Sledgehammer (Hard to Love 2)

Even if I have forgiven him––which I have––a country separates us. And I owe it to myself to see this through, to not put my own needs on the back burner because I’m afraid of turning into Eileen.

“Nah, I’m livin’ the dream,” I deadpan. Plastering a fake smile on my face, I head to the bar to pick up a drink order.

“Princess Amber!”

I look around, searching for the faraway voice shouting my name. When nothing else follows, I shake it off and load the tray with drinks.

Outside, on the restaurant patio, sunshine pounds down and reflects off the concrete sidewalk. Squinting, I place the drinks down in front of two hipsters wearing sunglasses that cost as much as the old jalopy I purchased yesterday.

Yay! I have a California driver’s license. Woo-hoo. Too bad I broke out in hysterics right as the DMV employee was snapping the picture. Which resulted in the worst driver’s license picture ever taken in fifty-two states. Which, coincidently, looks eerily familiar to my New Year’s Eve mug shot. All I could think of was Ethan, and how I wished I could’ve shared the moment with him.

“Princess Amber Isabelle Jones!”

My feet move of their own accord, following the faraway voice to the edge of the sidewalk. Scanning up and down Sunset Blvd, I watch luxury cars speed by, each more expensive than the next. And then I spot it, the white limo approaching.

There’s a man hanging out of the sunroof. A man I recognize all too well because, let’s face it, no one would ever forget a face like his. Disbelief and joy explode inside my chest, the concrete beneath me is the only thing keeping me upright. The impact of it hits me squarely in the chest. My heart doesn’t skip a beat, it jolts as if I stuck my finger in an electric socket.

He’s holding a bullhorn and waving a bunch of roses back and forth, petals coming loose and hitting the windshield of the car behind him. “Princess Jones!”

“Mama mia,” Britney murmurs. She’s hanging over my shoulder, gawking at the same thing I am. “Who is that?”

I absolutely refuse to cry. Nevertheless, I wipe away a suspicious amount of salty water coating my cheeks with the back of my hand.

“That’s my happily-ever-after,” I say, my voice breaking as I struggle to catch my breath.

As soon as the limo pulls to a stop at the curb, Ethan’s eyes find mine. Everything passes between us. Unspoken apologies, joy, relief, love. So much Love. An endless supply of love.

Dropping the mangled bouquet of roses and the bullhorn, he jumps out. In his t-shirt and jeans he looks younger than thirty-three. Or maybe it’s the less than confident look in his big brown eyes.

Every conversation at the restaurant goes quite as he takes his time walking over to me. I can feel the collective attention of every single customer burning the back of my neck.

“What are you wearing?” the man I love says, his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans, a small shy smile shaping his lips.

The words burst forth without thought, or edit. “My heart on my sleeve.” My voice sounds thin, strangled, all the corresponding emotions choking me. I can’t hold his gaze. It cuts to the white limo. “Pretty Woman?”

“Someone once told me every epic love story starts with a grand gesture.”

“So you’re not implying I’m a hooker?” My lips twitch, wanting to curve up and failing. Because not only am I overwhelmed and overjoyed, I’m also scared to death. Seeing him again…I know I’m not brave enough to let him go one more time.

“I believe the moral of the story is that he was prepared to change everything about his life because she was worth it.”

Standing before the love of my life, I decide to cut to the chase because I’m greedy for every single scrap of him I can get, because there is only so much will power I possess, and because if I don’t touch him soon I am one hundred percent certain that will die.

“What are you doing here, Ethan?” I fight to keep what little composure I have left by staring blindly ahead, at the spot in the middle of his chest.

“I live here.”

In shocked disbelief, my eyes drag back up to meet his steadfast gaze. “Wut…”

“The woman I love is here, and God knows I can’t stand to be away from her for a single second.” He rubs the spot on his chest where Popovitch likes to sit. “Being without her is not an option.”

“But…but what about the job?” My heart is pounding so hard I may be in the midst of an angina attack.

“I turned it down. Nothing’s more important than her. Most definitely not a job.”

More tears fall. A lot more. The more I wipe, the more keep coming. “Lucky bitch.”