Chapter 4

I stood in the center of my bedroom, listening to the rhythmic crash of the ocean through the open window, acutely aware that I would never sleep in this space again.

My suitcase waited by the door.

On the table beside the papers sat my wedding ring.

I had taken it off last night, but I couldn't leave it behind like some forgotten piece of jewelry. If this marriage was ending, I wanted to put the ring back into Garrison's hand myself. I picked it up and slipped it onto my finger one final time.

The crunch of tires on the gravel driveway sent an involuntary spike of adrenaline through me.

I grabbed my suitcase and dragged it downstairs.

Garrison waited in the grand foyer, his posture impeccably straight. As I descended the final steps, his gaze swept over me with a quiet, unreadable intensity.

“Are you ready?”

I nodded.

He crossed the foyer and took the suitcase from my hand.

The first ten minutes of the drive passed in silence. I watched familiar streets slide past and tried not to count all the ordinary places I would never see with him again. Garrison kept both hands on the wheel. That alone told me he wasn't as calm as he looked; he usually drove with one hand.

“You look different,” he said suddenly.

I glanced at him. “What?”

“Your clothes.” His eyes flicked briefly toward my faded denim and soft cotton.

I smoothed a hand over my lap. “It’s more me.”

“And the other you?”

“The other me was the woman I thought you wanted.”

Silence returned. This time, Garrison didn't break it.

The glass terminal came into view minutes later. He parked, walked around to my side, and lifted my suitcase from the trunk.

“Do you have your passport?” he asked. “Your documents?”

“Yes.”

Then his gaze dropped to my left hand.

I looked at the ring. For one second, my fingers refused to move. Then I slid it off and held it out to him in the center of my palm.

Garrison stared at it. “Keep it.”

“Why?”

“It was yours.”

“Not anymore.”

His eyes lifted to mine.

“It belongs to a marriage that doesn't exist anymore, Garrison.” I reached forward and pressed the cold metal into his palm.

His fingers closed around it. I stepped away before I could change my mind.

We walked through the departure hall side by side until we reached the security checkpoint. Families embraced around us. Couples lingered beside suitcases, stretching their goodbyes into a few stolen seconds.

I stopped. Garrison stopped with me.

My heart began hammering. “Gary.”

He looked down at me. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

“Is it really so hard?”

His expression shifted almost imperceptibly.

“It’s just one kiss.” I forced the words out. “After this, you will never have to worry about me asking you for anything again.”

His eyes darkened. I looked away before the tears gathering in mine could fall.

“I didn't want your money or your real estate, Garrison.”

“Ken…”

“I wanted one thing from you that wasn't written into a contract.”

He went silent.

Seconds passed. People moved around us, luggage wheels rattling across the polished floor, announcements echoing overhead.

Garrison didn't move. My humiliation rose hot beneath my skin.

Of course. I had managed to turn the most romantic thing I had ever wanted from my husband into a contractual obligation. Maybe that was the perfect ending for us.

I swallowed hard and reached for my suitcase. “Forget it.”

His hand caught mine, and I froze. Then the space between us disappeared. His other hand came up, his long fingers sliding into my hair to cup the back of my neck.

And he kissed me.

For one second, I forgot how to move.

His mouth was warm against mine—careful at first, almost unbearably careful. Then something in him slipped.

His hand tightened at the back of my neck. His arm came around my waist, pulling me closer, and the man who had controlled every inch between us for four years suddenly seemed to have forgotten how.

My knees weakened. I caught his jacket in both fists. I wanted his loss of control to mean something so badly that it frightened me.

My hands curled into the lapels of his jacket. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. I could only feel him, and the heat of his body. The roughness of his fingers in my hair.

For one reckless second, I let myself believe this hurt him too.

But I still had divorce papers in my suitcase.

Genevieve was still waiting somewhere in the life he had chosen without me.

And a kiss was not an explanation.

I tore myself out of his arms. My breath came in broken gasps.

Garrison stared at me, his chest rising sharply beneath his shirt. His composure was gone.

“Why now?” My voice cracked.

He said nothing. I wiped the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand.

“Why now, Garrison?”

His lips parted, but nothing came out.

I reached for my suitcase. “Goodbye, Garrison.”

Something moved across his face, but he didn't stop me.

I turned and joined the security line. I didn't look back. If I did, I knew I might never leave.

***

I sat in the first-class lounge with my passport and boarding pass resting on my lap.

When the boarding announcement sounded overhead, I stood. My legs felt numb as I followed the other passengers toward the gate.

The attendant scanned my boarding pass. “Have a pleasant flight.”

I managed a faint nod.

I scanned my boarding pass and stepped onto the jet bridge, only to turn around at the very last second.

My chest seized. I stopped.

The enclosed walls seemed to narrow around me. There wasn't enough air. The sounds behind me warped into a distant, muffled hum as my fingers tightened around the strap of my bag.

I tried to inhale. My hands began to shake.

Passengers moved around me.

“Miss?” A flight attendant approached. “Are you alright?”

“I...” I dragged in a shallow breath. “I need a minute.”

“Would you like to sit down?”

I stared down the jet bridge. The tunnel seemed impossibly long. Another enclosed space. Another place I had already decided I needed to enter because someone expected me to.

No. I stepped backward.

“I’m sorry.”

“Miss, we can assist you if—”

“I can't.” I turned. Then I walked away from the gate.

By the time I reached the terminal doors, I was almost running.

The doors slid open. Fresh air hit my face. I stumbled outside and dragged in one deep breath.

A line of taxis waited along the curb. I didn't stop to think and raised my hand.

The first taxi pulled forward. I yanked open the back door, pushed my suitcase inside, and slid onto the seat.

The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Where to, miss?”

I looked back at the airport. “Just drive.”

The taxi pulled away from the curb.