“The team has buses. They do transportation. He doesn’t need meto—”
“It’s not aboutneed, Jacks. It’s about want.” She’d stabbed a piece of French toast with unnecessary violence, then shoved it into her mouth. “Stop overthinking and do something nice for someone you care about. What’s the worst that happens? He says no and takes the team bus anyway.”
So there I was.
Overthinking in a parking lot.
I unlocked my phone for the hundredth time and opened Instagram, scrolling through posts I’d already seen. Benji had uploaded a video of last night’s shift complete with some elaborate cocktail he’d invented that involved dry ice and more edible glitter, this time blue in honor of the Lightning. I didn’t even know they made blue glitter, much less the edible kind. Finn had posted a rare picture of him and Chase at dinner looking disgustingly happy. Mia had shared forty-seven stories about her clinic’s new therapy dog.
There was nothing from Skyler.
His last post was from three days ago—a team photo after their win in Vegas with everyone grinning and sweaty and triumphant. He was in the center, his arm slung around Erik’s shoulders, that golden retriever smile lighting up his whole face.
I’d looked at that photowaytoo many times.
An embarrassing number of times.
The kind of number that would make Benji stage an intervention if he ever found out.
I glanced up at the flight board for the dozenth time. No update.
So, I did the logical thing every platonic friend did when surprising his other platonic friend. I pulled up a flight checker site and stalked Skyler’s plane.
Yes, it was a private plane. And yes, I knew its identification to be able to track it.
Did that make me a creeper?
I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t care.
The little airplane icon had crossed into Florida airspace, the arrival time holding steady at 4:47 p.m.
Seventeen minutes away.
My stomach did a slow roll.
This was fine.
I was picking up my buddy from the airport.
It was no big deal. People did this all the time.
The fact that my palms were sweating and my heart was beating too fast and I’d changed my shirt three times before leaving the house meant nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
I switched apps and pulled up my texts with Skyler, rereading our conversation from that morning for no reason other than masochism.
Me: Safe travels today. Try not to let Murph annoy you too much on the flight.
PuckingSkylerShaw: Too late. He’s already claimed the seat next to me and is threatening to narrate the entire in-flight movie. He’s making us watchDiary of a Wimpy Kid. I think there’s a hidden message in this, but I can’t figure out what it is.
Me: My condolences.
PuckingSkylerShaw: I may not survive. If I don’t make it, tell Barbacks I loved them.
Me: I’ll commission a plaque. “Here sat Skyler Shaw. He died as he lived: annoyed by Murph.”
PuckingSkylerShaw: Perfect. That’s how I want tobe remembered.
