Page 147 of Redeemed (Dirty Air 4)

Something cold seeps through my chest, replacing any warmth at seeing Chloe in the first place.

She threw away my flowers? What the hell?

Did she even bother reading my note or did it meet the same fate as the flowers?

Wow. I can’t believe she threw them out.

Instead of accepting defeat by her dismissal of my gift, I use it to fuel me. I was a fool in the first place for thinking a vase of flowers and a note would get her to give me a chance. Flowers and sweet nothings aren’t the way to her heart, and I should’ve known better. She’s always been unexpected, and I went with the most basic idea.

I take today as the challenge it is. I’m not the type to back down from oppositional forces. If I was, I wouldn’t have ever won a World Championship in the first place. Hell, I wouldn’t have started racing again after my injury if I wasn’t a fighter. Clearly, I underestimated my opponent.

Round one may have gone to Chloe, but I plan on winning the whole damn thing.

What do I get a girl who doesn’t care much for presents? How do I express I love her and I’m sorry through actions rather than words?

I jolt from my bed as the idea hits me. Chloe loves eighties romances, and I’m here to deliver. It’s time to channel my inner John Hughes and get to work.

The next idea takes an excruciatingly long time to complete. It frustrates me because I feel like I’m losing precious time getting her back. I don’t know how the fuck Chloe makes these damn embroidery circles as quickly as she does, but what must take her minutes takes me hours. I’ve earned a new appreciation for the designs she creates because this is hard as fuck. Threads constantly get knotted together and I stab my fingers with the needles more times than I can count.

The whole process is worth it. Chloe seems like the girl who appreciates something handmade. And nothing says “I’m sorry” quite like an embroidered disaster-piece. Sure, the design looks a little wonky but it was made with love. I’m sure if Chloe closes her left eye and squints with the right, it will look pretty damn good.

Seriously, I might be biased, but I would forgive whoever made me something as atrocious as this. Anyone can tell the person has no shame and is so hopelessly in love, they would create it in the first place. I’m a simpering fool who has nothing to lose and everything to gain by fighting for Chloe’s forgiveness.

I release a shaky breath.

Here goes nothing.

46

Chloe

In a half-asleep daze, I reach out for Santiago, only to be met with empty, cold sheets.

He’s not here because you told him not to be.

Yeah, well, he’s not here because he lied again.

The voices in my head battle it out.

You’re not being fair to him. At least hear him out. Would you have done something better than him if you were in that position?

Uh, I’d probably start with maybe not taking me out on a boat and pretending all is dandy in our little world. Sounds like a solid start.

I groan as I throw a pillow over my face and block out the world. Rationalizing Santiago’s actions sucks because I have no idea what I would’ve done if I was in the same position as him. And it annoys me more than I care to admit.

An emptiness fills me as I wake up and get out of bed. The house is eerily quiet except for my feet slapping against the floor as I walk through the rooms.

Despite everything, Santiago was way too nice for letting me stay here. It’s not right for me to accept his offer and force him to sleep elsewhere.

But he did hurt you. So there’s that.

Part of me is grateful for his absence. Besides him dropping off his present a few days ago, he hasn’t shown up. He hasn’t even texted me or grabbed an extra change of clothes. His silence surprises me more than I care to admit, and I don’t know what to make of it. Just like I don’t know what to make of his present the other day.

Did he think a vase of flowers would fix everything between us? It did the exact opposite. I spent the entire morning with a tightness in my chest every time I looked at them.

The visual reminder of us filled me with a different kind of sadness. And then I got mad that I was sad, and I stuck with anger because it seemed like a safer emotion.

During a flood of feelings, I ripped up the note and threw the bouquet away, only to instantly regret it. Beautiful things like flowers shouldn’t be destroyed because of anger. I took