Page 205 of Broken Saint

Letty, thankfully, organized for buffet food to be delivered, which meant no one other than she and Mom were watching how much—or how little—I ate. And there were cocktails. They might not have tasted quite like they should, but they were strong, and that was all I needed.

Sure, I regretted that the second Mom came to get me so that we could get ready to leave, my head was pounding, but honestly, it was a welcome distraction from the pain in my chest.

A pain that only got worse with every step I took away from the city.

Over and over, I told myself that I was doing the right thing, and by some miracle, I managed to say goodbye to everyone and keep it together.

It was either that or I’d just run out of tears, which was entirely possible at this point.

I walked through the airport with my head as high as I could hold it and Mom by my side.

She’s been incredible. But then, I guess, she’s had plenty of experience at picking me up when I’m falling apart. It’s been a pattern in my life for far too long.

It’s not until we’re walking down the tunnel toward the airplane that I begin to lose the fight with my emotions.

I focus on home, on the comfort that Mom’s house will offer me. I think about seeing Benny—I’ve missed that little brat. And I think about all the familiar things I’ll find back in our hometown.

But without even being there yet, I know it won’t feel like Seattle did before that fateful football game.

I pause when we get to the doors, the flight attendants waiting to welcome us on board, and I turn around, staring back up the way I’ve come.

“Ella?” Mom whispers behind me.

My heart begins to race impossibly fast and my head spins.

“Ella?”

Lifting my hand to my chest, I cover my pounding heart as I fight to catch my breath.

I’m leaving him.

I’m really leaving him behind.

Maybe I should have taken Luca up on the offer of going to his house.

Maybe I should have tried one last time.

He doesn’t want you. He never has.

A warm hand wraps around my upper arm and thankfully, I’m dragged back to reality.

“Ella, are we getting on the plane or?—”

“Yes,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “Yes. We’re going. I was just…” I suck in a shaky breath as others waiting to board move past us. “I was just saying g-goodby—” My sob steals the end of that word and I fall into her arms, finally giving in to the devastation of the moment.

She holds me tightly as she whispers in my ear that she loves me.

I can only imagine how we must look to the other passengers, but I can’t find it in me to care that they’re probably all praying they’re not seated next to the crazy crying woman.

If they’d been through what I have, they’d be crying too.

By the time I calm down enough to stand on my own two feet without feeling like I’m about to collapse, the last of the passengers are being welcomed onto the plane.

“Come on, baby. It’s time to go home,” Mom says, taking my hand and leading me toward the flight attendants.

They both look at me with sympathy spilling from their eyes.

I hate it.