Once we reach cruising altitude, Cade comes through the cabin and asks for drink orders. Olive stays in the galley. I only catch glimpses of her as she occupies herself away from all of us passengers.
As I wait for those brief sightings, my mind begins to wander.Did she actually meet someone last night because I was too chickenshit to ask her out when I saw her at the coffee shop?
Knowing that I have no control over who she spends her time with and being able to let it go, for that reason, are two very different things. Unfortunately, I have no say in who Olive dates. But a large part of me is apparently irrational, because there’s nothing I want more than to have a say in that.
Halfway through the flight, I give in and rise out of my seat, determined to talk to Olive. Cade has gone into the bathroom, and Ian is asleep, so I figure I have a few minutes. I casually stroll up to the front of the plane, hoping not to draw attention as I lean against the cabinet at the opening to the galley. Olive has her back to me, looking down at her phone. Her long dark hair is pulled back in a low ponytail.
“Olive.”
I cringe when she jumps, nearly dropping her phone. She spins around to face me, her phone clutched to her chest. “Nate,” she breathlessly whispers.
The way she says my name goes straight to my cock. All I can imagine is her saying my name while breathless for an entirely different reason. I adjust my stance to relieve the pressure on the zipper of my pants.
I clear my throat before I ask, “Is everything okay?”
She avoids eye contact as she turns to the counter behind her, pretending to be busy doing something. From my vantage point, it just looks like she’s moving glasses around and not actually doing anything productive. “Everything’s fine. Just a little alarm clock mix-up.”
I clench my jaw again. I know she’s lying to me. “Olive, you look a little more upset than if it was just an alarm clock that didn’t go off.”
Her shoulders rise and fall with her breaths. “It doesn’t matter.”
I take a small step closer. “Olive, please tell me.”
She pivots to me. “Nate, it’s really none of your business. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. So just drop it.”
I grind my teeth. My mind screams at me that she’s absolutely correct. It really isn’t any of my business. But I want her to open up to me. I want her to tell me her problems and her worries and to let me help her. As I take a step closer, her eyes widen a fraction. The pain in them is evident, and it breaks my heart. My hand raises to brush a piece of hair off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. Her breath puffs on the skin of my arm, and goosebumps flare down my body. I drop my hand while fighting the urge to touch her more. “You’re right. I don’t know you. Yet. But I’m here, even if it’s just to listen.”
“You don’t mean that,” she replies, her eyebrows pressing together in skepticism and distress.
I lick my lips as exhilaration and panic ripple through me at how assured I am that I do mean exactly that. “Yeah, Olive, I do.”
The corners of her eyes pinch as I take a step back. I don’t want to push too hard, despite needing her to knowhow serious I am. Even if my stomach flips at the realization, my earlier fear flares. But I tamp it down. Sometimes, good things in life can be just as scary as they are elating.
9
Olive
Ineed a few moments to myself after the interaction with Nate. It’s disconcerting how desperately I want to confide in him. Tell him about the texts from Benny and about the frantic calls I had to make after. The sleepless hours of crying and stressing about the reality that haunts me—by not looking at my phone earlier, I could have been too late to help my brother when he needed me.
But I couldn’t. Nate wanted me to confide in him about simple things, like a hangover or a broken heart, not my entire world blowing up yet again. He acted like he really wanted to know, but I’ve been down this road before, and men like him quickly realize that being with someone who has the problems I do is much less knight in shining armor than they thought it would be.
The emotions from last night are still too raw.
If Cade hadn’t been there, I don’t know how I would’vegotten back to the hotel. He walked me to my room and asked if I wanted him to stay with me. I didn’t—not because I didn’t appreciate his support, but because I needed to handle this alone. It was already too many emotions to deal with Benny, so adding having to worry about what my best friend thought about me and my brother when we were both at our rawest was too much for me.
Once in the privacy of my room, I continued to call my brother and his sponsor, James, repeatedly. In between the calls, I started looking up flights home, when James called me.
He explained that Benny had called him after I didn’t answer his texts. James went over to our apartment, picked up my brother, and brought him back to his house for the night. James was going to watch over him and make sure he didn’t do anything. Then, if Benny agreed, James was going to take him to an outpatient facility in the morning.
When I finally spoke with him, Benny assured me that he didn’t do anything and that he wanted to stay sober. He just had a rough night and felt himself slipping back into the headspace that made drugs feel like the best coping mechanism.
I told him last night, but I hope he knows how proud I am of him for reaching out to James and me. I offered to come home multiple times in our short conversation, but he kept telling me that wouldn’t solve anything and that I needed to work.
My heart hurts just recalling that conversation. I spent the whole night alternating between restless sleep and crying. It’s no surprise I overslept. I inhale a shaky breath and let it out slowly. And now I have a job to do, and I don’t have the time to lose it again.
I lift my chin high and put on my best, carefree face,even if it feels forced. Taking another deep breath, I open the lavatory door and walk back to the galley, where Cade is prepping food and drinks.
“You good, boo?” he asks as he continues plating the meals.
