I didn’t want to see anyone. Talk to anyone. I just wanted them all to go away.
Leave me alone.
I must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, a voice overhead said, “Prepare for landing.”
I tugged the beanie off and looked around blearily.
Saylor gave me a soft smile. “How are you feeling? You missed both meal services. I saved you a muffin if you’re hungry.”
“Oh, I’m hungry, baby girl, but not for a muffin.” I leaned over to give her a kiss, but she frowned and didn’t close the distance between us that I couldn’t reach.
And then it hit me.
Gio was dead.
Gio ODed.
I should’ve seen.
I should’ve known.
I was such a shit friend.
Gio deserved better.
Saylor deserved better.
What the fuck had I been thinking?
We stumbled through customs and immigration.
I didn’t even know what time it was. Morning? Evening?
But it didn’t matter.
They were waiting for us at baggage claim.
“Malcolm! Malcom! Did you know Gio had been using?”
“Mal! Over here! Look this way!”
Suddenly we were in a scrum of photographers. The clicking of their cameras, their questions, and the flashes surrounded us.
I held Saylor’s hand in a tight grip and tried to get us away from them, walking so fast that she tripped a few steps later.
“Ah!” She went down on her knees, and I almost lost her in the scrum.
“Saylor!” I elbowed the guy on my right and lashed out on the one in front of me. “BACK THE FUCK UP!”
She was feebly trying to stand up.
“Is that an engagement ring?”
“Who are you?”
“What’s your name?”
“Are you engaged to Malcolm Holt?”
