Page 41 of Landing Her Eagle
Daphne hands me the ketchup and a few extra napkins so I can doctor my burger. There’s that happy groan again when Daph takes her first bite of burger. I need to get a recording of it so I can make it a ringtone on my phone. Or play it on a continuous loop while I imagine how wonderful it will be to finally be with Daphne completely, body and soul.
Lunch was delicious, as expected, and much sooner than I’d like, we’re back in the car, headed to the airport. It’s crazy how one week has changed my life and my plans for it. I don’t know what I expected. That I’d come home, make her mine, and then take off again without it breaking my heart if I had to leave her behind?
God, I’m an idiot.
“I think this is the fastest I’ve gotten to this airport,” I say, pulling up in front of the terminal for my airline. The traffic gods can suck it.
Putting the car in park and turning off the engine, I turn to Daphne. She’s so beautiful with the loving smile she gives as she reaches for her door handle. I’m tempted to hit the lock so we remain trapped in here and I can’t leave. But I don’t. I check for traffic and then exit to meet Daphne at the back with the open hatch.
I take her in my arms. “Daph, this is going to be hard, and I know we’re going to miss each other. You’re worried about me. I’m worried about you. This is going to suck. But it’s six weeks. It’s not forever.”
I’m saying this just as much, if not more, for me as I am for her. It’s not working. Six weeks feels like forever.
She takes a deep breath, but she’s not fooling me. She’s putting on a brave face to make this easier on me.
“You’re going to these amazing places and will take incredible pictures, pictures so wonderful there are going to be people clamoring to buy them and license them. You’re going to tell me all about what you see and experience when we FaceTime like we always do. It’s going to be okay.”
Her arms wrap around my torso, and she buries her head against my chest as my arms encircle her. I don’t want to let go, but after a few moments, I do. This will be okay. Releasing Daphne and stepping back, I tuck a strand of her dark brown hair behind her ear and caress her cheek.
“Sunshine, you are incredible. I’m so lucky you’re my girl.”
Resting her palm on my cheek, she smiles. “You are so lucky, but so am I. Now you’re going to have to go check in and get through security before they bug us to move the car. I don’t want our goodbye to be under the disapproving view of airport security.”
Handing the keys to Daphne, I grab my suitcase, carry-on, and backpack from the back of the Escape and close the lift gate. With my baggage taken care of, I can give my girl the embrace she deserves. She lifts her lips to meet mine, wrapping her arms around my neck, and tunnels her fingers in my hair. Deepening our kiss, I stroke my tongue against hers and try to convey the love and desire I feel for her. I could do this forever, but I’m mindful of our limited time and the impending presence of airport security telling us to move along. Reluctantly, I pull back and gaze deeply into the face that owns my heart.
“I’m going to miss you, Daphne Foster, and you better be ready for me when I get home. Six weeks. Rest up.”
Giggling, Daphne rests her hand on my heart and gives it a pat.
“You worry about yourself, Logan Morris. You better stay in shape these next six weeks. No getting all flabby with all the delicious food you’re going to have. I have plans for you when you get home. I’ll miss you too. We’ll be okay.”
With a grin and a flirtatious wiggle of her brows, she steps out of my arms and waits for a car to pass so she can get behind the wheel. I stand on the curb and motion for her to lower the window.
“Drive safely, Daphne. Six weeks. Forty-two days. Get ready.”
“Get inside, Logan. The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll be home.”
She blows me a kiss, and like a goof, I catch it and pretend to tuck it in my pocket. With a last wave, she pulls away from the curb and into the stream of traffic. I watch her go until I can’t see her any longer. I want to tell her to come back. But what for? If she came back, I don’t know if I’d tell her I love her, beg her to come with me, or something else, but I regret we left so much unsaid in our short time together.
With a frustrated sigh, I turn to enter the terminal and reluctantly start my journey.
25
DAPHNE
I holdon to my composure until I get home. Years of suppressing emotion for the win! I lost my parents tragically, and I will not dishonor their deaths by claiming dropping my boyfriend off at the airport was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but this was hard because I had a choice this time.
“This is your fault,” I tell myself. “You could have gone with him or asked him to stay.”
I could see in Logan’s expression that all I had to do was ask him not to go, and he’d be here with me in our home right this moment. But I’d worry he’d resent me and get bored being here. He enjoys traveling and doing new things. He said he doesn’t want to be stagnant. Is that what I am? Stagnant like a murky pond with green scum on top? Why would anyone swim in a scummy pond?
I gaze around the living room. Other than the new couch, it’s the way Gran left it after she passed. Same clock in the corner, same pictures on the walls, same ugly green carpet. Logan insisted I change the sofa. He borrowed his cousin’s truck and dragged me to the IKEA in South Philly to buy this cute red couch. Gone is the floral monstrosity from the Ford administration that used to anchor the room. No more plastic seat covers, no stiff cushions, just comfort and color. I’m able to put my feet up on the cushions without guilt, something I never felt right doing on Gran’s sofa. I’ve added my books to the shelves and a couple pictures of me and Logan, but it’s mostly how it was when she was still alive. My home is like a calm, peaceful lake. No gigantic waves to capsize a canoe, no scary monsters under the surface waiting to drag you under. Is our home scummy and stagnant to Logan? Am I? Is that why I’m not worth staying with?
Walking into our bedroom, my bedroom, I see Logan left a couple of shirts behind for me. I tear up when I grab the green plaid flannel he wore yesterday. It smells like him. I think about putting it on, but then spy a stuffed moose Logan won for me at a carnival a few years ago and dress him in the shirt instead. This way, I can cuddle the moose, and the shirt won’t have to be washed.
Taking off my sweater and jeans, I pull on the T-shirt Logan wore with his sleep pants this morning while we had breakfast. All I have left of the man I love is some dirty laundry. I never even told him I loved him. He thought I was asleep when he whispered he loved me in bed Friday night, but I heard him. Why didn’t I tell him I loved him too? I thought I was protecting myself by keeping the words to myself because it would hurt more when he left me, but it hurts anyway, and now I don’t have memories of us telling each other those precious words. What if something happens and I never get to look in his eyes and see his reaction when I tell him how I feel? If I see him again, no,whenI see him again, I’ll tell him I love him. In person. I’m not doing ourI love yousover the phone or in a text. These are face-to-face words.
Taking a deep breath, I imagine my therapist, Claire, asking me if what I’m thinking is true, or if I’m falling into my habit of catastrophic thinking. I have been working hard to not let myself spiral when I get these thoughts. I may not be able to stop myself from thinking them, but I have the power to not let them overwhelm me.
