me to his broad chest. I can feel the steady beat of his heart against my cheek, so strong and true.
Until he pulls away.
His hands cup my face, his fingers in my hair as he presses his lips to mine, savoring the feel of our sweet connection. “I love you, Lena. Always.”
And then he’s gone, pulling away and stepping back.
He reaches over and holds open the passenger door. With wooden legs, I slip into the car, my eyes meeting his one last time. “Stay safe, sweetheart.” He gives me that smile, the cocky smirk I fell in love with so many years ago. “Be happy.”
Then he stands up, closes the door, and taps the roof. We gently lurch forward, my heart racing as we head to the airport.
Toward home.
Suddenly, I realize I was wrong. The loneliness doesn’t happen when I get home, back to my cold, empty little house in Brenton. It engulfs and chokes me the moment I’m alone in this car, driving away from the racetrack. Away from Mack and Oliver. That’s when the true despair of solitude surrounds me.
***
I don’t go home. After the plane lands and my dad picks me up, I have him take me to his house at the track. The plane ride was the longest of my life, filled with tears and questions I don’t have the answers to. I wasn’t able to think about anything but the look on his face and his final words.
Be happy.
That’s why I’m in my dark room at four in the morning instead of sleeping in the twin-sized bed in my old room. I can’t sleep, even though I’m exhausted. Every time I try, all I see is his eyes, the sadness and the pain. I feel it in my chest too.
I go through the process of developing film from the race before I went to Los Angeles. Most of the prints are on my digital camera, but I always take a few with my old Nikon too. Only, this time, there’s no joy. As I hang the prints on the line to dry, I don’t feel that satisfaction I usually feel as the images truly start to come to life.
I feel empty.
And alone.
I drop my tweezers and walk to the corner of the room. My back hits the wall and my legs finally give out, letting me slowly slide down the hardness. The tears come fast, and I don’t even try to stop them. I let the pain wrap around my chest and squeeze.
When I wake up mid-morning, I’m alone in my studio, having passed out on the couch from sheer exhaustion, surely not a single tear left in my body. How could there be? I’ve cried them all. I ignore the thought reminding me I could go back. I could make this right.
But I won’t.
This is where I belong, not in California.
I don’t want that life, right?
Doubt slips in and won’t let go, a horrible reminder of the love I left behind. He didn’t ask me to stay, but I know why. I understand it, and in a way, am more grateful for that than anything else. Because I know myself well enough to know I would have done it, and quite possibly been miserable the entire time.
He wouldn’t want that for me.
He’d hate himself for it.
But what if…
What if I wasn’t as miserable on the road as I thought I’d be?
I surely wasn’t when I was traveling with Oliver and Mack. Yet…there’s too much doubt. Too much worry.
That’s why I’m going to take this time for me, to really think about what I want in life. Maybe that’s this life, home in Brenton with my dad nearby and my trusty studio just a stone’s throw away. Safe. Secure.
Or maybe it’s somewhere else.
All I know is I can’t answer that now. I need coffee—lots and lots of caffeine—and a hot shower. I need to slip back into my routine and spend a little me-time, reflecting on what I need out of this life.
Then, and only then, can I be the person I’m meant to be.
And maybe with the person I’m meant to be with.
Chapter Twenty
Mack
I hate this. I hate being in my house because suddenly it feels cold and lifeless. Even when I do everything in my power to focus on Oliver and his needs, it’s incomplete. Sure, I’m one-hundred-percent vested in his care, but it’s like I’m hollow inside. In fact, it’s Oliver that actually keeps me moving forward, getting up and making sure