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CHAPTER

FIFTY-SEVEN

JULIAN

We’re dressed in hoodies and dark sunglasses, the LA version of a discreet disguise. Still, we have to fight our way through hordes of photographers and curious onlookers. I have my arm around Maddie to protect her from the paparazzi, who are pushing and shoving to get the money shot.

Once we’re finally on the plane, we both relax. I’ll never understand how she lives in this constant chaos and public scrutiny. Maddie rummages through her bag, pulls out her headphones, and a familiar book.

“Not you too?” I roll my eyes and sigh. I can’t win. She responds with a shrug and a smile.

The woman across the aisle from me is reading it too. Tears stream down her face as she reads the last few pages. “Beautiful,” she says to herself as she closes the book and hugs it to her chest.

“That good, huh?” I ask her.

“Yes. You probably think I’m being silly, but the way she loves him. Fights for him. It’s so romantic.” She closes her eyes and continues to hold the book close.

I’m not sure what she’s talking about because Charlotte doesn’t fight for Gavin. He apologizes and does a traditional grand gesture, and they live happily for now. She’s not the first person to mention the ending and, well.

What if? No. The mere thought of reading this book feels like unlocking a chest full of memories that I’ve struggled so hard to keep sealed. I fear that once opened, I won’t have the strength to put them back in. I’ve made progress. Baby steps but progress, nonetheless. I only think about her eighty percent of my waking hours now. I’d hate to back slide.

Maddie twists in her seat, leans against the window, and pulls her legs until she’s a compact ball. She’s focused on her book and not in the talking mood. I get it. Me either.

I close my eyes and my mind drifts to Harper. Fuck, I miss her. Maybe I’ll reach out and make amends. We can still be friends, right? Maddie and I are friends after being lovers. It’s possible. But I never loved Maddie. Not like I loved Harper. My blood runs cold when I try to convince myself my love is past tense. I love Harper. I’m not sure I ever stopped. Or will.

I need something to focus on for the next five hours, so I’m not daydreaming about my shattered love life. I stare at the woman across the aisle for longer than is acceptable. Thank goodness her eyes are closed.

I lean across the aisle and tap her on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but do you mind if I borrow your book?”