Page 154 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
“It isn’t like I’m not going to try to make it work. I’ll drive back on weekends—”
“Which are the busiest days for jumps.”
“I’ll make my off days match his so we can be together.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Desi, I love him, damn it. I want to make this work. I’m doing the best I fricking can, so stop the guilt trip, will you?”
She smiles. “I know you do. I also know you run when you’re scared. You put the pedal to the metal and race the wind and follow wherever it takes you . . . but I’m calling you on it this time. I’m holding you accountable. I’m not letting you leave us without knowing the exact day you are coming back . . . and it better be less than seven.”
“It’s only temporary.”
She stands, saying, “It better be,” before walking down the stairs without looking back and stopping when she reaches Grant in the parking lot. She laughs about something, and there’s an easiness between them—my lover and my best friend—that tells me I’ve built something here. A family. A place I belong. Every part of me wishes things didn’t have to change.
I watch the crane lift the old sign, its beeping filling the air as it swings it to the far side of the building, and I hate it. Everything about it.
As Grant heads in my direction, I make my way down the stairs.
“Are you ready for date night?” he asks as he closes the distance. “I just have to change real quick and I’ll be—what’s that?” he asks as he notices the storage containers stacked at the bottom of the stairs.
“Hi.” I pull him toward me and kiss him hello with an unexpected desperation that suddenly feels so real.
I don’t want to lose him.
I don’t want to lose this feeling.
But I also don’t want to lose who I am.
“Whoa. Well, if that’s the kind of greeting I get when I come here when my shift ends, then I’ll be here every day at this time.” He chuckles against my lips as I just pull him into me and hold on tighter.
How am I going to tell him?
How am I going to convince him I’m not going gypsy?
“Em, I can put these with my shit when I take this trip . . .” Leo says as he turns the corner, his words trailing off when he sees Grant standing in front of me.
“Trip to where?” Grant asks as he takes notice that the containers are labeled as kitchen, desk, and bathroom. Grant looks from me to Leo and then back to me. “What the hell is going on, Emerson?” He’s already shaking his head, rejecting the notion that he already knows.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about tonight,” I say, my voice barely audible. In my periphery, I see Leo slowly slink away and wish I could go with him. If the look on Grant’s face is any indication, our date night is about to turn into a blowout fight.
“You’re not going anywhere!” The workers pulling down the sign turn to look at us, prompting him to grab my wrist and all but drag me up the stairs so we can have privacy, which is a huge mistake. When he enters my flat and sees everything stacked in partially filled boxes, the hurt is written all over his face.
I could have played it off before. I had planned to tell him I was prepping for the end of the month, but him seeing Leo and knowing Leo is moving on to Fly High is all he needs to draw the conclusion.
He stares at me, a plethora of emotions flickering through those brown eyes of his and every single one of them—hurt, disappointment, disbelief—is paralyzing. “Were you going to tell me, Em? Or were you going to leave in the middle of the night like a gypsy because you were too scared to face me?”
“I told you I was going to tell you tonight.” I take a step toward him. “It isn’t what you’re thinking, Grant.”
“It isn’t? What exactly am I thinking, then?”
“I’m a restless soul. Blue Skies was my chance to settle, and now it’s gone. The new owner hasn’t said boo, and for all I know, they’re going to raze the place. They’ve already cleaned out the hangar. It’s written on the wall, my days here are limited.”
“You don’t know what the new owners are going to do. They’re already starting to make changes, taking the sign down, what have you. You have a month left on your rent, why not stay here and see what happens first?”
“In theory, it sounds good. But everything sounds good in theory. If it is a new flight school, that takes time to set up. Certifications, insurance . . . I can’t wait around for six months to see if I can start my life again,” I murmur, as if speaking the words softly will make them hurt him less.
“What about me, Emerson? What about us?” The way he says it—the hurt e
