking depressing country music is,” I say, and I’m only half joking.
Her answering chuckle sounds more like the real thing, and she squeezes my hand before turning to look back out the window.
I keep glancing her way, memorizing her profile. The closer we get to Bozeman, the more anxious I get, and it’s a fight to keep from turning around and taking her back to the cabin. I know she needs to do this, but it isn’t going to make watching her leave any easier. She’s quiet and I know it’s going to be hard for her, too.
We pull into the parking lot and I help her with her bag. She didn’t pack much, since she has stuff back in California. There’s just a small carry-on with a few toiletries and a change of clothes. I don’t want to let go of her hand because I’m afraid she’ll just disappear. She’d told me to just drop her at the curb, like that was even an option.
Bozeman airport is small, and when we walk in, it looks more like a rustic ski lodge or a hunter’s trophy room, than an airport. Long counters line one wall, wood beams break up the space, and a wide, carpeted staircase takes you to the second floor, where her gate is located.
After checking her in, we head to security. I can feel the beginnings of a headache at the base of my skull and my stomach is in knots. I know they aren't going to let me go through security with her, and we’re literal steps away from this all coming to an end.
It’s not super busy, and the floor-to-ceiling windows just beyond the security station look out over the tarmac.As we approach the roped-off area where I’ll have to leave her, a light sweat breaks out across my brow andthe skin on the back of my neck prickles in a nausea-inducing wave.
“I need to use the restroom. Can you hold this?”
I tip my head back the way we came. “I think they’re back that way.”
She nods and hands me her bag.
“You want me to come with you?” I can’t even bear the thought of letting her out of my sight long enough for her to relieve herself for fuck’s sake. I’m a goddamn mess.
