Page 84 of Mistletoe and Mayday
Better a clean break now than a slow, painful death later.Better to rip out my heart while I still have the strength to survive it.
My composure slips—just a tiny crack, but he sees it. Of course he does. People are staring, which makes my skin prickle with awareness. Another audience for another Bailey Monroe disaster.
I’ve always been good at running. From relationships. From expectations. From anything that might hurt when it inevitably falls apart. Sebastian Lockhart is the dictionary definition of something that will hurt when it falls apart.
“Your mother was right. I am beneath you. And the sooner you realize that, the better for both of us.” His face... Don’t look at his face.
I stare at the ground instead. At his polished shoes. At the worn leather of my boots. At the physical evidence of the worlds between us.
I should go. I need to go. Every second I stay makes it harder to leave, harder to do what needs to be done.
But I can’t seem to move.
I thrust the snow globe toward him, my hand shaking so hard the tiny flakes inside swirl into a blizzard.
“No.” His voice is gentle but firm. Unmovable. “It’s yours.”
The Chicago skyline inside the globe blurs as tears burn behind my eyes. I blink them away because I won’t cry. “I don’t want your pity?—”
“They’re not pity gifts. They’re promises.”
“Promises break,” I snap. My voice catches on the last word, betraying me. “Like Vegas.”
Like hearts.
“Not mine.”
My comm unit crackles to life at my hip, splitting thetension between us. “Monroe, get your ass in the cockpit or you’re grounded,” Captain Roberts’ voice—all gravel and impatience—echoes through my radio.
Great. Just great. Now I’m that pilot—the unreliable one causing delays. The one creating drama in public spaces. The too-much girl, on display for everyone.
“I have to go.” This time I mean it. This time, I have to mean it.
Sebastian takes a step forward, closing the distance I tried to put between us. “Bailey?—”
“Monroe!” The comm crackles again. “Final call. What’s your status?”
My fingers fumble with the device, almost dropping it as I unhook it from my belt. “On my way, Captain. Two minutes.”
I clip the comm unit back to my belt. Pilot mode activated. Emotions locked away at thirty thousand feet, where they belong. My last chance to run before I do something stupid like believe in impossible things.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper.
“Bailey—”
I turn away before I can change my mind. One foot in front of the other. Left. Right. Just like takeoff protocols.
“Bailey, please?—”
The desperation in his voice nearly breaks me. It wraps around my spine and pulls, and for a half-second, I almost turn around.
Almost run back to him.
Almost risk everything.
Almost.
“Goodbye, Sebastian.”
