"Wendy," he says again, this time to me, soft and resolute. "Wait for me, yeah?"
"Okay…yes, I will. Thank you."
It can't be this easy. Nothing is ever this easy. Right?
The connection cuts out, and I stare at the screen, my hand trembling. The world around me stands still, everything suspended in my uncertainty whether I did the right thing.
Thirty minutes later, as I shift in the hard plastic seat with my foot tapping a restless rhythm on the floor, I see him coming. He’s weaving through the crowd, his strides long and sure. He looks a little wild but solid, like he was made for me. My personal wall to protect me from the outside—all muscles, leather, and ripped jeans. A baseball cap low on his forehead. But, of course, the hair gives him away.
My pulse quickens, and I find myself grinning from ear to ear.
18CRUZ
Colors stabat my eyes as a swirl of bodies rush past me when I step inside the terminal. I see her immediately. The exclamation point of orange sitting on a hard plastic chair.
A fissure of joy and trepidation cracks my heart. She lifts her head as if she senses me arriving, and her smile punches me in the chest.
Faces move between us, and I push forward, caught in a stream of roller bags and screaming kids. It's a synthetic galaxy—bright signs, the smell of cheap coffee with a high price tag, voices in various languages that rise and echo in every direction.
I squeeze past a trio of businessmen glued to their phones, dodge a sticky-fingered toddler and his worn-out mom. Overhead, a boarding announcement comes from the speakers, garbled and lost by the time it reaches me. The rush is contagious. I want to be next to her already. I want to be next to her more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.
And it’s a terrifying feeling.
She stands up right before I reach her, her expression a mix of relief and something else—something bruised. "You found me," she says with a smile, but her voice is paper thin.
"Hey." I return the smile. "What time's your flight?" My words come out easy, belying the clatter in my chest.
She glances at the ticking red letters of the giant wall clock. "An hour." A nonchalant shrug, but I see the pulse fluttering at her throat. "We still have time to get you on your flight," I say. "If they have seats."
There's an urgency around us, people wheeling bags like burdensome dreams, an orchestra of comings and goings. I want to wrap my arms around her and make all this static go away.
She looks at me. "Cruz, I don’t know if?—"
"Let's see if there are tickets." I take her hand and feel a bolt of lightning all the way to my shoulder. Then, with my other hand, I grab her luggage.
We weave through the madness to the airline counter.
"I’m sorry," she mutters. "I hope I didn’t put you out."
"Nonsense."
"Weren’t you guys leaving for the next city?"
"I’ll grab a rental and just catch up. We don’t play until tomorrow night. Plenty of time to send you home."
"I feel a little weird about it."
I glance at her. "Why? I told you to call me if you needed help. This is me doing what I promised."
At the counter, I ask her to give me the voided pass, then show it to the attendant. The woman’s smile is flight-attendant vacant, accustomed to desperation.
"Is there anything you can do?" I ask, injecting confidence I don’t quite feel.
Wendy is standing next to me and whispers in my ear, "Cruz, I don’t think this can be reverted back?"
I turn to her. "Let me just check," I say gently to both of them.
The attendant types into a keyboard, perfectly polished nails clicking like a metronome. The world distills down to thismoment. To her. To me. To us in this waiting space, with everything else drowning in the noise.
