I’ve put everyone I love through hell. Clover isn’t the only one in my life who needs an apology.
“Listen to me, you little shit weasel,” Savvy hisses.
Warmth spreads through my limbs. “Hello to you too, Savvy.”
“Get your ass back here where we can tie you down until we can get Clover home and she decides what to do with you. I swear to fuck, Valen, you ever hurt her like this again and I’ll?—”
There’s a scuffle, and then a growl.
“Now you’re pissing off my wife,” Greyson growls. “Get your ass back here before I kill you myself.”
The line goes dead, and I glance at my phone.
Going home has never sounded so good…or so deadly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CLOVER
I want to scream and shout. Hurl my anger into the air just so I’ll remember what it feels like to breathe. Instead, I press my palm flat against my chest, feeling my heartbeat hammer beneath my ribs—proof that I’m alive, that I’m here, that the world hasn’t ended, even if it feels as though it should have.
I’m going to kill Valen for doing this. For thinking that he knows what’s best for me without ever fucking asking me.
I can’t even believe I’m here.
I hate flying. I hate everything about it. The lack of control. The turbulence. The fact that you’re hurtling through the sky in a metal tube held aloft by physics and prayers and the hope that the pilot had a good night’s sleep.
How does one actually know if a pilot has had enough sleep? Or had alcohol? Or is even paying attention? Surely there are safety protocols for this kind of thing, right?
I board the plane with shaking hands and a desperate need to not remember how high in the air we’re going to be.
Thinking only of Valen, I take one step forward, then another.
The older gentleman in the first-class seat next to mine is wearing a business suit and has already pulled out a laptop. Helooks like someone who flies all the time and never even looks up during takeoff.
I envy him deeply as I slide into my seat.
“First time flying?” he asks, staring at the grip I have on both our armrests.
“No,” I say. “Well, yes. Technically. I mean, I’ve been on a plane before, but it was in a museum and hadn’t flown in many, many years, so this is functionally my first time. I’m not a complete novice to the concept of air travel—I’ve just never personally experienced it as an adult with a full awareness of everything that could potentially go wrong?—”
He blinks at me—his fingers hovering over his laptop as if he can’t decide what to do next.
“—and did you know that turbulence is completely normal? I read that somewhere. The plane is designed to handle it. The wings can flex up to ninety degrees before breaking, which sounds terrifying when you say it out loud.” I suck in a breath. “But it’s actually reassuring because it means they’re very flexible, like a gymnast, and gymnasts rarely break?—”
“Ma’am—”
“—and statistically speaking, flying is safer than driving. Much safer. I considered driving for the very first time today too, but me being a passenger of this death trap is better for everyone. Probably.”
The flight attendant appears with a practiced smile. Man, her job sucks. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Wine,” my seatmate blurts. “A large wine. For her.”
The engines roar to life, and a strange littleeepslips from my lips.
“Oh, I don’t drink,” I say. “Well, I do drink, but not on planes because what if there’s an emergency I need to be alert for? Although I suppose if there’s an emergency, being alert won’t really help because what am I going to do? Talk the engineinto working again? How often do you think plane engines fail? I write thriller novels, not mechanical engineering books, but that’s probably something I should know.”
“She’ll have a water,” the man says wearily.
