Lost In Us

by Layla Hagen

  I look away, out the window. "Yeah, I know."

  "Then I don't understand, what's the problem? Why are you running away?"

  His words hit me like a thousand knives, and I flinch in my seat.

  "The problem is… there are certain things James can't do. And certain things I can't do."

  "That's not a problem. It's just the way things are. No one can do everything right or be perfect. It's called flaws. Everyone has them."

  "There are flaws and then there are flaws, Parker. Some flaws are easier to ignore, some harder. And James's tend to be of the latter kind."

  As are mine.

  "And I'm afraid one of those flaws will end up with him walking out on me," I say.

  "Funny of you to say that, since you're the one who's walking out on him."

  "I don't expect you to understand," I mumble.

  "I'm glad you don't expect that. Because I sure as hell don't understand. I'm just saying he very nearly bankrupted us, all in order to force out Natalie—who is one of his oldest friends, for God's sake."

  "I never got the impression you were a big fan of hers," I say in what I hope is a measured voice.

  "I am absolutely not. But she and James have been close friends for years. Going to the lengths he did to cut off all contact with her…" He sighs. "I'm just saying, this should count more than whatever flaw you're keeping against him on your twisted scale. James has done things for you no one else would have done for anyone. I know I wouldn't have done what he did for any woman. Especially if she treated me the way you treated him."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, remembering Ralph telling me something similar earlier in the day. It was easy to ignore Ralph, but I trust Parker's judgment much more than Ralph's. At the moment, I think I trust it more than mine. My head snaps in his direction, and I flinch again in my seat. The way the muscles on his neck are contorted as he looks down the road… he reminds me of James so much that my chest begins to ache. I turn my gaze away from him, making a mental note to look at him as little as possible.

  "After certain things you pulled," Parker continues, "like showing up with me at that dinner, and I'm sure that's just the tip of the iceberg… you're not really worth it, are you?"

  He sounds so cool, so sincere, that I cannot bring myself to be mad at him. Quite the opposite. In fact, a chuckle bubbles out of my chest. "That's really charming of you, Parker."

  I can see now why Jess detests Parker with such a passion. Because, when he's not being the world's most skilled gentleman, he doesn't have any qualms about blurting out the truth—or at least what he thinks is the truth. In my case, he's spot on. I have a hunch he was in Jess's case, too. Jess isn't a big believer in being told truths, though she gratuitously tells them to others. Especially to me.

  I don't have a problem hearing my truths. I'm well aware of them. I just seem incapable on acting on them. Changing them. Improving them.

  Improving myself.

  It's refreshing really, that Parker doesn't put me on a pedestal, like James. He sees me for what I am. A broken girl who doesn't deserve the love of a man like James, let alone all those sacrifices. Sure, he doesn't know what broke me, or why I am like this, but does it matter in the end? All that matters is the result. And the result is not a pleasant one. Someone weak, who doesn't have the courage to risk anything to be with the person she loves.

  Who chooses to flee instead.

  No wonder Parker doesn't like what he sees. I don't, either. But for whatever reason, James does. Enough to want to hold me, patch me up. Complete me. Enough to put everything on the line for me. Parker is right. This should count more than those stupid three little words, no matter how twisted the scale I use. James did more for me than Parker will ever know.

  He made my dreams—my fantasy world—real, so I didn't have to hide in them anymore.

  He healed old wounds, ripping the claws that were inflicting them, and letting balloons carry them far, far away from me.

  And all he asked of me was to smile.

  I walked away instead.

  I shudder, suddenly drenched in cold sweat. I think Parker asked something, but I didn't catch a word, so I just nod. A sign we pass on the highway tells me that we're one hundred and eighty miles away from the airport. Which means we're already fifty miles away from Tuolumne River and James. This doesn't offer me the relief I hoped it would. It makes my heart beat like crazy. Not the good kind of crazy, though. It pounds so hard, I'm certain it will explode. The pounding gets more unbearable the more miles we put between us and the river, growing to a clog that chokes me. And then a thought weasels itself in my mind. It paralyzes me in my seat.

