Chapter 9

9

Iwoke up cold.

As soon as my eyes opened, I knew. She’d left. Giselle had gone without even saying goodbye.

Although I did have her cell number by now, I didn’t bother, because I knew she’d already shut it off. No, I was almost certain where I would find her.

Tossing on whatever clothes in my bedroom floor radius seemed to take half an instant and several decades too long. Racing out to my car took too fucking long too.

Only a few minutes later, once I merged onto the busy highway, did I realize what I’d been in a race with: my sense of certainty. And if the paperweight lodged in my chest as I stared unseeing at the stream of cars ahead of me was any indication, I had lost.

After breaking the news that she was leaving, Giselle had made no real mention of her flight. What sort of moron hadn’t asked her for that vital fucking information? Or would have figured the best plan was to head to the airport—not her place—first? I’m so fucked.

I glanced at my watch for the fifth time. Yep, it was 12:17 p.m. already—I’d somehow managed to sleep in until noon. Fuck. At least if Giselle wasn’t at the airport, then I could probably catch her at her place still, right? Unless she was on her way out at this very moment and I managed to miss her by seconds. Epically fucked.

Whatever the case, all I knew was that I had to try to see her again and chastising myself as I sped along a busy highway wouldn’t do me any favors.

Inside a few minutes and one shitty parking job later, I thanked the gods that Charleston didn’t have numerous terminals like a bigger airport. Here I was, the only terminal Giselle could be in if she was at this airport and hadn’t gone through TSA yet. She’d be flying to New York most likely because there were no direct flights to Europe from Charleston. My eyes slid from one faceless person to another, rapid-fire, seeing only that they weren’t her.

There was a Caviar Banana stand (whatever the hell that was), a wooden-paneled stand called Harvest Grounds, and then there, in the corner, looking almost as stupefied to see me as I was her…my French beauty. She looked delighted, and upset, and contrite all at once as I rushed over to her.

When all those emotions had washed away, all that was left was a miserable expression.

"I am sorry, Gage." She looked at me with her eyes up and her head lowered, like a child about to be scolded. "I am very terrible at goodbyes."

Frozen motionless, half-believing my incredible luck of finding her here, I threw my arms around her and pressed her to me tight. "I’m just glad I caught you," I said against her neck, inhaling the scent of her so I could remember.

She buried her head in my chest as our bodies eased into each other. I felt woozy, sick, like if I peeled away from this woman, my body parts would fall to the floor.

The motherfucking loudspeaker boomed above us, "1:20 p.m. flight to Paris through JFK now boarding. Please proceed to gate—"

Giselle eased out of my embrace and hiked her bag over her shoulder. "That is me. Late as always."

And yet, she didn’t move. We stared at each other, as if willing the other to make the move, say the words. The right ones that didn’t exist that would make this better. But what? What was the point? Her flight’s been called. This is it.

Giselle tried to smile, but her lips only drooped more before she shook her head and said, "Au revoir, mon beau surfeur." She pressed a finger to her lips and then blew a kiss to me before turning and walking toward the security checkpoint.My understanding of French had improved enough that I knew what she’d just said to me. She’d said it before. Goodbye, my beautiful surfing man.

I watched her go in a dreamlike state, realization descending on me gradually. The one thing that mattered. What I should’ve said.

Gi…I love you.

But I’d let it go too long…and now it was too late.

Those were fairy-tale heartfelt words for a different time, different place, and most of all…different person. Not me. Not the hard, proud, ever-closed-off disappointment of Gage Danielson.

Giselle had even said it herself. Sad. Because without her, that was what I was. Would be. Fuck.

Giselle

M’éloignerde lui était probablement la chose la plus pénible que je n’avais jamais faite. Mais j’ai vu son visage, et il ne pouvait pas exprimer ce qu’il ressentait pour moi.

Si Gage m’aime vraiment, il peut me le dire. J’en mérite autant.

Même lorsqu’il y a tant à donner à l’intérieur de lui, il a toujours peur.

Mon beau surfeur ne connaît pas encore la profondeur de ce qu’il pourrait offrir, si seulement il permettait à l’amour de traverser la douleur qui habite son cœur.

N’oublie jamais.

Je ne t’oublierai jamais, Gage.

Mon amour.

~pour vous en anglais~

Walking away from him was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But I saw his face, and he could not say whatever he does feel for me.

If Gage does love me, he can say it to me. I deserve that.

Even when there is so much inside of him to give, he is still afraid.

My beautiful surfing man just does not yet know the depths of what he could give if only he would allow the love to break through the hurt that lived in his heart.

Never forget.

I will never forget you, Gage.

My love.