Page 82 of Boss Abroad
That’s it. I’m erasing the word ‘appreciate’ from the English language. Burning all dictionaries with it at the stake.
“April, you can’t just pack and leave like this.” Stubborn little thing that she is, that’s just what she starts doing. “Can you just wait?” I can’t think straight if she’s packing.
“No, I can’t. And I can’t afford to think too much about it or factor you into this decision. I just have to go. We knew this would end soon enough.”
That’s where she’s wrong. I don’t know shit anymore, only that now is way too soon and I haven’t had enough. Not even close. I need more.
She doesn’t look at me. She’s on a mission and can’t be bothered by my presence. I’ve never seen someone pack so fast in my life.
“Preston was the first person to believe in me. I am where I am today because he held all the doors open for me to walk through. I owe him this and more. So no, I can’t wait because he needs me now.”
April goes into the bathroom, tips everything she could carry from there inside the suitcase and pauses. “I can barely look at you right now.” That’s not true. She’s not looking at me at all. “After all you’ve done for me, the trouble you went through for us. It was fast, but boy, was it intense.” Her lip curves in an almost smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you. I felt things I thought I’d never allow myself to feel. But you are you. You see a boundary and you walk all over it to get what you want.”
Her eyes finally meet mine, but they are void of any emotion that makes April the woman who I’m falling for. The woman who’s hammering my recently acquired heart with her words, poorly timed decisions, and inconvenient zip code. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy you didn’t let me push you away. I had the time of my life, Liam.”
She changes into some fancy joggers, high heels—obviously—and a stretchy purple tank top without a bra. She’s so effortlessly beautiful. April zips all her luggage closed and lines them up between us. A boundary I’m supposed to respect this time around. “We thought we had more time, but we always knew this had an expiry date. It just came sooner than we thought. So thank you, Liam. And goodbye.”
“You can’t give me a day?” I could—and would—beg, but I keep my voice as sharp as usual.
“No.”
“You want me to go? That’s what you really want?” I’ll honor what I promised her yesterday, even if it tarnishes my own dreams.
“Yes.” Her voice is weak and unconvincing. If she wants me to let her have it her way, she’s going to have to do better than that.
“Then look me in the eye when you say it,” I order.
Time freezes and her chin wobbles for a nanosecond before she purses her lips tight to keep her face from telling on her. Too late, baby girl.
“I need to go home,” she manages to say with some poise. But then her shoulders slump and she pleads, “Please let me go home, Liam.”
April never says she wants to go. I’m too well versed in the difference between duty and desire to let that go unnoticed.
“Go.” I sweep my clothes from the floor and make the walk of shame for the first time in forty-two years.
Never too late, I guess, since I’m having my heart broken for the first time, too.
CHAPTER FORTY
april
The ride to Heathrow seems to pass by every sightseeing spot I didn’t see up close, foolishly assuming I’d had the time for it later.
Must be a nice farewell for those who visited these places. For me, it's a perverse reminder of what I chose to do with my time in London instead. Still, I don’t have it in me to regret it. Riding Liam was more fun than the London Eye, that’s for sure.
My phone rings, and seeing the name of my best friend on the screen is all it takes to set off the waterworks. I wipe them away before accepting the video call and smack on the phoniest smile ever.
“Hi Cal, I’m on my way to the airport.”
“Babe, are you crying?”
“No,” I sniff, then break upon the next breath. “It’s over, Cal,” I cry. Fuck me, I can’t keep it together for five seconds. “I quit, started packing, and told him to go.” I’m ugly crying now, putting that water resistant mascara to the test, and Terry hands me another tissue box. “And then he left,” I sob.
“The bastard! He did what you told him to do?”
I snort at her. “Not funny, girl.” I blow my nose and watch poor Terry squirm in his seat, probably wishing he was deaf right about now. Terry, I, and the relentless soundtrack of my tears have been sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for the past thirty minutes. My dignity has long flown out the window.
“Is this what heartbreak feels like?”