Craig is currently in prison, serving three years. It might not sound like much, but I know that no matter what, his life, as he knew it, is ruined. He got stripped of everything he cared about, and for me, that’s enough.
“You’re thinking about how nice Jeff is again,” Ransom murmurs, looking about ready to punch a wall.
“The devil called. He wants his attitude back.” I laugh.
“Tell him he should know better than to ask a bastard like me for anything. I’m keeping it.”
Despite the traffic, we get to LAX in time. We park in the long-term parking lot and check our bags and ourselves into the next flight to Dallas. We hold hands. We grin at each other. We’re the couple I used to look at from across the street and loathe, because they looked so wholesome.
“Are you having second thoughts?” he asks. I know he means about moving to Chicago.
“Not really.” I scrunch my nose. “I know you can’t move your business elsewhere. I can. Art doesn’t have an address. Its home is in our souls.”
Ever since his cybersecurity department opened, it blew up. Ransom travels a lot, but his hub remains in Chicago.
“That is the most Hallie statement I’ve ever heard.” He smiles.
He squeezes my hand, bringing it over to his mouth, brushing his lips against the back of it.
“You’d have done the same for me,” I say, knowing it’s the truth.
“In a heartbeat.”
A make-out session on the terminal seats and a coffee later, we board the plane. I no longer travel to Texas with lead in the pit of my stomach. I feel good. Light, even. I have my own room in my parents’ house. And Mom makes it a point to free up time for me whenever I’m there to go shopping, eat, or just head out for a nice stroll. It’s still not the kind of relationship I’d dreamed of when I lay in a strange bed in a foreign country, in boarding school accommodations that didn’t belong to me. But it’s a start.
After takeoff, Ransom turns around and gives me that smirk. The one that turns my bones marshmallow-soft. It’s infectious, and I find myself smiling back. We still power-struggle. We still push each other to the edge, challenge one another every step of the way. But the game has become so much more fun, now that I know that his love is unconditional.
“Care to join the Mile High Club?” He quirks a thick eyebrow.
I tap my lips, pretending to think about it. “Was it Groucho Marx who said he wouldn’t want to be accepted to any club that’s willing to have him?”
It’s a midnight flight. The few people in business class are fast asleep.
“Did he say that? Well, I don’t trust people with moustaches,” Ransom deadpans.
I let out a soft laugh. “What a thing to say.”
“It’s scientific.” He frowns, dead serious. “There’s a reason why no president after Grover Cleveland had a moustache. They were advised against it. Not just bad associations, but bad character traits.”
I’m grinning, delighted to be basking in his attention, in his passion once again. We see each other every two weeks, but lately, it hasn’t been enough.
“I’ll go first, and you wait a few minutes.” I bite down on my lower lip. “And…Ran?”
He stares at me.
“Let’s pretend like I don’t want it.”
He gives me a nod. I stand up, slipping into the narrow passageway and making my way to the lavatory. Before I even click the door shut, he is behind me, blocking my path to close it.
“You’re playing dirty, Mr. Lockwood.”
“Well, Miss Thorne, it’s the only way I know how to play.”
It is a tediously boring ceremony.
With all the staples of a boring couple: swan-shaped ice statues, white peonies, and one malnourished, anxious bride. The upside—and there is, indeed, only one positive to the event—is the fact that it will be over soon.
My girlfriend—the bridesmaid—is currently skipping between people, the social butterfly that she is, accepting compliments about her breathtaking beauty. I lounge back in my seat and watch her thrive. It’s a peculiar feeling, to care for someone else. But I don’t hate the helplessness that comes with feeling this way toward someone anymore.