Page 6 of The Promises We Break

She returns a playful eye roll before turning around and walking down the aisle. I follow, a few paces behind, to marvel at how perfect her ass bounces with each step she takes. Her legs are thick and her calves are unbelievable. I know that’s strange, right? But her small knee and ankle joints add curves to her already muscular legs and her calves… She must wear heels all day or she’s genetically gifted. Either way, I want to run my tongue over every inch of her bottom half. Her top half, too.

“Hudson? Hudson Byrnes?” I hear someone say my name, questioningly.

I turn back to the man I just passed, sitting in an aisle to my right.

“Yes?” I reply, just as questionably as he said my name.

“Wow, I’m a huge fan.” Holding his hand out for a shake.

“Oh, thanks man, I appreciate that.” I slide my hand in his, giving him a brotherly greeting.

“You held the college record for most hits as a catcher. You were lined up to be the next Mike Piazza. You were gonna be so huge, man. Man, it’s so cool to meet you!”

The keyword:were.

My lips turn down before turning into a tip-lipped smile.

“You’re playing in San Diego, in the minors, right? Ever think you’ll make it back to the big leagues? Your ankle ready for it?”

Oh, it’s ready. My ankle, my body, my heart. They’ve all been ready. It’s the MLB that hates signing players they think are damaged goods due to an injury no one thought I would come back from.

“Yeah, still there. And, one day, hopefully, man. You never know.” I hold out my hand one more time, giving him a friendly nod.

I love being recognized, and I love fans. Especially true fans, like he was,is. But there are always so many questions about my injury and if I’m ever coming back. I never had hope of that until the last meeting with my coach, which is what brought me here.

Bringing myself back to reality, I look down the aisle of the empty plane. She’s gone.

Shit.

I glance behind me to a slew of angry faces because I held up the line for a couple of minutes. I quickly hurry my steps, not just for their sake, but for mine, too. I can’t believe she raced off without so much as a goodbye or a wave.

I duck under the entrance doors into the jet bridge and rush my way down the exit tunnel until I pass through the doors into the airport.

There are people everywhere. Slot machines. More noise than my brain wants to comprehend when it’s trying so hard to find a needle in a haystack. A cinnamon-haired needle with perfect emerald green eyes and flawless lips.

I tower over most of these people easily, but still shimmy back and forth, pressing onto my toes to stand beyond my full height, shooting my eyes in every direction to attempt to find her.

But she’s gone.

4

HUDSON

Itoss the hotel keycard onto the shiny countertop as it slides to the corner, nearly toppling over the other side.

I’m annoyed.

Annoyed isn’t even the right word. Annoyed is for people stuck in traffic or picking the express lane at a grocery store when the slowest person in the world is checking out with more items than allowed.

I’m furious that I didn’t get more information from her. Like her last name, for starters. Her phone number, home address, social security number, and credit history. So I could stalk her properly.

Now, I’m conjuring up every illegal way to find her and have been since the moment I left baggage claim after searching every single name tag on the goddamn conveyor belt, searching for an ‘Ember’.

Fortunately, her name is unique because I had every intention of stealing her luggage and holding it ransom. I never found it, thankfully, because I didn’t want to commit an actual crime today.

Jesus, what has gotten into me?

I’m unsure if my behavior is warranted, being that I only spent two hours with her. Well, I know it’s not warranted. But, I haven’t felt so strongly about someone in so long that it brings a small smile to my face in the realization I’m not dead to it.

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