Page 239

“You’re good at it.”
Another beat, and she was still there. Desmond sighed inwardly; it was ridiculous that a sixteen-year-old was driving him out of his own office but he really didn’t want to continue the conversation. “Well. If you’ll excuse me…”
“Did I mess something up?”
Their words overlapped each other. Hind chewed the inside of her lip, then repeated herself. “Did I do something wrong?”
“What do you mean?” asked Desmond, trying very carefully to keep his face bland.
“I mean, the night after the party.” Hind’s voice was growing softer and softer. “I didn’t mean— It was all that social media stuff, all the attention, all the pictures…”
“Hind.”
“It was my fault. I knew Val wouldn’t like the exposure and I did it anyway. People were just so into her. Into both of you.” She waved a hand in his general direction. “I mean, you’re like, so old, butmashallah, you made for some good content—”
Old?He tried his best not to look as offended as he felt.
Surprisingly, Hind took the hint. “And now she’s not here,” she said, staring at the ground. “I know something’s wrong. Valalwaysanswers.”
“Hind…”
“Do you think she’s mad at me?”
“I’ll tell her to call you,” he promised, and unceremoniously ushered the girl out. “Don’t feel guilty, Hind. It’s self-indulgent and won’t get you anywhere. As long as your intentions are good, you can feel sorry about how something turned out. You can learn from it, but you shouldn’t feel guilt.”
“But that’s impossible,” she said after a pause.
“Itfeelsimpossible but it is not actually impossible. You should concentrate on the lessons learned, not the fallout from what happened.” As the last words left his mouth, he paused. Hard.
You could be talking about yourself.
No!the little voice deep inside his chest hit back, licking up like a flame he’d been tending for years.She didn’t hurt people the way you did.
But was it really so different? Would he have reacted differently to Flight 0718 if someone had advised him the way he’d just advised Hind? Or, if he’d sought out someone who could help him work through the pain of what he’d done?
He realized after a long moment that he’d been holding his breath. He released it, slowly, then rubbed his aching jaw.
He knew exactly what it would take to get help. Hell, this wasn’t his parents’ generation. He had access to the best care, the best therapy, that existed, both mentally and physically. What had held him back was the fact that he knew it would hurt like hell, working through this—and that abandoning his guilt felt like abandoning the victims of Flight 0718. They’d suffered, so why shouldn’t he?
Then, a still, small voice somewhere inside, a voice that had been stoked to life by Val’s gentleness, spoke as if in a whisper.
You’ve invested so much in their healing. Why not your own?
Why not, indeed? He was looking at himself clearly for the first time in years. The years ahead stretched before him like a yawning abyss. What would they look like? Would he continually push away what felt so perfect? Had Valentina Montgomery and that one mad night been a catalyst for freedom for him as well as for her?
He hoped, but he was afraid. Desmond lifted his hands and ran them over his head. He could go and see her. Find her. Explain why he’d pushed her away. The memory of the way Val had looked at him during those dark nights in London when there was no turmoil, when she unfolded in his arms like a bud to the sun…
What would it be like, to return fully the affection he’d seen written all over face? What would it be like to be free to love her? What would it be like to deserve her?
Could he do it? And if anyone was worth it, wasn’t it Valentina Montgomery?
* * *
It had been so long since she’d been in the States that Valentina felt like a stranger. Sand and desert heat seemed more natural to her now than the lush greenery of North America. Everything here was Technicolor-bright, blurring her eyes with expanses of green. Even the air felt different. And here, in her family home in New Orleans, a feeling that she’d missed so much was combined with an odd sense that time had stood still. It was home, but it wasn’therhome, not anymore.
She’d vacillated between surprising her mother and letting her know in advance that she was coming. In the end, the prospect of, at best, an incredibly awkward reunion and, at worst, giving her mother a heart attack, she had decided to call. When she announced that she was coming to visit, her mother was completely silent on the other end of the line.
“Mama?”