good stuff as my parents had, they made sure of it.
I buried the good stuff for a long time. I was angry at myself for feeling too much. I wanted to crush my emotions any way I could.
I don’t want to do that anymore.
I’m done. Just like that.
All it took was a glance, her perfect face, a dismissal, a yellow dress, a white dress, a dance, a locked-away moment that was the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me, and a painful confession.
Now I know why she’s scared.
I’ve known many people like him, of course I have. I was a part of that scene, to a certain extent.
But I’m not him. I’m nothing like him and I never was.
Now all I need to do is convince her of that.
All the hard, heartless, I-don’t-give-a-fuck years have led me here. To a place where I understand how much I’ve been missing out on.
All my raging, misdirected energy has converged into one white-hot fireball of obsession that has lodged itself right in the middle of my chest. I’m going to heal her and give her everything she’s ever dreamed of. I’m going to replace one innocent mistake and all its painful consequences with a lifetime of good memories.
Am I in love with her?
Can a person know for sure, so quickly, so suddenly?
As much as a person can ever know.
I do. I fucking love her.
I’m completely and utterly besotted with her.
I feel like fucking crying. And laughing. I feel like getting drunk and howling at the moon. I feel like breaking my way into her apartment and crawling into bed with her, wrapping myself around that sweet little body and soul and holding her close. Making sure she’s warm enough. Make sure she’s not scared anymore. Making her smile and come and laugh like she’s never laughed.
It’s a gargantuan shift. Like the world is tilting off its axis. My life has suddenly taken on a new meaning. It’s not about what I want anymore. It’s about what will make her happy enough to let me in. Her smile is more important to me than my own has ever been.
Fucking hell.
This is intense.
I get my driver to pull over. I get out and walk for a while. I think about what I’m going to do. I start to make a plan. I need to keep myself occupied or I’ll never last two whole days without fucking running over there and banging down her door.
Women check me out as I walk along the waterfront, like they always do.
Fuck off! I feel like yelling. I’m hers. I finally found her. She exists! She’s perfect and she’s real. Everything about me belongs to her and only her.
Should I go to her now?
No. I’ll give her the weekend to say her goodbyes to Josie and to sleep off the release of a long-held, painful confession. My mother used to go to therapy. She always used to go to bed after a session and sleep for several hours. Right now I’m in the process of finding someone for Caleb to see. I know enough about psychology to understand that Luna is probably going to be dealing with some pretty heavy emotions this weekend. It’s good she’s with Josie. Josie knows. Josie will soften the pain with her kindness and the comforting depth of their long friendship.
Come Monday morning, though, baby, you’re all mine.
So I go back to my hotel suite.
I spend the next fifty-four hours, eighteen minutes and twelve seconds doing research, making phone calls, falling into fitful black holes of sleep that she haunts with her sighs and her softness. I crave her like a man possessed. I love her so much it feels like the memory of her and the promise of seeing her again are rearranging the alchemy of my soul.
I almost break down a hundred times.
I decide to send her flowers. She won’t mind that, will she?
I do it. I send four dozen roses and a few other things she might like. I try not to go overboard. I don’t want to overwhelm her but if I don’t do something that touches her I’m seriously going to lose my goddamn fucking mind.
I work out in the private gym for a while. I do a few laps in the pool. I order room service and get drunk and, for the very first time, I cry over the death of my parents. I get it now, I tell them. I get everything. I found it. I found