Traveling used to be fun. Even campaigning isn’t this exhausting, because on most nights I’m either home, or have Carter with me, or can spend a few stolen moments with Owen. I can…bemefor part of the day.
This has been the longest stretch I’ve been without either or both men in…
Well, in over twenty years.
I’m sitting there surrounded by virtual strangers, halfway across the world from home, and sipping my coffee when that revelation slams into me.
Owen and Carter have been in my life fortwentyyears.
Not only have we lasted longer than a good part of the general population in terms of marriages, we’re apoliticalunion. That’s our family business. That’s even harder on a relationship.
Plus we’re doing it as a poly triad, and haven’t killed each other yet.
That’s got to be some sort of record.
I pull up our group text thread.
Eating breakfast before airport. Love and miss you both.
I don’t even know what time it is in Florida. Carter’s orders were to text them at any time without concern for trying to figure time differences.
Right now, I’m close to tears with homesickness. At least at home if I can’t be with Owen, I know he’s only a couple of blocks away at night, and we can FaceTime or Skype if he’s alone.
Carter replies a moment later.
Love and miss you, too, pet. boy’s already asleep. We were up early this morning, and have an even earlier day tomorrow. I’ll have him reply in the morning when he wakes up. Stay safe.
I try not to feel guilty about waking Carter, even though he specifically ordered me not to worry about things like that. Hopefully it’s not the middle of the night there, and he can go back to sleep. At least he’s with Owen, so it means I don’t need to worry as much about Carter’s nightmares. I’m under orders not to worry about them, or the campaign, or anything else while I’m over here, except what I’m doing. That I’m to focus on the trip and on making connections.
But I can’t help it. I miss my men. I might as well be on Mars.
I could log in to my private calendar and see where Owen and Carter will be, but that would be violating a direct order from Sir, and I can’t make myself do that.
I touch the stainless steel necklace and the matching bracelet on my right wrist, jewelry Carter gave me, my day collars. In addition to our matching tattoos, it’s a tangible reminder that my men are with me no matter where I go. That Owen and Carter wear mates to them—Carter, a bracelet on his left wrist, and Owen a necklace like mine worn under his shirt—makes me feel even more connected to them. Double the symbolism, we’re both owned by Carter, and yet I also own Owen.
One of the things I want to do when I get home is spend a few nights just beingpetagain. I feel desperately out of touch with that part of myself.
I end up sitting with Connie and Michael and chatting with them throughout our meal. Once our guide team meets with us and goes over the itinerary for the day—a goodly chunk of which will be spent in the air—we start loading in our busses for the ride to the airport. The meds I took earlier are making me sleepy, which gives me hope that I can take a long nap once we’re wheels-up. In the large, oversized purse I use for a carryon, I keep a sleep mask and neck cushion for just this kind of occasion, and it’s a four-hour flight.
Note to self—remember to never say yes to one of these long junkets unless one of the guys can come with me.
This is an older and slightly smaller charter jet than the previous ones, just big enough for all of us with few empty seats, so we’ll be packed in like sardines. No Wi-Fi on this flight, either. Unfortunately, Connie and Michael boarded before I did. Michael snagged a starboard-side window about eight rows behind the wing, and Connie’s in the middle. But, so far, she hasn’t been an annoying seat-mate. Once we’re off the ground, she rarely hits the lav on these shorter flights.
Then I remember my iffy tummy during the last flight and decide perhaps the aisle is safer this time. So I suck it up, tuck my laptop bag into the overhead, stow my large carryon purse under the seat in front of me, which requires a little wedging to make it fit, and I settle in. One last check of my phone, and I don’t have a text from Owen, so I shut it off and add it to my purse.
I knew I wouldn’t have a reply after Michael reminds me that there’s a twelve-hour difference from Florida time, and then I finally have ad’ohmoment when I think to glance at my watch, which I never changed. I use my phone for local time, and I so rarely wear a watch anymore I honestly forget I have the damn thing on.
Still, doesn’t mean I didn’t hope, just a little, to see a reply.
I hate these flights, though. The ones over nothing but water. Well, for all intents and purposes nothing but water. There’s the occasional scattered island chain below.
Maybe it’s better I’mnoton the window this time.
After drink and snack orders are handed out, I get as comfy as I can with my mask and my neck cushion in place, and I hope for sleep.
I do manage to doze off for a while when a jolt awakens me. More correctly, it’s the nervous trills and sounds the herd packed in this sardine can have made over the jolt. I pull my mask off to find Connie and Michael holding hands, and Connie looks a little white in the face.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
