“Let’s get you home,” he says. It’s then that I notice my carry-on suitcase in the aisle, with my bag on top of it.
“What about my phone, and?—”
“I got everything from your seat. C’mon, before you get sick again.” He sounds... concerned? The flight attendant hands him a couple of the barf bags you normally find in the seat back pocket. “Thanks, Brenda. Hope the birthday party goes well this week.”
At first I’m surprised by how familiar he is with her. Sometimes I forget that it’s the same flight crew on all the teams’ flights. Of course he knows her. And he just sat here for god knows how long waiting for me to finish puking my brains out.
“Thank you both,” I say as I reach for the handle of my suitcase.
“I’ve got it,” Aidan says, standing and blocking me from taking it. “You just get yourself safely down those steps. Or do you need me to carry you?”
“No,” I say, suddenly realizing how weak I am. “I can do it.” I turn toward the door of the aircraft, but I’m hit by a sudden dizzy spell and grab the wall of the galley to hold myself up.
“Like hell you can,” Aidan says from behind me. And then he’s scooping me into his arms.
“Hey, I'm sick but I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” he says, walking to the plane’s exit, “but I’m going to take care of you anyway. Hold onto me.”
I wrap my arms around him, resting my head on his chest as he carefully descends the stairs. He walks over to his car, which for some reason is right on the tarmac of the private airport. As if he knows I’m about to ask him, he says, “McCabe brought it over. No one believed you’d be able to walk to the parking lot after... that.”
“Could everyone hear me throwing up?” I groan.
“Pretty much. Don’t worry, everyone felt bad for you. I don’t think AJ told anyone but me that this was self-inflicted.”
“It wasn’t self-inflicted,” I mutter.
“Mm-hmm.” He opens the door, then sets me in the passenger seat. “I’m going to go get your bags. If you need to throw up again, try to do it outside the car, okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, but my stomach calls me out on the lie by loudly rumbling.I hate everything about this situation.
He turns and bounds up the steps to the plane, leaving me to consider that this was probably how my mom was feeling the day after her wedding. Maybe I was too judgmental about her forgetting my birthday, given that I barely know my own name right now.
Aidan comes back with my suitcase in one hand and my over-the-shoulder bag in the other. After setting them both in the trunk, he comes around and hands me the barf bags Brenda had given him, shuts my door, and then climbs in behind the wheel.
“Where’s your stuff?” I ask him as I pry open one of the plastic-coated bags. Hopefully I won’t need it, but better to have it ready just in case.
“McCabe put it in my car when he brought it around.”
I buckle my seat belt and rest my head against the headrest as I crack the window to get some fresh air. “Did this make him and AJ suspicious?”
“No more than they already were, I suspect.”
“They already think something’s going on between us?”
“McCabe does, for sure. Not sure about AJ.”
I wonder again what AJ’s feelings on the matter would be? On the one hand, if anyone would understand dating a player you work with, it would be her. Plus, the Rebels are aclientof mine, I’m not even technically an employee. On the other hand, would she be mad that I hadn’t told her outright?
In the end, it probably doesn’t matter. This is never going to be an actual relationship, so there’s nothing to share. Plus, since AJ already knows how I stupidly let Carter back into my life at the end of the summer, she doesn’t need to know how I’veessentially set myself up for the same sort of heartbreak with Aidan.
We drive out of the airport in silence, and before we even reach the main road that will take us back into Boston, I’m resting my head against the window with my eyes closed. The breeze on my face makes me feel less nauseous than before. I don’t wake up until the car door opens and Aidan leans in, unbuckling me and picking me up like I weigh nothing.
“Where are we?” I ask, confused by the dim, unfamiliar space. I think it’s a small garage?
“My place.”
There are so many questions whirling through my head, but I’m mostly focused on how he can possibly have a private garage in the city, and why we are here. But I’m too tired to ask, so I just give him a nod and close my eyes, while I enjoy how comfortable I am with my head resting against his chest.
