The Design(59)

“I’m… I’m…” I couldn’t get a word out without crumbling into a blubbering mess once again.

Jason exchanged a wary glance with Brooklyn, one that hinted at the fact that they both thought I was going a little insane. I had to pull my shit together. I was a twenty-three year old adult woman. Lion hear me roar, right? I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes, and nodded.

“Okay. You can go. I’ll be okay,” I said, feeling very confident and wise.

Brooklyn smiled, her twinkling blue eyes meeting mine. “Okay, well I need you to let go of my suitcase then.”

I glanced down. My hands were still clutching her suitcase for dear life. Whoops.

“Oh. Yeah, right.”

I reluctantly loosened my grip on the bag and she pulled it to her side.

“And I need my wallet,” she said, holding her palm out flat.

“Your what?” I pointed to Brooklyn and met Jason’s gaze with one of those “get a load of this girl” glances.

“Cammie…”

“Fine!”

I pulled her dumb designer wallet out of my back pocket and gave it to her.

Jason shook his head and glanced down at his watch. I knew I was making them late, but they were flying privately and besides, I didn’t care. I’d miss them so much that even this exchange, while embarrassing, was better than letting them go.

“Do you have anything else?” Brooklyn asked.

I thought about lying and telling her no, but the inevitable would happen anyway. Jason and Brooklyn were leaving and stuffing my pockets full of their crap wouldn’t make them stay. Although, it seemed to always work in the movies, so maybe I was doing it wrong.

With a sigh, I unloaded Jason’s cell phone from my back pocket, Brooklyn’s laptop charger from my purse, her I.D. from my bra, and then I pointed to Jason’s luggage.

“There’s a toy gun in your front pocket,” I admitted sheepishly.

“Cammie!” they both exclaimed like scolding parents. Yeah, whatever. I’d rather have Jason detained than have them fly across the country to Montana.

“I’m sorry!”

Jason unzipped his front pocket and a little blue water gun rolled out.

He laughed. “You even filled it up.”

I shrugged. “I didn't want the tabloids reporting that Jason Monroe is shooting blanks.”

He walked toward me and wrapped me up in a bear hug. I gripped his shirt and closed my eyes. In the past few weeks Jason had become a big brother to me. He put up with my shenanigans and treated my sister like a princess. I couldn’t have asked for a better man for her.

“I’ll take care of your sister and you can always come visit us in a few weeks,” he whispered to me before stepping back and placing the toy gun in my hand.

“Later, J-money,” I said with a sad smile.

“Adios, C-stacks.”

That only left my sister. I knew she could tell something was off. She stood a few feet away from me, frowning and trying to read between the lines. We’d done this same goodbye not two months earlier and I hadn’t shed a single tear. I’m sure I was adding undue guilt onto her conscience with my waterworks. She needed to work on her music and I needed to stand on my own two feet. This was not that big of a deal. I smiled and held my arms open like a mom greeting her child after school.

“Get over here, you monster,” I said with as much jokiness as I could muster.

She smiled and bent down to give me hug.

“I love you so much, my little pop star princess,” I said.

She laughed against my shoulder and squeezed me even tighter.

“I love you too.”

We hugged until I thought I was going to breakdown again, and then I stepped back and held her at arm’s length. She told me she’d call me as soon as she landed and then I watched her and Jason walk into the private airport together. I stayed where I was until their plane took off thirty minutes later. Then, instead of calling a cab, I started to walk back to my apartment. I had no clue how long the walk would take; maybe I’d call a cab when my feet got tired, but it felt cathartic to walk through the city. It gave me a sense of purpose that I would lose the moment I got back to my apartment and realized that Brooklyn was really gone and I was one step closer to my own departure.

It wasn’t until I got home some hours later—after stopping for a latte and people-watching at the cafe—that I realized I still had Brooklyn’s guitar pic. I’d slipped it into my back pocket earlier, fully intending to give it back to her along with the rest of her things, but now I was selfishly glad I’d forgotten about it. The apartment was quiet with no signs of Hannah, so I went to my room, lay down, and stared at that guitar pic like it would come alive and tell me whether or not I was making the right decision to leave for Paris.

A while later, my phone buzzed next to me on the bed and I reached for it, assuming it was Brooklyn telling me she’d arrived safely in Montana.

“Hello,” I answered, hating the way my voice cracked midway through the word. Brooklyn would know I was still crying.

“Heart?” Grayson’s deep voice spoke into the phone. “What’s wrong?”





Chapter TwentyFour





Grayson knocked on my door twenty minutes later.