Letting You Go Was The Hardest Thing

Letting You Go Was The Hardest Thing - Chapter Three

Letting You Go Was The Hardest Thing

Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved

Chapter Three

Picture on the side is Caroline (Model Alisa Basyuk)

I often ask myself, could life be any harder than this? The day I left home four years ago felt like I was leaving pieces of my broken heart as a trail for me to follow, if I did decide to come back. With each piece, I would pick it up and put it to where it fitted perfectly and then do the same with the others, carefully and surely. However, if I'd reach the last piece to make my heart whole, it would all came crumbling down, having me to start all over again.

That was what I felt the moment the plane touched down Colorado soil.

Mike had this crazy idea that I should bring him along and pose as my boyfriend. I thought he was crazy, but when I thought about it, it would make things easier for me when I'll come face-to-face with Dalton.

I wasn't exactly looking forward to this reunion. We hadn't spoken a single word, not even an e-mail or a phone call since I left for L.A., and I had no idea how this idea of mine would turn out.

Would he smile when he sees me?

Would he welcome me with open arms?

Would he slap me across the face and say every deplorable name he could think of just for being a cold hearted bitch and for leaving without saying a word?

I'd find that out later.

"I should have kicked the kid in the shins when I had the chance," Mike muttered hotly as he dragged his suitcase alongside me, heading for the arrival area. "He was so annoying - kicking the back of my seat and saying I was a retard!"

I giggled. "Come on," I said, tyring to alleviate his anger. "He's just a kid."

He scrunched up his face. "I can't help it. He kept kicking and kicking and if not for his mom, I could have strangled his neck."

I gave him a disbelieving look. Yeah, typical Mike. When he saw that the mom was hot, he let it slide and played the cool guy. "Yeah, I thought so," I said, shaking my head. "With her double D's and blond hair, you immediately forgive her kid and turn your flirt face on."

He chuckled, low and deep. "She's a hot mom, and besides," he paused and gave me his trademark snaring smirk, "she was ogling my goodies."

I rolled my eyes. "She's a cougar."

"A hot cougar," he corrected.

Rolling my eyes, I slapped Mike's arm hard and told him to hail a cab for us. We were already outside the arrival area and there were a lot of cabs lining up, waiting to be taken. When he finally got one, he took all our luggage, jammed it all in the trunk, got inside the cab and I told the driver where to go.

"1456 Boulder Road," I said to the driver.

The driver nodded and peeled out of the airport.

Here we go...

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Thirty minutes rolled by and I felt like telling the driver to turn around and go back to the airport. I was a nervous wreck: my hands were clammy, my stomach had birds flapping widely instead of butterflies and my heart was thumping erratically like a bunny on red bull. Right now, I'd rather prefer crawling under a metamorphic rock and go die.