JORDAN
Matt scoopsup my oversized luggage with ease and carries it onto the train.
I tried to pack light. I really did. But I’m in Switzerland for a whole week with Matt, which means I need an outfit for basically every occasion—shopping, hiking, fancy dinners, the benefit. And it’s fall. Obviously I need layers.
I slide into the window seat and rest my head, already closing my eyes for the slow ride in. Matt settles beside me.
I’m tired. Flying on a private plane isn’t nearly as grueling as a regular international flight, but it’s still been a long day.
Just getting to this point since we landed feels like it’s taken hours.
The train picks up speed, and between the sway and the white noise, my head starts bobbing within minutes. After the third head jerk, I give up and rest my head on Matt’s shoulder instead. He already made fun of me earlier for falling asleep sitting up when there was a full bedroom in the back of the plane.
“Is this okay?” I murmur, eyes closing.
“Course it is.”
The weight of his hand lands on my thigh. He gives it a gentle pat, then leaves it there, resting. Something simple he’s done for decades, yet it’s never felt this heavy.
Because I’m not so sure I can run from it this time.
I can’t stop thinking. It’s like my brain never shuts up, just cycles through the same shit over and over. It starts with Matt and Cole, and then the marriage. How it all seems great. Friends coming together for a kid who lost his dad. It’s fine. All good.
Then my mind shifts to my family, and how I haven’t even begun to feel the devastation from that fallout.
Then it shifts into something else entirely.
Butterflies.
Heat in my chest.
Pure lust, rooted in history and weighted by the past.
That kiss.
The hot tub.
Watching Matt break down about his dad.
The guardian ad litem visit.
His hand that’s currently resting on my thigh.
Things have always felt a certain way with him. Like a smell or a taste that takes you back to a childhood memory. Nostalgia.
That’s Matt.
He’s comfort, and I always come back. The same way a child clings to their baby blanket or stuffed animal.
He brings me that same feeling—like if I could just wrap myself in him, breathe him in, taste him—everything would be okay.
I’ve tried so hard to break free from it. To be independent. To notneedhim.
To let him fly solo.
To not hold him back.
Because Matt thrives on his own. He always has.