  What if I'm making a mistake?

  Some time later, I figure out what Parker had asked me: if it's a good time to stop to eat. We get out of the car and go into a shabby restaurant. Parker eats a steak, and there's one in front of me as well, but I can barely swallow a bite. Parker talks spiritedly about his return to London and all the plans he has. I don't listen to him half the time, just nod or smile when I feel a reaction is required.

  I wobble on my way back to the car, as if my feet refuse to carry me in that direction, and I panic as we speed on the highway, putting more miles between us and the river. And less between us and the airport, where the plane to New York awaits. I used to cling to this trip—to the idea of New York—as if it were my salvation. The way someone who is about to drown clings to a log. But sometime in the past hours, the idea ceased being a log, and transformed itself into a rock, large and heavy. A rock tied to my feet that will not save me, but drag me to the bottom of the ocean, drowning me.

  By the time we arrive at the airport, I've bitten my nails to the flesh. Parker takes his three enormous bags and I take my hand luggage from the trunk, and we head inside. His flight is two hours before mine, and our stop on the highway took quite some time, which means he must go right to his gate. We say some hurried goodbyes. I usually get emotional in these moments, but I remain remarkably solemn. And then Parker is gone, and I'm alone, with nothing to distract me from the thoughts wrecking my sanity.

  I clasp my fingers tightly around the handle of my bag, and desperately look around for something that might help distract me. I decide to buy a book, and then sit down in front of the panels displaying all the flights. After reading the first five pages without taking in one word, I toss the book aside, glancing at the panel above me. The clock above the panel tells me my flight is in a little less than three hours. I pull my knees against my chest, holding my arms tightly around them. But there's no easing of the sinking feeling in my stomach.

  I compare this to the day I flew here from London, the day I moved. I had asked my parents to drive me to Heathrow Airport almost half a day earlier than my flight, because I couldn't stand being in our house anymore. The moment I stepped into the airport, I felt lighter, as if someone had taken a giant weight off my shoulders. I was fleeing back then too, just like now. But I wasn't nervous at all. I knew it was the right thing to do. I felt it. I watched the flight panel, and the hours ticking away on clock above it, drinking in the relief it offered me. Now that same sight is torture. I could tell myself that it's because it's not permanent. I'll have to come back and it will be some time before I move away for good. But the thought of moving permanently to New York sends a violent spasm through me.

  I look away from the panel at the two women next to me. They resemble each other, so I guess it's a mother and her daughter, who looks younger than me by a few years. The daughter has a magazine open on her lap, and she's obviously arguing with her mum over whatever is on that page. I sit up a bit straighter, peeking at their magazine. It features a gorgeous model, posing in a casual, but luxurious outfit.

  "I don't understand why you need more clothes," the mother says. "You have enough clothes as it is."

  "I'm going to college, Mom. There's no way I'm taking my high school wardrobe with me. I might as well just write loser on my forehead and walk around
campus like that."

  "There is absolutely nothing wrong with your wardrobe," the mother replies in a severe tone. "If you continue with this ridiculous idea to change it, you'll have to pay for it. So I suggest you start looking for a summer job."

  The daughter scoffs, and I cannot help but smile. I think of Jess and of Dani, who both had similar ideas of change right before starting college. Both changing their haircut, Jess also getting a tattoo because… well… because she's Jess.

  And then I think of me.

  How I never had an urge to change anything about myself, just about my surroundings. Fleeing from the world I knew into the unknown worked before. But my sweaty palms and nauseatingly quick heartbeats tell me it won't work this time. They tell me it's time I took Jess's advice, and the very thing I asked of James: change myself. Take some risks. No, not take risks. Because I will never seek risk—be it reckless adventures like James's, or downright self-destructing endeavors like Kate's.

