of hope courses over my body.
"We have a lot to talk about," I tell them. "But I'm so glad you're here."
Quaid slings his arm around my waist. "How about a little less talking and a lot more drinking," he suggests, a touch of nervousness threaded throughout his voice.
"There's a champagne bar at the top of the tower," I purr, tearing my gaze away from Quaid's gorgeous face to once again focus on the glittery splendor of the wonder in front of me.
"Lead the way, my lady," he tells me, beginning to walk me towards the entrance. Logan's hand touches my lower back, and a shiver runs through me. Carter follows silently behind us, as has always been his way, but I can feel his gaze on me as we walk.
We take an elevator to the second floor before switching to a different elevator to make our way up.
It's cold when we reach the top. The wind beats at us, but I don't mind, not when I have the Parisian nightscape sprawling before me.
It's actually a bit hard to concentrate on the jewel of a city, however, because I can't believe that they're really here. My pictures didn't do them justice. My internet stalking didn't either. They seem to be having the same problem, because I catch them looking at me every time as well.
There's an awkwardness in the air around us. None of us are sure what to say. That last time there were so many hard words spoken. I can still feel them hovering around us. My heart mourns for all the years when we could say anything to each other. The three men standing around me might as well be strangers.
Quaid pushes his hair off his face. It's much longer than he used to wear it growing up, and my hands itch to touch it. "Should we go inside?" he asks, and the rest of us nod, grateful for anything to break this stifling tension.
We walk into the champagne bar, and I immediately order a glass of white champagne that I gulp down. The guys are a bit disgruntled to find out that the champagne bar lives up to its name and that's the only thing they can order there, but they get their own flutes of champagne and we find ourselves a table in the crowded bar.
Quaid grimaces slightly as we sit down, and I'm reminded of his injury and the fact that he's here instead of rehabbing.
"How have you been feeling?" I ask him, and his face flushes at the question.
"You know about my injury?"
"I think the whole world knows about your injury," I tell him wryly.
Logan snorts at my response. "You're kind of a big deal, dude," he says. "The Dallas Cowboys. I always knew you would be somebody big."
Quaid doesn't look proud of the acknowledgment of his accomplishment. He looks distinctly uncomfortable actually.
"I've followed every aspect of your career," I tell him, feeling emotional about how much of his life I've missed and how proud I am of him. I stare out the window of the bar to the soaring views, trying to control my emotions. There's a part of me that can't stand to be vulnerable in front of these men who have become strangers.
"You have?" There's an awestruck sound in Quaid's voice, like he can't believe it. The sound draws my eyes.
"Why would you be surprised at that?" I ask.
"Maybe because you fucking left out of the blue when you didn't get your way," he snaps. "You weren't exactly preaching eternal love at that point, were you?"
I don't have anything to say to that, and the table once again descends into silence. I throw back my drink and get up to go to the bar to get another glass.
As I stand there, my nausea increases, and I reach into my purse for the pills, shakily popping a couple in my mouth as I try to get myself together.
"Val," a whisper breathes across my neck as Quaid's hand comes to rest at my lower back. "I'm sorry."
I quickly throw my pill bottle back into my clutch so he won't be able to see what it is. Taking a deep breath, I turn and face him. He's standing just an inch away from me when I turn, and his gaze flicks to my lips briefly with yearning before he meets my eyes again.
He takes my elbow and leads me back outside so we have some semblance of privacy at least from the other two.
"It's