“I do prefer that seating option.”
Unsurprisingly, he was as good as his word.
The trip to Ohio ran a little over two hours and I spent the bulk of that on his knee.
Any smidge of turbulence and he tucked me tighter into him and let me freeze without getting angry at my overreaction.
Unlike me, who found the tattooed area hypersensitive and sore, he had no problem with his back rubbing against the seat.
By the end of the flight, I knew why gettingcarpe dieminked on his wrist had been important to him—it had led him to me—and I’d also learned that Rory had been a menace as a teenager, Luc had wanted to teach history before becoming a mobster, and that during the summers, they’d vacationed at a house that made Downton Abbey look tiny.
His anecdotes and the trip down memory lane meant that I wasn’t a trembling mess despite only taking a single Dramamine, but my relief knew no bounds once my heels touchedterra firma.
A part of me knew that I’d have to adapt to flying if I wanted to be with him more. The perks of heading up Currau’s extensive team of medical staff meant that I could work from the road because many aspects of my job were administrative.
Wherever possible, and if Stan invited me along, I knew I’d always go with him.
Distance wouldn’t suit us, I didn’t think.
He slept better with me at his side. Had started gaining weight from eating more frequently. My absence would only cause him to worry—he liked me close.
And he wasn’t alone in that.
Distance would give my mind time to race and to fret—about him, his work.
I’d lost enough people along the way to want to spend as much of it with him as I could.
Basically, I had to get over this phobia.
Easier said than done.
“You look pensive,duci,” he commented when we were in yet another car, this time taking us to some town called Coshocton.
“It’s dumb,” I admitted.
“Nothing is dumb. Aside from testing your own drugs…”
His self-deprecating joke had me wrinkling my nose at him. “When I fly, I get pretty maudlin.”
“Maudlin?”
“Yes. Thinking about… death, you know?”
He angled his face toward me. “Whose death? Your own?”
“Surprisingly, no. If I die, I won’t hurt, will I? I’ll be dead. But I’ll leave people behind who will hurt. A-And I think of who I’m traveling with and worry I’ll survive but they won’t.”
“Survivor’s guilt?”
“No. More like…” A breath whooshed out of me. “I anticipate grief, I guess.”
“Anticipate grief.” It wasn’t a question. More like he needed to speak the words to understand them. So I didn’t feel the need to explain, just let him process them. “I think I’ve experienced this.”
“Yes?” I asked, cautious to the last on this subject. Nobody else in my family got it so I’d only brought it up a couple of times.
“You won’t like my answer.”
“Doesn’t matter. Tell me anyway.”
