“Flying to LA. What does it look like?” He winks. He brings my hands to his lips and presses a kiss against my skin in the shadow of the brim of his ball cap.
“No,” I exhale. “I mean, that’s sweet of you, but—no.” He can’t fly out to LA for me. That’s just crazy.
Shifting in my direction, with his knees jammed into the seatback in front of him, he speaks. “I’m not trying to be sweet. I’m trying to be there for you. Don’t push me away.” His voice is clearand unwavering.
I regard him for a moment, taking in the seriousness in the set of his jaw and the genuine compassion behind his eyes. “My life in California is messy,” I warn, “and—and it’s about to get messier.” He has no idea.
The plane is taxiing. There’s no way out of this now. The overhead lights turn off and the strip of lights flicker above the windows, illuminating along the length of the plane.
“And you think that’s going to scare me away? I can handle messy, Joey. I didn’t quit my job and give up my inheritance to play it safe. I gave it up to live life on my own terms. And I want to be there for you. I want to do this.I’mchoosing this. I’m choosingyou. Let me choose you.”
My heart cracks open and tears finally tumble down my cheeks, despite my attempt to keep them inside. “I don’t deserve you.”
Cam hasn’t let go of my hand. In fact, he’s clutching harder, and his left leg is bouncing like a jackhammer now that we’re moving down the runway.
“Are you a nervous flier?”
With his eyes still shut tight, he juts his chin in confirmation. “Just during takeoff and landing,” he mumbles, white-knuckling the armrest to his left.
I hold his hand in my lap and lean over him so I can rub calming circles over his chest.
“Did you ever read the bookWe’re Going on a Bear Huntas a child?”
The plane lifts off then, and he cracks one eye open skeptically at my random question.
“Remember what they did every time they reached a new hurdle? The snowstorm? The cave?”
He nods, and his grip loosens just a fraction, so I continue. “They observed the obstacle and considered theirbest course of action. They couldn’t go under it or over it, so they went through it. Flying’s a lot like that.”
A smile surfaces on his smooth face, and he drops his head back against his seat and lets it loll, his eyes glowing in contemplation.
I nuzzle into his shoulder, ignoring the way the armrest stabs into my ribs.
“The same goes for you, you know,” he says.
I lift my head to meet his gaze beneath the brim of his hat.
“With your mom,” he clarifies. “We’ll get through it.”
The way he sayswehas my insides lighting up like constellations in the night sky.
Once the plane has evened out, Cam breaks away to lift the armrest between us.
“You must be exhausted.” He drapes an arm over my shoulders and tugs me into his sturdy body. He kisses the top of my head and strokes my hair. I nearly purr like a kitten at his tranquil touch. He’s about to find out that playing with my hair is my kryptonite.
Sometime later, I’m woken by a subtle shifting of Cam’s body. I sit up straight and wipe at my chin, mortified when my hand comes away damp.
All he does is give me a soft smile. Removing his hat, he chuckles. “Sorry to wake you, but my arm’s asleep.”
He rubs and shakes out his arm as I stretch out my neck. The brown noise of the engines drowns out the rustling of passengers around us who are struggling for comfort with their makeshift neck pillows, and random overhead lights look like polka-dots in the otherwise dark cabin.
I unbuckle my seat belt and slide to the window seat. “Come.” I pat my thigh, motioning for him to lay his head in my lap. He obeys, kissing my knee, then settling in.
Running my fingers through his hair, I rest my head againstthe fuselage. And for the first time in hours, a sense of calm covers me like a blanket. Bring on the bear, because with Cam by my side, I can get through anything.
Sometime after three, we deboard at LAX. Neither of us checked bags, so we head straight outside to locate a taxi. When we exit through the automatic doors, I inhale the familiar Southern California air. Although the smell of pollution is similar to that in New York City, it’s much less humid here.
While we wait, I turn my phone off airplane mode and wait while a slew of texts pops up. I immediately open the one from Tyler:I was able to get your mom into that rehab facility in Palm Springs.