  But I can learn to accept risk.

  That thought has a strange effect on me. It's like warm honey suddenly runs through my veins, relaxing my muscles and slowing the insane rhythm of my heart that has plagued me since the moment I got inside Parker's car. That's it. Accepting it. Accepting that I cannot always have certainty. Because the things that really matter are not within reach unless I grit my teeth, and let go of my safe harbor—take a leap. And I am so lucky to have found something worth that leap. No, not something. Even better.

  Someone.

  Whose words breathe life and hope into me.

  Whose touch turns the blood in my veins into fire. A fire only his kisses can extinguish.

  Someone who almost ruined himself to show me that he loves me. A proof of love I so easily dismissed because he couldn't say three words. Not anymore. I have my scale right now. The thing that is keeping him from saying the words… I want to be by his side, waiting, helping him overcome it. Just like he pulled me from my nightmares and showed me what lies beyond regret and guilt.

  Now, I only need to let him know.

  Before another woman, one who isn't an idiot or a coward like me, snatches him up. I spring from my chair, my heart beating like crazy once again.

  The good kind of crazy this time. I grab my bag and look around for a sign that indicates where I can find a cab, then remember I don't have enough money on me to pay for a cab back to the apartment, let alone for a three-hour drive to the river. Besides, I don't even know if James is still at the river. I take out my phone, thinking of calling him, or actually Dani, because I don't have the nerve to call him. My phone is dead. I curse loudly, and the mother and the girl stop their fight over the magazine, looking at me in alarm. I apologize and slip off toward the main doors, making a little plan along the way. It's when I decide that the best I can to do is get on a bus, go to James's apartment, and wait for him to return home, that I see him.

  Standing in the doorway, not fifty feet away from me, looking wildly around. James.

  And then his eyes find me.

  I want to run toward him, but my legs suddenly have the consistency of a soaked sponge, and all I can do is hope they'll be able to sustain me so I can at least stand. But James's legs seem all right, and he is using them to walk toward me with determined strides. When he stops, inches away from me, the rest of my body, all the way to my lips, seems to have turned as useless as my legs. We lock eyes, and the despair in his gaze sends spasms rippling through me.

  Of course, he probably thinks that, because I haven't come forward to meet him, I still want to leave him.

  So, since my lips seem to refuse to talk, the moment he opens his mouth I kiss him. He greets my kiss with surprise at first, but then his soft lips mold to mine in breath-taking sync. He wraps his arms around me, holding me tightly to him, the warmth of his body fusing with mine, breathing vigor into my limbs.

  When we break off, a wisp of desperation still lingers in his eyes. "I'm such an idiot, Serena. I have to—"

  "No, I'm the idiot."

  "Just let me finish," he whispers, the desperation in his eyes growing stronger by the second. And though his arms still press my body to his, and my hands are still knotting his hair, it's painfully clear that he thinks the kiss was just an impulse, and that I will leave him any second now. "I don't know what I was thinking. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Serena. Please, don't go to New York." The hint of a smile contours on his face. "I lov—"

  I put my finger on his lips, a light tremor shaking my body, as I take in what he was about to say. "Don't, James." The desperation in his eyes turns to panic. "I want you to say those words when you're ready. I'll wait by your side for that to happen. I'm not going anywhere."

  For a few seconds, neither of us breathes. Or moves. We just stand, entangled in each other's arms, eyes locked. And then our lips find their way together in a kiss that expresses what no words, even a thousand of them, ever could. Relief pours from his lips, reverberates from his chest, as his hands cup my face, bringing a warmth to my cheeks that spreads slowly throughout my body, filling all of me, from my core to the tips of my fingers.

  We break off gasping for air, but neither pulls too far away. I need to have him close. I need to feel his warm breath on my lips. He presses his forehead to mine, and I relish the moment, my eyes closed.

  "I'm ready now," he says. "I don't know why it took losing you to realize it. I love you, Serena, and I always will."

