Page 62 of Crazy In Love (Love & War #2)

“He could’ve told me he loves me!” I cry out, drawing eyes and cautious steps back from those around me.

“He could’ve been brave, the way you expect me to be brave, and he could’ve spoken up.

But he didn’t. And then he didn’t even have the decency to hug me goodbye.

I haven’t seen his face since your fucking wedding.

And that just…” I viciously swipe treacherous tears from my cheeks.

“It sucks, okay! I’ve spent my whole life not being picked, so excuse me for a minute while I try to pick myself up. Again .”

“Fox—”

“I thought I was gonna get my Disney moment,” I whimper. “I’m the princess whose parents ran out on her, so obviously, my prince wouldn’t do that. Chris is averse to crowds. He hates having eyes on him. So I was kinda hoping for a Lloyd Dobler ending.”

“Llo—” She pauses. “What?”

“You know in the movie how he’s got the boombox over his head? He wanted her to know he loved her, Lana. That’s what I want.”

“This isn’t a movie,” she groans. “Not everything comes with a neat little bow.”

“But I want the bow! I want him to want me. Loud. Proud. I want him to make it a big deal because that’s what I need.

And he’s…” Stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying !

“I was so sure he was gonna do it at the wedding.” I wipe my stupid, leaking nose.

“He said he wanted to talk after. Then he asked me to dance. I thought that was my movie moment.”

“But then Booker ruined it.”

“Then Chris cut and run.” I wipe my cheek and look across as the light above the carousel illuminates and the belt begins circling.

Bet my case will be the last one to come out .

“You spent so much time talking about how he needed direct communication. How special he is and how it’s my job to talk straight.

But I need that, too. I need ‘ I choose you, Fox ’.

I need ‘ I’m in it for life. I’ll never leave.

’ I need someone to choose me because as it stands, I’m an almost-thirty-year-old loser who has retained literally zero relationships because everyone always leaves. ”

“She sighs, pained and sad. “Fox?—”

“Let me wallow for a while. Let me be mad and pathetic. I’m allowed to feel this way, and if you loved me at all, you’d agree.”

“Agree that you’re pathetic and pitiful?” she scoffs. “Guess we’re gonna fight about it then because, dammit, you’re supposed to make your own destiny. Stop bitching, and stop expecting someone else’s love to dictate how you feel about yourself.”

“That’s not what I?—”

“You want to live in Plainview, but you’ll only do it if Chris wants you?

No! You want to live in Rome, but only if no one is chasing you around the world?

Get the hell out of here with that corny bullshit.

You want to live in New York, but you’re only happy if a man is there with you?

Fuck off with that shit. You’re better than this, Fox! ”

“Alana—”

“We get it, okay? Your parents suck. You were hurt. You place self-worth in the hands of those around you. But can you make a decision for yourself for once in your fucking life? Be wherever you want to be. Do whatever you want to do. Do it for you . Find your happiness. Then, once you’re settled and loving yourself like the rest of us love you, that’s when everything else will click into place. ”

My jaw trembles with the sob I want so badly to give in to. My eyes burn with the tears filling them. My throat, even, warms with emotion.

“You’re being mean to me.” I sniffle. “I probably could’ve done without the tough love today.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “It breaks my heart to see you hurt.”

“But I need to choose me.” I lick my lips and scrub my eyes, clearing my view of the cases finally rolling onto the conveyor belt. “You’re saying no one else will be with me as much as I’m with me. So I have to love myself and yada yada yada.”

She chokes out a tearful laugh. “Yada, yada, yada. Basically. Maybe Rome is the right choice for you. Away from Chris. Away from us, even. It’ll just be you, which’ll force you to dig deep and find out who you really are.

Maybe in five years, you’ll come back an Italian-speaking goddess who knows she’s a bad bitch, because although I like reminding you every chance I get, I would much rather know your brain tells you, too. ”

Passengers come and go, rushing toward the conveyor belt when they see their luggage and clearing out a single second later when they’ve got their things. The crowd ebbs and flows, and with them, my emotions.

“I really love him, ya know?” I drag my palms across my face and wipe my tears. “He made me feel like I could conquer the world. Which is kinda new, since I’m usually winging life.”

“I know you love him.” She exhales a long, gentle sigh that creates a picture in my mind of her rocking her sweet baby.

Swaying in the muted light. Existing inside the life she always dreamed of.

