Pulling what’s left of my optimism, praying that when I walk through this door, my memories fade and I live in a world without the torment of hope because it’ll kill what little is left of me.
“Hope destroys the strongest men.”
56
EMBER
My eyes squint as I peer out of the small airplane window, watching the clouds float like pillows covering the world below us. The dark shadow of the plane glides over the bright cotton candy clouds, carrying me and everything I own in two medium-sized suitcases, exactly the same as earlier this year when I arrived.
It seems like time changes everything and nothing at the same time. Considering the only difference is the additional baggage of a broken heart I had no intention of getting.
I spent the day packing my bag, gathering up everything from the place I’ve called home, and yes, I opted to bring everything. Because this opportunity means everything, and as conflicted as my feelings are, I want this.
I never expected Hudson to brand himself into me like he did. So, I allowed myself the afternoon to wallow at the finale of my self-inflicted decision, but I promised myself to leave that behind before getting on the plane.
Yet, here I sit, pondering every single decision I’ve ever made.
I’ve been working toward somethinglike this for so long. Five years of crawling my way to a degree, being berated for my choices, day in and day out. Questioning my worth due to the awful, disgusting words spewed from the mouths of the people that were supposed to love me the most. I struggled too much for too long to allow myself to stop.
Right?
I shake my head, questioning my own confusion.
Corbin comes through to the main cabin area, which I haven’t been able to appreciate enough.
Plush white leather seats scale each side of the plane. The beige and blue earth tones make the petite space of the private plane feel open and light. It’s so welcoming, yet I feel like I belong somewhere else.
There’s a small bar at the back and what appears to be a bedroom in the back with a full ensuite bathroom, shower included.
It’s a luxury I’ve never experienced, and as prestigious as it feels, my heart lurches at the thought of missing another first class experience with Hudson.
I half smile at the memory of that experience. He had to make an excuse as to why he wanted to purchase the airplane’s blanket because we both felt too awkward leaving it behind.
The TV bracketed to the front wall flickers on, catching my attention. It’s a national news channel spewing meaningless information about the weather and other probably biased news reports favoring whatever politician is paying them the most at the moment.
Corbin sets the remote down on the table in between us, sliding into the chair next to me.
“So, Mr. Maren, tell me about some of your current projects,” I ask, turning my chair to face him so I can get lost in work instead of my dubious thoughts.
We talk about a few of his passion projects and some other things that he’s been working on, a charity that clearly means alot to him, and the potential of what we could do with an XConnect club in Manhattan.
“There’s a lot more competition with the types of clubs that are in Manhattan versus what is in Seattle, but I think if we could get an idea of what these other clubs are missing, that’s something we could tap into,” I respond with an ease, knowing exactly what to expect in order to see where we need to start.
A smile tugs at his lips. “I’m very excited to see what you will do running our teams.”
Glancing over at the two pieces of luggage, more than what someone would typically pack for a week, he tips his chin at them, and that makes me peer over at them.
“Is that for a week, or were you planning ahead?” he asks.
I steel my spine, cauterizing my decision by permanently melding them to my bones.
“I’ll be staying. Indefinitely.” My body language shows more confidence than the crack in my voice did. “I think we should get started right away, capitalize on the excitement of the west coast club by announcing a new one on the east coast.” Again, my normal excitement is dulled by my conflicted heart.
I exchange a look with him, as his eyes flicker between me, my luggage, and my hands, which are uncontrollably picking at my nail beds.
“Hmm.” His reply is curt.
Just keep going. You are a professional at your job and a professional at hiding your feelings. This is just another day.
