“Next,” Jasmine says. They’re both so distracted their eyes aren’t even registering the people who are next in line.
I walk up first before the person in the other group and hold out my arm to halt the woman who is supposed to meet Carina from that side. She takes a step back, eyes frightened. Perfect. This, right here, is me self-destructing.
I stop in front of her table and stare at the top of her head. She’s signing a flyer of some sort, ready to give it to the next person in line. Jasmine sees me first, and her mouth opens in a small O.
“Greenleigh,” I rasp.
Carina swallows and slowly tilts her face up. “Oh my god,” she whispers, covering her mouth. Tears form in her eyes immediately. “Are you okay?” My attempt at cleaning myself up didn’t work.
I shake my head. “I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay. Not since the moment I met you,” I reply. I place my hands on the table in front of me. The bloody one leaves a smear on the white tablecloth. Finally, two security guards approach, but they don’t touch me.
Jasmine stands and tells them it’s fine and leads them away to control the crowds.
“I can’t do this right now, Smith,” she whispers, tears flowing unmercifully down her perfect face.
“Why not? Because of this?” I pick up one of the books on her table and hold it in the air. “This is just fiction. Right, Greenleigh?”
Carina sobs and covers her face. “I can’t.”
“Fine. You don’t have to. But I’m going to. I love you. I love you. I love you. You can’t love someone you never had,” I say, quoting her fromNever Forever. “I disagree. Because I love you, and I never had you. Not the way I was supposed to, anyway.”
She swallows, puts her hands down, but remainssitting. There are gasps from behind us, and small rumblings of conversation begin in the masses. I turn toward them. A few women shirk back, afraid of what I’m going to do. I raise the book in the air again. “I love this woman more than anything in this godforsaken world. Before the attacks even, when the world was a beautiful place, she was still the thing I loved the most. The only thing I wanted to keep. The only person I’ve ever loved so much that words fail to define my love,” I yell.
Several women start crying. Others put their hands over their mouths as they realize the magnitude of what is happening. “Is this part of the show? Is this a skit?” someone calls out.
The smart thing to do would be to agree with this, that yes, it’s a show and I’m an actor hired to portray the asshole from her novel. I’m already in too deep. I dig in my heels.
I shake my head and turn to face Carina again. “No, this isn’t part of the show. This is real life. I love you, and I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when I should have been. I made a mistake. You are the only thing I want. I need you. I do,” I say. I bring the book to lay it over my heart. “We are real. This book is fiction.”
She stands, keeping her gaze aimed at my face. “Oh, Smith. I can’t believe you’re doing this right now.”
“I wanted your attention,” I call out.
“You got it. And the hundreds of people here.” Shenods to the camera to our right. “And the millions that will see this on television.”
My heart skips a beat. I didn’t see the camera. I was too transfixed with her proximity. It’s surreal being this close to her after all this time.
“I’m the douchebag in this book!” I shout. People cheer—shouts and hoots of praise and boos of disapproval.
Carina hangs her head. “I love you too,” she whispers quietly. “You douchebag.”
“Forever?” I ask.
Her chest rises and falls quickly, nervous behavior from a woman who is making one of the most important decisions of her life. Her lips pressed in a firm line, they curl up in the corner. “And always.”
We stare at each other, the table separating us. I catch my breath, and she loses hers. “I need to do something then.”
Carina shakes her head, laughing, her tears changing from sad to happy. “Go ahead. You have a captive audience.” She leans closer, assuming I’m going to kiss her. Instead, I take the book in my hand and flip to page 452, the beginning of the end, and rip the last forty pages from the book.
With wide eyes and mouth ajar, Carina watches. I crumple them with my right fist, the one still leaking blood everywhere, and throw the pages on the floor. Then I hop over the table and take her in my arms.
“This is the ending,” I whisper so only she can hear.
She blinks away a tear, and like on autopilot, her arms rise up to hook around my neck. I close my eyes, breathe her in, and relish this moment like it may be my last. She reaches up, I bring my head down, and she presses her lips against mine in a kiss that fixes everything.
I’m holding, tasting, feeling her—my home. My love. My life. “My god, this feels so good,” I say, pulling away.
Her eyes are still closed. “I can’t believe it feels like this. After everything.”
