The Fortunate Ones
Page 57

My voice fades when he laughs incredulously. It’s a sad, pitiful sound that splinters my heart.
“I already asked you to stay once.”
I get it—once bruised, a man’s ego isn’t so easily healed, especially a man like James.
As I watch him walk away, clarity sets in like a shiver up my spine: I want a second chance with James, a chance to make things right between us now. Even though every decision I’ve made in the past year and a half has opened up millions of potential paths and parallel universes away from him, there’s nothing stopping me from turning around and retracing my footsteps back to the point where they all meet. It’s true that every time a door closes, a window opens, but that doesn’t mean the door just disappears. Hell, it’s just a closed door, and no matter if it’s jammed, locked, or broken, there will probably come a time when you can break the rusted hinges and fight your way back in.
If you truly want to.
Walking backward should feel like a retreat, but it doesn’t feel that way for me, because all that time marching forward has changed me from the person I was into the person I am. I traveled, explored, and got myself lost more times than I can count. I wallowed in heartbreak over James, but I also learned that I could find my smile again, even on my own. I think that lesson was the hardest to learn, but ultimately, it’s what matters most. I don’t need James to survive; I want him. When I dig deep for my old insecurities, they aren’t there anymore.
Now, the idea of marrying James fills me with hope, not dread. I want to share my life with him and I need him to know that, but I know it won’t be easy to convince him.
Looking at things from his perspective, his behavior tonight makes perfect sense. He doesn’t owe me kindness. He surrendered his pride and begged me to stay in Austin, and I still went to Spain. Then, thanks to Ellie’s well-intentioned storytelling, he assumed I humped around Europe without a care in the world. He must think I’m the most callous, unfeeling person on the face of the planet. Why would he believe me if I told him I want a second chance now? What have I done to try to restore things between us?
Nothing. The door is still closed, dead-bolted, and rusted over.
Welp, looks I’m going to need a crowbar.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Oh my god, Ellie, I’m such a cliché! James Ashwood wanted me and I tossed him away like yesterday’s garbage—for what?! A few sunny months in España!?”
She hums thoughtfully, doing her best rendition of Bored Sister #1 as she reclines on my bed and scrolls through her Instagram feed. I’m glad she can relax at a time like this. I didn’t sleep at all after the gala, partly because I’m still recovering from jet lag, and partly because my life just took a sharp right turn off its charted course. I feel sick. I think I’m having a heart attack, and I’ve forced Ellie to check my symptoms on WebMD three times already.
“It’s says you’re probably just having a garden-variety psychotic break,” she reassures me.
“I think I’m going to go to his house,” I exclaim, turning for my closet.
I’m a ball of anxiety and emotions. It’s the morning after the gala, and I need to act—NOW. I’ve thought about nothing but James all night, of how I could possibly convince him I’m sorry and deserve a second chance. I want to throw on sneakers and run to his house. I want to press play on a boombox beneath his bedroom window and light a million candles and ride up in a limo, dangling out of it precariously with a red rose stuck between my teeth. I need a grand gesture, and I need it yesterday!
“Slow down, mental case! What are you talking about?”
Oh, now she closes Instagram.
“James,” I say, flinging shoes out of my closet in my quest to find a pair of running shoes that still fit me. I haven’t lived at my dad’s house in a while, and the selection in my closet is pretty slim. Stuffed in the back, I find a pair of hiking boots and decide they’ll do. “I have to get him back.”
“Since when?”
“Since always!” I shout, annoyed with her for not keeping up. “I was just too stupid to see it before.”
“Oh,” she grimaces. “That’s pretty inconvenient considering he hates your guts.”
“Yeah, no thanks to you,” I throw back heatedly. “Really good job, by the way. I think he assumes I slept with half of the European Union.”
“No, just half of Spain,” she clarifies with an utter lack of concern for her misdeeds.
I want to throw one of my chunky hiking boots at her head, but I’m scared it’ll cause permanent damage. Besides, I need them. I plop down in the center of my room and start working on lacing them up. Ellie is trying to get my attention, but I can’t get distracted now. I have too much pent-up energy exploding inside of me. I’m jittery, and I don’t know what to do. I was perfectly fine yesterday before the gala, but seeing James and twirling around in his arms like some kind of fairy princess was like pouring lighter fluid on a slow-burning fire. I knew I still had feelings for him, but not like this. This is terrible! It hurts! See: heart attack. Speaking of…
I glance up when I’m midway through lacing up the first boot. “Are you sure I shouldn’t go to the hospital? I think I’m having pain in my left arm.”
Ellie leans down and catches my shoulders in her palms. Then she levels her gaze with mine and inhales deeply.
“Do it with me,” she says.
I breathe.
It only makes things worse. I don’t have time to breathe! I’m supposed to go back to Spain in six days! How am I supposed to convince James I love him in six days?!
It’s obvious.
“Oh my god, Ellie. I can’t go back to Spain!” I exclaim.
She smiles. “Duh.”
I reach for my phone. “This is an actual emergency!”
“Don’t tell me you’re calling an ambulance,” Ellie says, rolling her eyes.
I settle for the second best option: the cookie delivery place down the street.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Ellie locks me in my room and makes me promise I won’t go see James on a whim. She thinks I need to be armed with a thoughtful speech, a sexy outfit, and at least half a Xanax before I attempt whatever it is I think I’ll be attempting. I think she’s being ridiculous, so I spend upwards of two hours trying to knot my bed sheets together to make an escape ladder. It doesn’t work. I grow weary, lie down on my floor, and crash hard for a solid 12 hours. Huh. Turns out, I was pretty exhausted. Something about travel, galas, and massive life decisions really conks you out.
The first thing I do when I wake up is FaceTime Diego and Nicolás. I’ve had time to consider my options, and now that I’m well rested, I still agree with the decision I came to in the midst of my mania. If I want James to take me seriously when I ask for a second chance, I have to tell him I’m moving back to the States.
FaceTime connects right away and Diego leans forward, scrunching his nose and studying me.
“What’s that on your face?” he asks in lieu of a greeting.
“Oh, nothing, just indentations from sleeping face down on the carpet. Anyway, I have news…about what Diego and I talked about the other night.”
Diego claps gleefully and turns to Nicolás. “I told you so!”
“I should have never taken that bet!” Nicolás replies with an eye roll.
“Well you did, and I won, so pay up.”
Nicolás turns back to the phone. “Wait, Brooke, are you staying for the guy?”
I nod.
“Sí! SEE!” Diego shouts triumphantly.
After Diego is done gloating, I try to turn the conversation back to a more professional topic: my resignation.
Nicolás laughs. “Wait, let me get this straight: you’re putting in your two weeks notice with one week of vacation left? What does that even mean? You’re going to fly back here for a week and then fly home?”
It makes sense to me. “I need to get my stuff and say goodbye to the girls.”
Diego shakes his head. “No, no. While we’d love to see you once more before you move back to the States for good, why don’t we just ship your stuff back to you?” He glances toward Nicolás, who’s nodding in agreement. “No sense in wasting a couple grand on flights if you don’t have to.”