I hesitated.
I mean, it wasn’t exactly sporting to run over and chew him out through the door while he was heaving. There were limits to how petty I could be.Iwasn’t the jerky jerkface of the two of us.
So instead, I ducked into a stall myself and pulled out my phone to check my messages.
There was nothing from the attorney—not that I’d expected anything at this hour of the morning—but Oak had written back.
Oak: Please, please be chill if you get spotted, Jay. Even if fans and reporters say ignorant shit to you. Remember, being an asshole to other people makes them want to be an asshole to you.
I smirked and typed outPolite is my middle name.
Before I could hit Send, though, a toilet flushed down the line. I stuffed my phone in my pocket and watched through the crack in the door as Rafe braced his hands on the countertop by the sink and regarded himself in the mirror. A few strands of hair clung to his sweat-damp forehead, and the overhead lights made him look haggard, like death warmed over.
“That’s enough,” he hiss-whispered at his own reflection. “No more puking. It’s going to be a very safe, turbulence-free, three-hour flight. You can do anything for three hours, Goodman. You’ve run races insummerthat lasted longer than three hours. Hell, you’ve listened to Lorenna McKetcham talk about her sexual conquests for longer than three hours. Millions of people fly all over the world every damn day, and cars are more likely to crash than planes. So you’re gonna cowboy up, right here and now, and do what needs to be done…” He blew out a breath and narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t about you. It’s about Aimee.”
Oh.
Oh.
My chest squeezed tight, and a couple of very important realizations occurred to me simultaneously.
First, Rafe Goodman wasn’t going on vacation; he was at the airport to do the very thing I’d asked him to do—to go see Aimee—except without me, damn it.
And second, the man wasn’t hungover. He was having a motherfucking panic attack because he hated flying and had ever since one of the planes carrying his class to Miami for his senior trip had crashed in a thunderstorm… which was really something my self-righteous ass should have remembered while I was going off on him the day before.
In fact, I was pretty sure me forgetting something that serious about a guy who’d been my best frienddidmake me the jerky jerkface of the two of us.
Goddamn it.
The story had made the national news at the time—one teenager had died, two others were badly injured—and I remembered it was one of the few times I’d been really glad my stepmother was the world’s biggest gossip, because at least Belinda had been willing to get on the phone and call the Goodmans to find out more information while Aimee and I had been paralyzed with fear. Rafe had been physically fine, but emotionally it had taken a huge toll. Big Rafe and Mary Goodman had driven down to Miami in the aftermath to collect Rafe and bring him home, and that whole summer, he hadn’t even liked being in a car when anyone else was driving. As far as I knew, he hadn’t stepped on a plane since.
The fact that he was about to try, for Aimee’s sake, said a lot about his feelings for her and about who he was. A good man. A man who’d been hurt when Aimee left him.
And maybe it was no surprise that Rafe hadn’t trusted me with Aimee’s secrets, given that the only emotions I’d shown him in the last few years were bitterness, outrage, mistrust, and avoidance.
Fuck.
Oak’s words came back to me:Remember, being an asshole to other people makes them want to be an asshole to you.
I blew out a breath and watched Rafe splash water on his face, then pat himself dry with a paper towel. The many gorgeous muscles in his back bunched and flexed as he gripped the sink with white knuckles, still determined to take care of things, even when anyone else would have consoled themselves that they’d done the most they could and gone home.
But who was taking care of Rafe? Who’d looked out for him since Aimee left?
It’s not your job, that’s for sure,Rollins,I reminded myself.
Rafe straightened suddenly and stared at himself in panic. “Nuh-uh. Don’t do it,” he told himself. “Don’t you do it, Goodman… Ah, shit.” He ran for the bathroom stall again.
I rubbed at my forehead as a truly terrible idea sprang into my brain fully formed, and even as I cursed myself for my own stupidity, I knew I was gonna go through with it.
I erased my half-written text to Oak and instead typed,Hey, what if I told you there was an alternate way for me to get back to Wyoming with no paparazzi, if you just did me one teeny, tiny little favor?
Oak: I’m in.
5
Rafe
“Mr. Goodman? Rafael Goodman, Junior?” the deep voice on the phone said.
