Thank you so much for all the reviews and following alerts for the first chapter. I'm a happy writer.

I hope Sylvie is as happy as I am. This story won't go this far without her helping hands.

Oh and this silly writer forgot to tell you all in the first chapter that this story is (short of) a continuation of Sylvie's story Married Love. Sorry.

MY RIDE HOME

Chapter 2

He told her in February.

It was the month of romance. The streets were adorned with pink hearts and paper cupids, couples sent flowers and cards to each other, but he'd cut the ties by the phone.

A sixteen-years-old would have done better than him.

Every man would have done better than him.

But that was the main reason he had done it at the first place.

She deserved a better man than him, a man who wouldn't let distance speak louder than his feelings.

By December he was all skinny and gloomy and unhealthy.

In March he heard about a promising research into new treatment in Africa, a research involving a more holistic process rather than the pharmaceutical ones. He jumped at the chance to take part as test subject.

Their lawyers met in March too. It was a quick and clean process regarding money, townhouse, and other worldly possessions. Not to think of her as his possession took longer and left his heart in quite a mess.

The separation was further legalized when he shut her out of his life completely.

No phone. No mail. No extra wound to take care of.

God knows he would crumble if he ever took a look into her eyes again.

Two more years went by as he underwent various treatments and did almost everything to fill his empty heart but nothing, nothing, could ever wipe her out of his mind.

Then he found a wedding invitation on his desk.

He intentionally put the dusty copy of Moby Dick on top of the letter, having no intention to RSPV.

He could always use the excuse of being busy or being unhealthy.

He was busy. He was rather unhealthy. The new medication worked well, but he was still struggling for his life.

He was in no condition to attend a wedding.

But then something had happened.

Alexander, the designated driver at the facility, had recklessly driven their bus down to the bottom of a ravine.

His feet had got stuck, his nose had bled, his helper had died, he had no option but cry for help.

Help had come, after four hours.

Add another two hours to the equation for it wasn't easy to save people stuck in a bus down a two-hundred-foot ravine.

Those six hours spent doing nothing but recalling his decisions in life.

Those six hours ended with him making promises to himself.

Those hours brought him to today.

"Wait a minute."

Those three words she whispered on the phone were like an aria of love.

She'd agreed.

He leaned on the Mercedes, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled again.

Thank God, she'd agreed.

It took longer than a minute though.

Or it didn't.

Was he just restless in his own thought?

What if she changed her mind?

What if she asked someone else to pick her up and left by the back door?

What if he didn't stand a chance at all?

He paced.

He turned and checked himself on the car's window to avoid the anxiety.

Was his bowtie askew?

"Still couldn't figure that one out, huh?" Her voice sent a chill down his spine.

"Uh," He turned to face her, hands furiously trying to beat the tie into submission.

"Here," She came closer and reached.

He couldn't help but inhale the scent.

Shampoo. Perfume. A hint of soap and lotion. Hairspray?

She used hairspray these days?

Were those wrinkles in the corner of her eyes?

Did that thin scar by her earlobe exist before?

Why did she choose this dress? It exposed too much of her gorgeous neck and showed too much of her breasts.

Right. He didn't have a say in her choice of clothes anymore.

Was that the pendant he had given her eight years ago?

It was.

There was hope.

"There." She cut across his reverie.

"Thank you."

"Uh Oh, don't touch the tie, you'll ruin it again."

His hands stopped in mid-air. His eyes craved contact but hers were averted. For want of something else to do he straightened his jacket.

"We need to go now. I don't want to be late."

"Right," He opened the passenger door. "You look beautiful."

"I should do." She said rather somberly.

He made a nervous beeline to the driver seat. A cold reception was to be expected right? He was lucky there were no guns or knives involved.

"The Bellagio, right?" He tried.

The attempt to start a conversation died at her nod of the head.

"This car's a rental." He tried again. " It's the same model as my old car. My Mercedes, remember?"

Attempt number two was greeted by dead silence.

He was in the middle of composing attempt number three when she called his name.

"Gil." She didn't even look at him. "What do you want?"

"I want to attend a wedding." He deadpanned.

She threw him a sharp look. It was their first eye contact on that day, the kind of eye contact that cut and hurt.

He killed the engine, making a sudden stop at the roadside.

A trailer passed by and honked in protest, followed by a Camry and two SUVs, all honked.

"Gil! I can't be late."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Drive on then."

"Sara," He clasped her hand in his. She struggled. He didn't let go. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Their eyes met again.

His heart ached. Words filled his mind but he couldn't force them out.

He wished for her to read his mind, for his eyes to be the windows to his heart, for his feeling to be an open book.

He was there for her to read.

However, the unfortunate course of their relationship had let him know that no one can really read your mind, not even the one you fall in love with.

He knew he had to fight his way to her heart.

She said nothing for a moment. Then she gently set her fingers free.

"Apology accepted. Now go." Her eyes were on the road again.

"But,"

"Please,"

"Sara, I…"

"Whatever you want to say, say it while taking us to our destination."

He sighed, started the car and drove again.

"I shouldn't have done what I did to you Sara." After a few minutes, he found himself coherent again.

"No. You shouldn't have."

"At the time it seemed to be the best decision to make."

"I bet it did."

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"The lack of intention didn't make it hurt less."

"We were so distant back then. We barely spoke to each other let alone saw each other."

"That wasn't solely my fault."

No one could hit so many mental walls in a conversation without running out of breath. Grissom let out a deep sigh. No one ever said this would be easy.

For them, nothing ever came easy.

"Listen Gil," She finally started something, "I don't really understand why you are coming to me right now. You let me go six years ago. You can't just show up one day and expect things to be all peachy."

He saw how she kept her hands fisted. He understood how angry she was right now.

But he wouldn't give up.

Not yet.

He still had one bullet in the chamber.

Even if using this last resort meant degrading himself into one selfish bastard, he'd use it.

He had to fight.

To Be Continued

What do you think? A little too angsty? Tell me in a review.