Standing next to her three boxes of belongings, a cigarette hanging from her lip, she told me I was making more of the situation than was necessary. Because having to rebuild your life after allowing a man to ruin it (again) isn’t a big deal.
But I have to go. I can’t tell her about my dad over the phone. She’ll hang up, pour herself a drink, and pretend the call never happened. I need to see her face when I explain that the man who destroyed our family is out and circling back. I need to know she understands not to let him in, for any reason.
You’d think she would understand that, given everything he did. But my mother has a dangerous gift for selective memory, especially where the people who’ve hurt her most are concerned. She taught me that trick, and I’m trying very hard to unlearn it.
I can do this. I can keep my mom safe. The Johnsons, too. And I can keep Jeremy?—
The thought catches in my throat, and I clamp my lips together against the shattered sigh that wants to break free.
Finally, the flight attendant comes over the speaker, announcing that the cabin door will be closing in a few minutes. The middle seat is still empty. One small check mark in the win column for a day that has been nothing but losses. I wouldn’t exactly categorize it as joy, but it’s something.
I open the shade and watch as the ground crew does their thing, then let my eyes fall shut, praying for a few hours of oblivion before we land, and I have to face my mother.
There’s rustling nearby, and I swallow another sigh. Not the middle seat.
“Let me just get up so you can squeeze your way in there, buddy,” the big man says, his movement reverberating through the entire row like a boat’s wake.
I keep my eyes closed. I don’t care who it is. I don’t care if it’s a toddler with a drum set, as long as they don’t try to talk to me.
A body settles into the middle seat as I shift closer to the wall of the plane, like I can find a few extra inches of space there, will them into existence by wishing hard enough. An instant later, cutting through the beef jerky and chemical lavatory smell, the scent of cedar and clean soap curls around me.
My body goes rigid.
No. The universe can’t be this cruel. I’m not sitting next to a stranger who happens to smell exactly like the man I left behind.
I brace myself to make a break for the emergency exit and take my chances.
“Avah.”
My heart does a thing I refuse to name.
“Avah.”
I must be hallucinating. It’s a stress response. This is what happens when you cry in front of a woman you barely know and then board a budget airline with no snacks and not enough sleep.
“Sweetheart, look at me.”
I open my eyes and slowly turn my head.
Jeremy has folded himself into the seat next to me. His shoulders are too broad for the space, his knees pressed against the seatback in front of him. Dark hair falls across his forehead, a chaotic mess that betrays the hands he’s been running through it. His jaw is tight, and his eyes?—
His eyes are burning with an emotion that makes my heart flip and flutter.
“What are you doing here?” My voice sounds like I just swallowed a gallon of sawdust. “How did you find me?”
“Sloane.” He says her name like it explains everything.
Yep. My friend is a traitor.
And I love her.
“Why are you running away?” he asks, his voice low enough that it stays between us and Beef Jerky, who is openly watching like we’re the in-flight entertainment.
“I’m not running.” I swallow against the tightness in my throat. “I’m going to see my mom.”
Beef Jerky lets out a burp that smells like soy sauce and sulfur. “Excuse me.”
Jeremy’s brow lifts, lips just barely twitching. For a half-second, he looks exactly like he did when he held up that egg at camp—absurdly smug and not bothering to hide it. I wonder if he fell and bumped his head on the way in, because no one ever looks that happy in the last row.
