Page 7 of Life To My Flight

I started walking toward my car with all the speed I could and still manage to look like I wasn’t running away.

Stomach clenched, I said, “Well, you lost that right when you left and wouldn’t return my calls. Maybe if you had at least returned one call to let me know that you were all right, then you’d have that option; but you didn’t, and you don’t. Now, I’ve already missed my appointment. I’ll see you later.”

I didn’t wait to hear his reply. I just got into my car, slammed the door in his stunned face, and backed out of my spot.

I didn’t necessarily have an appointment. More like a dedicated time that I went to visit someone every night after my shift.

I arrived at the nursing home within fifteen minutes, unaware that I had a tail until I was swiping my card at the front doors.

“What are you doing here?” I snarled, trying to slam the door in his face.

“If your plans were with your Nonnie, I would’ve understood and met you here,” Cleo said understandingly, as he caught the door that I’d tried to slam in his face.

I ignored him and kept walking.

Although I tried valiantly, I couldn’t get the image of him burned out of my brain.

He was wearing black jeans that hugged his thick thighs like they were a second skin.

The belt buckle was still the same one he’d worn a year ago. Although I’d never seen him actually ride a bull, thank God, I knew he still loved the sport. Based on his stories and his love for talking about his experiences, I knew it was still very important to him.

His red t-shirt showed off his sculpted chest, and I could tell he was just as muscular now as he was then.

Not a drop of fat could be seen on any part of his body, and that still had just as much power to annoy me now as it did back then.

The black leather vest was new, though.

I’d known he’d been a part of a motorcycle club, but he’d never worn that around me, until today.

“I would’ve told you, if you’d have stayed to listen,” I explained as I walked purposefully towards Nonnie’s room.

“You could’ve called me. My cell hasn’t changed,” he ground out.

The heat of his body at my side felt like I was standing next to a potbelly stove.

The heat emanating off him could keep me warm during the coldest of nights, if my memory served me right.

“Really? And how would I know your number hasn’t changed? I don’t even have it anymore,” I lied.

I could feel his gaze on my face, but I refused to acknowledge the lie that we both knew was just told.

I knew his number by heart. Just like he knew mine.

Funnily enough, what started our whole relationship was our phone number.

One day, Nonnie had given the home health nurse the slip, and gone to visit Papa at the graveyard.

Cleo had been visiting his mother and had found her there.

Nonnie had been lucid enough to give Cleo my number.

Where his ended with a six, mine ended with a seven. It was as if we were meant to be.

We would never forget each other’s numbers.

However, he’d already proved he could ignore it.

“And what? Have you not answer the call?” I finally answered his silent rebuff.

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