  "I love you too," I murmur, pressing my lips to his in another kiss. I don't try to hide or control the quiver. I don't want to. I want to give into it, to lose myself in his words. So I do. His lips paint his words over my mouth, his hands carry them to my hips, his chest brings them closer to me with every breath. When we pull apart again, we both burst out laughing. Then someone clears his throat, and we realize that the people seated on the chairs nearest to us have witnessed the whole scene. Some of them grin, some even give us thumbs up. Others, like the old man who cleared his throat, aren't as pleased.

  I blush violently, and James pulls me farther away from them, until we reach a corner that's slightly hidden from view. We're both still laughing, but then James turns serious, as I lean against a wall.

  He takes both my hands in his, looking down at them. "I'm sorry I clung so tightly to the past. That I allowed it to terrify me so much. Losing someone we love shapes us, punches us in the gut until we bend and break. But we must never let that pain define us." He blinks up at me. Smiling. "Thank you for showing me that," he whispers, and I catch my breath as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. He bites his lip, turning his head to the right. I follow his eyes to the panel in the distance, displaying the upcoming flights.

  "Since we're at the airport, you know… how about flying somewhere, just you and me?"

  "Mmm," I answer, shifting my gaze back to his lips. "Sounds tempting."

  "I mean, I still haven't figured out how to fly on a broom, do you think a plane would do?" He unhitches his gaze from the panel, turning toward me, grinning, and I feel my cheeks heating up, as I remember that moment, with both of us wearing black masks, dancing, when I told him the three dreams… fantasies, really. "I promise I'll look into it, though." He's so solemn as he says this that I cannot help but chuckle.

  "No need. I don't want to lose myself in fantasies anymore," I answer. "I have another dream now. I want to lose myself in us."

  "That I can take care of." His grin widens, and just when I think he will lean in and kiss me, he steps away from me, grasping my bag with one hand, my fingers with the other. "Let's go then."

  He starts toward the flight panels with quick steps, and I have to run to keep up with him.

  "Where are we going?" I call to him.

  He turns to look at me, the corner of his lips lifting into a half-smile—a conceited one I know only too well. "Where would be the fun if I told you?"

  Lost is a prequel novella to Lost in Us and can be read before or after.

  Whatever might he
lp him forget his past and numb the pain, James has tried it all: booze, car races, fights, and then some. Especially women. College offers plenty of opportunities for everything. . . Especially when you have a trust fund to spend.

  Serena spirals deeper and deeper into a hurricane of pain. But no matter how far she falls, there’s no redemption from the overwhelming guilt.

  Two souls consumed by their pasts fight to learn how to survive. But all hope seems to be lost.

  Until they meet each other.

  Add to GOODREADS

  This second book in the series tells Jessica and Parker’s story. It can be read as a standalone.

  The first time our paths crossed, I ran away.

  Now. . .I don’t have that kind of strength anymore. Because underneath the sleek Armani suit and the sweet British accent that makes me crave his touch, Parker isn’t the perfect gentleman everyone thinks he is.

  He’s exactly what I don’t want, but desperately need.

  A bad, bad boy.

  Add to GOODREADS

  There are so many people who helped me fulfill the dream of publishing this novel, that I am utterly terrify I will forget to thank someone. If I do, please forgive me. Here it goes.

  First, I’d like to thank my editors, Karen and Janet, whose hilarious comments and little smileys inserted along the manuscript made the editing process as enjoyable as the writing process. And also thank you for making me write that one. . .delicious scene.

  A big thank you goes to the Black Firefly Team. You made my road to publishing this novel so much easier and enjoyable. Jade, your blurb-writing skills and willingness to answer every single question I had, no matter how silly, saved my life. Thank you also introducing me to Ari, who blew me away with this beautiful cover.

  I want to thank every blogger and reader who took a chance with me as a new author and helped me spread the word. You have my most heartfelt gratitude. To my street team. . .you rock !!!