If I have to chase her to the airport, I’m not letting her disappear on me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Scottie
My Jackie O sunglasses and oversized sun hat are ridiculous inside the lobby, but that’s the point. I’m not wearing anything baseball-related, and I have my hair tucked under my hat so not even the desk clerk will recognize me. I don’t want anyone asking questions I can’t answer.
I just want to get in the car that my app says is seven minutes away, get to the airport, and take the first flight out.
It’s easier this way.
If I’m gone, Doug doesn’t have to deal with drama, Lucas doesn’t have to risk everything he’s worked for just to defend me, and Jake doesn’t have to confront the pain of his mistakes.
By disappearing, I can carry it for everyone and fix it, at the same time.
I did the brave thing last night—scheduled the post, sent the text, told myself it was finally over—and woke up to it being the worst thing I’ve ever done. If I’d known I’d be punished forfinally putting myself first, I’m not sure I would have been able to. It hurts so much more than never trying, because at least then, I didn’t know what I was missing.
So disappearing is just easier.
And more comfortable.
Requires the least of me.
Except …
I’m not sure it’s ever actually helped anything.
My phone’s flipped over on my lap. I could turn it over and find out how angry everyone is.
Or I could turn it over and ask someone to come find me.
I’ve never tried that.
Maybe that’s the real problem …
My thumb is already moving. I pull up my texts as the doors to the hotel slide open. A group of guests walks in, bringing the scent of exhaust and dust with them. I duck my head, angling my hat to cover my face and hide my phone. The hotel security is keeping the media out, but fans and sneaky reporters have a habit of doing whatever they want.
“Richard, keep up! I know she’s here, and I’m not going to let her be alone,” a voice says.
My mom’s voice.
I’m sitting in a cushy arm chair in the lobby, and my parents have to pass me to reach the front desk. When I look up in shock, my mom must notice the movement out of the corner of her eye, because she glances over.
Stops.
She’s running for me before my mouth can even fall open.
“Scottie girl!” she says, dropping to her knees and pulling me out of my chair and into a crushing hug. “I’m so sorry.”
Her arms knock my sun hat sideways, the brim sliding down over my ear, and my sunglasses get shoved halfway up my forehead. I don’t even bother fixing them.
Because my mom is hugging me with the fierceness of a mother bear, holding me so tightly, it’s hard to breathe.
“I’m so sorry,” she’s saying. Crying. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
I’m crying, too. Shaking. “Sorry for what?” I whisper.
She doesn’t pull back to look at me. She’s holding me like she can’t risk letting go. “We should never have pushed you to do this. Jake’s reputation isn’t worth your happiness.”
