Page 92 of Come to Me

I'm so sorry, but I have to move this trip. Remember me talking about Mrs. Waters? Well, she won't be talked into settling (even though a judge is only going to give her half the alimony her husband is offering. I swear. She's ridiculous). And, ethical obligation, all that bullshit. I can't pawn her off on someone else when it's just me here.

I'm taking most of a month off at the end of your run. I'll spend two weeks with you in New York. Then, we can go wherever you want. Somewhere warm and gorgeous where there's a ton to see (but we'll stay in the hotel room anyway).

I love you, Ally. I'm so sorry about this. I promise it has nothing to do with us. It's just work butting into my life the way it tends to.

I can't wait to see you. It will be here before you know it.

Love,

Luke

A fucking email.He tells me this in a fucking email. Yes, the email is time-stamped at a very unreasonably late hour. And, sure, I would have hated it if he'd called me at six A.M. (what the hell was he doing up at three?), but it's not like he found out about his client's bullshit sometime after midnight.

He could have called.

Sure, he promises it has nothing to do with me. But he's always promising something.

It's not that far away. It's only an extra month. Only one more month of everything falling apart.

And then it will just be us again, back together again, with absolutely no excuse for why things aren't working the way they should.

With no excuse for why I'm not gung-ho about planning some damn wedding.

He tries harder, calling me after my performance to wish me good night, offering to come for a day and a half. Talking to me, offering more of himself.

But I don't want him to rush here and back—I know how much work he has to do.

I offer to fly in for a day, but he says the same to me. That it'll be too much for me and I should conserve my energy.

Which leaves us right where we already are.

On opposite coasts.

It's no good.

But there's no help for it.

Chapter Twenty

Luke

Time passes quickly. I'm busy. Alyssa is busy. We barely have room for our usual phone calls.

There's a nagging voice in my mind. Telling me I didn't try hard enough to convince Mrs. Waters, that I could have convinced her to settle if I'd cared more, that, deep down, I wanted to cancel the trip.

But that's ridiculous.

I spend the flight to New York thinking about how I'm going to make this up to her.

* * *

There'sa pleasantness to the coldness of New York City in the fall. It seeps in from the gray streets, to the front of every building.

Everywhere I go is either freezing from the cold outside or sweltering from a heater. There's no just right, no place where it's comfortable to sit without a coat.

I reach the theater early, not wanting to risk missing the show.

My phone buzzes with an incoming message almost immediately.