“I even know how you feel today. I’ve left a Watkins behind, too.

I’ve walked into a new city, praying he would chase after me, but terrified that he would, too.

I know you so well, Fox, because you and I are too damn similar.

We were hurt by the people who were supposed to protect us, and then we rebuilt each other with the kind of love only a couple of lost girls could summon. ”

“It was safe,” I whimper. “It was easy.”

“And then we had to grow up. I faced my ghosts, Fox. But you keep running from yours.”

“I’m not running?—”

“Vietnam,” she counters. “Canada. Poland. Austria. You’ve been everywhere . You’ll go anywhere , so long as you don’t have to stare at yourself in the mirror.”

“Ouch.” I press a hand to my aching heart and groan. “That was mean.”

“Truthful,” she croons. “Sometimes, that shit hurts. So now you’re in New York, and Chris didn’t ask you to stay here. Which, honestly, was the right thing for him to do.”

“It would’ve helped if he had.”

“No,” she snickers, the sound watery and sad. “Because then you would’ve stayed. For him . We need to find what you want.”

“I want him to want me.” If I was paying attention to how truly fucked my day is, I probably could’ve predicted what rolls out of the carousel tunnel next.

But of course, the universe enjoys taunting me, busting my suitcase open so a pair of my underwear hang off the zipper.

My shoes: one in, and one on the conveyor belt.

“Damn.” I make damn sure my purse is hooked on the crook of my arm before wading through the crowd and getting my hands on the stupid suitcase.

I yank its overweight heft across the steel lip and onto the speckled floor.

“I’m hanging up now, Lana. I’ve gotta collect my panties before a creepy basement dweller pockets them. ”

“You’ve…” She pauses. “What?”

“Nothing. Just my life. Try to get eyes on Chris for me, okay? Make sure he’s alright. It scares me that he’s gone underground.”

“I’ll check on him. I promise. You wanna stay on the line while you get in a cab and head home?”

“No. It’s time to be alone, I think.” I catch sight of my approaching shoe, so I skip around my suitcase and lunge for it, slamming my ankle against the handle of my bag and hissing as pain radiates up through my leg.

Limping, I snag the damn shoe and scowl at the beady-eyed ogling of those around me.

“Stop looking at me! I’m from here. I’m not different .

” I crouch in front of my suitcase and work on stuffing everything back inside.

“I’ll text you when I get back to my apartment, Lana.

If by some crazy miracle Chris is there, like this is a giant set-up for his grand I love yous , then I probably won’t text you. I’ll be busy sobbing and having sex.”

She snorts. “If he’s there when you get there, and you plan your life around whatever he asks, then we’ll circle back around and do this all over again in six months. Or a year. Or five years.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Even if the sex is really, really good. It’s important you make these choices for you.”

“Worst pep talk ever.” I roll my eyes and quickly snatch my underwear off the edge of the conveyor belt, stuffing them in the case. “Love you.”

She sighs. “Love you, too. Make good choices.”

I tap my ear and end our call, so the hubbub of JFK airport on a Sunday evening and the rushed grunts and quick steps of passengers collecting their things replaces the soothing comfort Alana’s mere existence brings me.

Who knew I’d eventually miss the tractor-buggy luggage guy from Barlespy Airport?

“Ma’am?” A dark shadow falls over my shoulder, heavy boots popping into my peripherals, and the delicious cologne of a man who buys what smells good hits my lungs. But I don’t even hope for the impossible.

He doesn’t smell like Chris, anyway.

I peek over my shoulder and up at the dude who towers over me.

Six-foot something with broad shoulders and a pleasant smile.

He offers a hand, but when I merely stare, narrowed eyes and flat lips, he grabs on and pulls me to my feet, then he places a wad of balled fabric in my palm and leaves me with a pair of my underwear.

“I couldn’t think of a more discreet way to hand those back to you,” he teases. “Though I won’t lie, I considered flinging them off my finger, slingshot style.”

“Ha.” Not funny . I close my fist and meet his eyes. He’s handsome, I suppose. In the traditional, normal human being way. But he’s not Chris. And he’s not this mythological self-loving me . So I turn on my heels and continue packing. “Thanks.”

“I can’t help but notice you’re having a tough time.” He bends beside me, poking his head back into my space. “And you seem to be traveling alone. If you wanna, I could help you out?—”