29. Charlie

The airport is a bustle of energy, people swerving around me as I stand near the wall, waiting.

For maybe the hundredth time, I glance at my watch. Marissa promised she’d be here by now, but my heart races with worry that she’ll change her mind and not show up.

It’s not like her to not follow something through when she says she will, but if she were not to come today, I would understand. Our whole relationship is complicated — to put it mildly. And I know she would prefer never to see me again.

But this is also such a huge opportunity for her… I don’t think she would pass it up for anything.

“Deep breaths, Charlie,” I tell myself, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

The busy airport fades into a blur as my focus remains solely on this side of the security entrance, waiting for her familiar figure to appear. I feel like I’m going crazier by the second, though. I need to stop obsessing and find something else to do.

To distract myself, I wander over to a nearby magazine stand. My eyes scan the colorful covers, looking for anything to occupy my mind. That’s when I spot it — Marissa and I gracing the cover of a tabloid, our smiles bright and carefree as we walk through the park holding hands. “Charlie Elwood and Marissa White: A Love Story” reads the headline in bold letters.

“Damn,” I mutter under my breath, picking up the magazine.

It’s surreal to see us this way, especially since we’re no longer together. I remember that day well, though. It was a couple days before Marissa ended things, in the park down the street from my house.

We hadn’t even been trying to smile for the cameras. We were just naturally that happy. Things were that good.

My stomach churns with regret, wishing things were different. If only I’d had the foresight to?—

“Is that you?” a voice startles me out of my thoughts.

I look up to see the cashier, an older woman with a kind smile, staring intently at the magazine in my hands.

“Uh, yeah,” I admit sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s a bit weird seeing myself like this.”

“I can imagine.” She chuckles softly. “But you two look really happy together. It’s nice to see something positive for a change.”

“Thanks,” I say, forcing a small smile.

Inside, though, my chest aches with longing. If only she knew the truth about how things really were between Marissa and me.

Setting the magazine back on the stand, I return to my spot by the window, my eyes still trained on the entrance. The seconds tick by painfully slowly, each one intensifying my anxiety. What if Marissa doesn’t come? What if this is it for us?

A man with salt-and-pepper hair approaches me, his eyes lighting up with recognition. “Hey, you’re Charlie Elwood! Man, I’m a huge fan.”

He extends his hand for a shake.

“Thanks,” I say, surprised at the unexpected attention. These days, even with my improved image — thanks to Marissa — I still get more heckles and glares than smiles. “I appreciate it.”

He leans in, lowering his voice. “Listen, the public’s been way too hard on you. You never should’ve been kicked off the Thunderhawks.”

His sincerity catches me off guard, and for a moment I don’t know what to say.

“Actually…” I clear my throat. “I did deserve it. I had a good thing going with that team, and I screwed it up.”

It feels strange to confess my mistakes to a stranger, but there’s something cathartic about it, too.

The man studies me, his brow furrowed as if trying to solve a puzzle. “Well, your new girlfriend must’ve changed you.” He nods toward the magazine on the stand. “You’ve gotten all wise and shit.”

I smirk at his observation. Marissa has changed me, but not in the way he thinks. “Something like that,” I reply cryptically, not wanting to divulge the truth about our relationship.

Just then, the intercom crackles to life. “Final boarding call for Flight 422 to San Antonio!”

My heart leaps in panic. I was so caught up thinking about Marissa that I lost track of time.

“Shit. That’s my flight,” I mumble. “I gotta go. Have a great day!”

Holding my bag close to my shoulder, I take off. My chest tightens with each step, a mix of adrenaline and the nagging fear that I’ll miss the flight.

And if I miss this flight, I miss the meeting. Which will make me look awful to the reps and owners. There’s a good chance they wouldn’t want to reschedule.

I sprint through the airport, my heart pounding as I weave around travelers dragging their suitcases. Flight 422 here I come.

Please just wait a little longer for me.

My legs strain with each stride, but I push myself harder.

“Wait!” I shout just as the gate attendants are about to close the doors. “Please, just a moment longer.”

“Sir, we’re closing the gate,” one attendant informs me, her voice firm but polite.

“Please,” I insist, desperation lacing my words. “I’m waiting for someone.”

The two attendants exchange glances, then relent with a nod. I linger in the doorway, my gaze scanning the bustling terminal. Where is she?

“Charlie!” That familiar voice cuts through the din, and there Marissa is, sprinting toward the gate, backpack slung over her shoulder.

Relief washes over me like a tidal wave.

“Marissa!” I exclaim, unable to contain my excitement.

The attendants glance at her, then back at me, clearly understanding our connection.

“Come on, you two,” one of them says, ushering us through the gate. “We need to get you seated.”

“Thank you,” I say breathlessly, my eyes locked on Marissa as we make our way down the ramp. She’s here! She came.

“Cutting it close, huh?” Marissa teases, a smile playing on her lips as she catches up to me.

“Wouldn’t be us if we didn’t,” I reply, my chest still heaving from my mad dash.

As we board the plane, the flight attendants hurry us to our seats. There’s no time for heartfelt conversations or lingering glances. We’re squeezed into a confined space with strangers all around, but I couldn’t be happier.

“Made it,” Marissa whispers, settling into her seat and buckling her seat belt.

Her bright eyes meet mine, and I’m reminded of how beautiful she is — not just in looks but in spirit. Her decision to be here with me, despite everything, fills me with gratitude.

“Thank you,” I say softly, the words barely audible over the hum of the plane’s engines. “For coming.”

“Of course,” she replies, her smile genuine and warm. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The hum of the airplane engine vibrates through my chest as I buckle in. Marissa is here. She made it.

And we’re gonna kill this meeting.

Marissa gently clears her throat. “Hey, um. I’m… I’m proud of you. You’ve clearly made an impression on the San Antonio reps. They still want to meet you even after finding out we lied about…”

She trails off and winces, and I get it. The lie about our relationship isn’t my proudest moment, either.

“We made an impression,” I correct, not wanting her to sell herself short. “The rep said they want to work with you, not any other agent.”

At this, Marissa blushes a deep shade of pink, making the few freckles on her nose stand out even more. She lowers her gaze, but her smile is evident. God, she’s beautiful.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “That means a lot.”

As the flight attendant begins her safety demonstration, I watch Marissa out of the corner of my eye, wondering if there’s still a chance for us. But I know I shouldn’t be thinking this way, and I’m probably just getting my hopes up.

She was clear: I ruined things for her and she doesn’t want me in her life.

But, then again, she’s here. She’s giving me another chance as a client. And that counts for something, right?

With a sigh, I lean back in my seat, trying to focus on the task ahead. It’s time to prove myself — to the team, to Marissa, and most importantly, to myself.