Chasing Crazy - Kelly Siskind Page 0,99

We get in. The airport appears. Lines move. People rush. Tickets are given. Fucking fickle time. Before I know it, we’re through security, the two of us fidgeting with the straps of our small carry-on packs.

“So,” she says.

“So.” Heat builds behind my eyes. No words are adequate. We’re standing across from each other, frowning, sniffling, neither of us closing the gap. This whole time she’s been locked to my side, but now that the good-bye is official, awkwardness amplifies between us.

She reaches for my hips, her fingers curling into my jeans. “I’m sorry, Sam.” Her gaze stays focused on my waist.

“About what? That your mom’s sick?”

She sighs. “No. It’s just, if I didn’t feel the need to be there, to look after my family, then—”

“Nina, stop. If you ditched your family now, at a time like this, we probably wouldn’t make it. The girl I fell in love with on this trip is loyal and caring. That girl’s worth waiting for. That girl’s worth moving heaven and earth for. Enough of this ‘sorry’ bullshit.”

“Okay. Sorry.” She purses her lips and does that funny frowning thing, likely giving herself a mental beating for apologizing. Again.

I even love that ugly-ass face she makes.

I lift her chin, needing to see her eyes. “We’ll get through this. I love you. Your mom will be fine. We’ll be fine. We’ll get through this.” I say it in my head a few more times, desperate to believe it.

The saddest smile I’ve ever seen mars her beautiful face. “Yeah,” she says, but the doubt there, the worry, has me searching for the perfect line to make her understand. To make sure she knows how I feel.

She has to wait for me. This has to work.

Terrified, I mirror her “Yeah,” because my throat’s too tight to say much else.

We kiss again, but it’s not fueled with passion. It’s not the kiss of two people promising themselves to each other. It’s a brushing of lips, distant almost. It’s worse than swallowing nails. Then she’s on the moving walkway, gliding away. From me. Fuck. She keeps her gaze ahead, doesn’t look back. I’m guessing she doesn’t want to fall apart. She’s trying to keep it together. But I can’t let her go like this.

“Nina,” I call.

Her ponytail whips around, and the lady behind her moves before they collide.

“Wait. Just wait!” I’m doing my half-hop, half-run beside the moving walkway while Nina says, “I’m sorry,” and, “Excuse me,” to each person she nudges as she tries to walk the wrong way toward me.

When I reach her, I lean over the railing, grab her neck, and kiss her for forever. For each day we’ll be apart. For each night I’ll miss her. I keep time with the gliding walkway, oblivious to the stares and murmurs of passersby until a pile of luggage blocks my way. She slips from my fingers.

I swallow hard and holler, “I love you, Nina!”

A grin rounds out her tearstained cheeks. She leans over the handrail. “It’s Pininfarina, and I love you, too, One-syllable Sam.”

Hearing her own that awesome name has me swelling with pride, but One-syllable Sam? I almost call after her to find out what that means, but she looks ready to crawl into her carry-on bag, her trademark blush flushing her face. Then she’s off the platform and walking away, her ponytail swaying, my chest constricting. I’m not sure how I’m going to make it through the next year. This pressure against my ribs isn’t the type of ache that eases with time. Nina’s craziness is my lifeline, her insanity a shot of adrenalin to my heart. She’s funny and clumsy and sexy and sweet. She turns me sideways in the best way.

Being apart will be tortuous. Unbearable. But I can do this, right? We can make it, right? The erratic pounding of my heart and the sinking feeling in my gut has me turning and walking away, unable to watch her any longer. With each step, my optimism joins my heart. In a freefall.

One fucking year.

One Year Later

Pininfarina

I smooth my skirt for the tenth time, shifting from foot to foot. Am I early? Did I mess up the time? Where is he?

My tai chi classes are supposed to help with my nervousness, but my heart still feels ready to make a jailbreak. Although I conquered a slew of my phobias with Sam, the shaky, jumpy, neurotic tendencies that send my brain into overdrive haven’t lessened. Pininfarina Gabri is still in full effect. These days, though,