Fuck it.Why flay myself when I can confront him shortly?
If he wanted a reconciliation, he should’ve thought about that before ignoring me the past few months. Which is why I didn’t bother contacting him lately. When I realized I was the one initiating all the contact between us, I stopped, to see what would happen.
His silence speaks volumes, and I’m no idiot.
We speed south, down Springhill Road, and it takes me only a few minutes before I know exactly where we’re heading.
Tallahassee International.
Sure enough, only twenty minutes later, we’re slowing as the agent driving turns down a service road and heads toward what I’m pretty sure is a secure area.
After going through a couple of security checkpoints, we round a corner, and on the parking ramp sitsAngel.
Air Force One.
Motherfucker.
I mean, I alreadyknewthat’s what I was going to see. It shouldn’t be a shocker, I suppose.
So, I guess we’re doing this. Iknewthat was bullpucky about it not being Leo behind this.
It’s not bad enough I ripped my own heart and soul to shreds doing the adult thing and walking away from him so that I’m not an impediment to Elliot becoming president. Now Leo’s got to try to suck me back in likethis?
I mean, let’s not call, or write, or something logical.
Oh, noooo.
Let’s not romantically show up at my door with a dozen roses one evening.
Or, considering my finances, I’d accept a case of ramen noodles and canned tuna.
No, Leo Davidson Cruz has to pull out all the stops and drag my ass out of my office and all the way over here to the airport, and put on a really bigshow.
I’ve been scrupulously avoiding any coverage about President Samuels’ whereabouts, because I didn’t want to play the “what if” game with myself about Leo’s whereabouts.
Worse, I didn’t want to catch a glimpse of him on TV and have it shatter my heart. I cry enough already. I’m having to use the allergies excuse a lot less than I did in the beginning though, so I guess that’s a win.
I don’t have cable, but I also avoid anything that might lead me to a news site, especially a political news site.
It’s working, I guess. I haven’t locked myself in the bathroom at work to have a midday cry in at least two months because I accidentally found myself staring at a picture of us that made me bawl.
Not only do we drive out onto the parking ramp, we pull right up next to the fucking plane. There’s no crowd around, no press, so I don’t know what’s going on. I’m assuming that means President Samuels isn’t here, and the press is wherever she is.
Again, I suppose Leo couldn’t have asked me to meet him somewhere a little less imposing or public.
Couldn’t take the time to show up inpersonto talk to me.
A really big shew…
One of the agents opens the door for me. His meaning is clear when he points toward the staircase that’s pushed against the plane.
Pulling myself up to my full five-seven, I hold my head high and march my happy little ass up the stairs, determined Iamgoing to make Leo fricking Cruz regret trying to play me like this.
Even if I miss him like damn crazy and hate myself every day for walking away from him.
And even though part of me knows when I see him it’ll take every ounce of self-control I have not to run to him and throw myself at him and beg him to take me back.
Except when the agents stop behind me, going no farther than the plane’s entry, I’m shocked when I realize who’s standing there in the doorway to the private suite in the nose of the plane.
Because it’s not Leo.
It’s Elliot.
