Chapter 15
The plane hums steadily beneath my trainers, but my chest’s anything but steady. Same flight, same routine as two days ago. Same bloody seat waiting for me. Only difference? She’s not here.
Row twenty-three, seat G. Aisle. I hate the aisle, as the trolley always catches my knees when it rolls past, but I’m not moving, not now, not after last time.
My knee won’t stop bouncing. Hands flexing against my thighs, restless. I’ve faced strikers, one-on-one in front of the world, calmer than this.
The lads file in, row by row, loud with chatter, still buzzing from the win. Thiago drops into row thirteen, twisting round in his seat with that grin. “Lucky seats!” he yells, pointing at me. I give him a nod, but my eyes are fixed on the door.
Waiting.
Every shadow down the jet bridge, every voice spilling into the cabin, I’m straining for hers. Shouldn’t matter. Christ above, it shouldn’t matter. She’s probably squeezing in every last minute with her family while I sit here wound tight as wire, but my fingers still twitch with the ghost of her braid. That featherlight touch gone too soon. The look in her eyes like she wasn’t sure if I meant more, and like part of her wanted to believe I did.
I clench my jaw, and then she’s there.
She steps onto the plane with that easy smile that does my head in. Backpack slung over her shoulder, carry-on rolling smooth. She greets the captain like she knows him, high-fiving the lads as she makes her way down the aisle. I can’t breathe, but I can’t look away either.
Her eyes find mine, just for a second, and my chest kicks hard. She tips forward, trying to haul her bag overhead, and Santiago Rivas steps in to help. She thanks him, polite, already moving toward a seat up front.
No.
“Oi.” My voice carries sharper than I intend, and half the bloody team turns along with her. “Your seat’s back here, Catalina.”
She blinks, about to argue, but Thiago spins around in his seat, grinning like the devil. “Sí, jefa. Same seats, same magic. You’re not about to jinx us after that win, are you?”
“Thiago—” she starts.
“Nope.” He turns to the others. “Luca, you too, hermano. Everyone back in the same spots. Don’t mess the luck.”
The lads laugh but shuffle around to humor him. She just rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at her mouth.
That’s all the permission I need. I’m on my feet, stepping into the aisle. She tries again with the bag, but I take it from her without a word, lifting it into the compartment. She brushes pastme, settling into the window seat, still watching me, her lips tugging into a barely there smile she’s definitely trying to hide.
“Am I supposed to drink water without ice now? Take out my contacts? Migraine pills, maybe?” she teases.
I lean down a fraction, enough for her to hear over the cabin noise. “No, kitten, tonight we’re celebrating. Champagne’ll do.”
We’ve been in the air maybe fifteen minutes when the flight attendant appears, balancing two mini bottles of champagne and a pair of flutes on a tray. Catalina hasn’t said a word since takeoff—just a polite“No, thank you”when he first came around and asked her if she wanted a drink.
I lower the tray on the seat between us, then take the tray from him and set it there. He’s all smiles, eyes darting between the two of us as he asks, “Anything else I can get you, Mr. Gallagher?”
I glance at him, then at her. She’s staring back, eyebrows raised.
“Would you like anything else,kitten?” I ask, keeping my tone casual even though I know exactly what I’m doing. She doesn’t love the nickname, but she hasn’t told me to stop, and I’m not the type to quit while I’m ahead.
To my surprise, she says, “Something sweet.”
Then she adds, quieter, “I have a bag of Nerd Clusters in my backpack, though…”
The attendant perks up. “Oh, we actually have some amazing macarons, if you’re interested, Miss… Kitten?” He hesitates over the last word.
Catalina laughs—really laughs—and it hits me square in the chest. It’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh that loud. It’s brightand unguarded andbeautiful.I feel it low in my chest, like I’ve swallowed sunlight.
“Macarons sound great, mate,” I say, still watching her. The attendant nods and hurries off.
She’s still smiling when she says, “I’ve been flying with the team for two years, and this is the first time anyone’s offered me champagne. Definitely the first time there’s been anything as ridiculous as macarons too.”
“I like my sweets,” I say.
