I take his hand, trying to ignore the warmth in our touch and my nervous system short-circuiting.
His fingers close around mine, warm and solid, and I let him pull me out of the SUV and into the storm.
The noise is deafening. Cameras flash from every direction, a strobe-light assault that makes it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. People are shouting my name—some in support, some in accusation, all of them hungry. I feel hands reaching toward me, brushing against my jacket, my arm, my hair, and I have to fight the urge to curl into a ball and disappear.
But Taio doesn’t let me disappear. He keeps his hand firmly on the small of my back, guiding me forward, his body angled to block the rowdiest of the crowd. When someone gets too close, he smoothly redirects them without breaking stride. When a camera gets shoved in my face, he steps between us, creating space. He moves like water around obstacles, never stopping, never hesitating, always keeping me moving toward the tarmac. He does this like he’s practiced.
“You’re doing great,” he murmurs near my ear. “Almost there.”
I focus on his voice. On the pressure of his hand against my spine. On putting one foot in front of the other until the roar of the crowd starts to fade and the sleek white shape of the private jet comes into view.
The stairs unfold before us like a ladder to salvation. Taio guides me up, Sage close behind, and then we’re through the cabin door and the noise cuts off like someone hit a mute button.
Silence. Beautiful, blessed silence.
I sag against the nearest surface, a lavish cream-colored leather seat that could fit two of me, and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. My hands are shaking again. My heart is pounding. But I’m here. I made it. We made it.
“That was intense,” Taio breathes out, stepping past me into the cabin. “Is it always like that?”
“That was tame in comparison,” I tell him.
He lets out a low whistle. “How in the world do you get used to that?”
“I don’t.” I hold up my shaking hands. “Fake it ’til you make it, right?”
I crane my neck to examine him head to toe. He’s dressed like a cat burglar who moonlights as a fitness influencer—all-black everything. Black slacks that somehow look both professional and ready for a parkour escape, a black T-shirt that clings to him like a barnacle, and a black athletic jacket that’s fighting a losing battle with his shoulders, the zipper barely closed over his broad chest.
He looks different up close. Not bad different—just a brand-new canvas to admire. His jaw is stronger than I remembered. His eyes are a warmer brown. His lips are apple red. There’s a small scar near his left eyebrow that I didn’t notice before, and I find myself wondering how he got it.
“Welcome aboard, everyone.” The flight attendant—a polished blonde in a navy uniform—gestures toward the cabin’s interior. “Please make yourselves comfortable. We’ll be departing shortly.”
The plane is obscene. Even by private jet standards, it’s ridiculous—a flying palace. The main cabin stretches out before us like a high-end living room, all cream leather and polished wood and ambient lighting that makes everyone look like they’re in a perfume commercial. There’s a full bar along one wall, stocked with bottles I can’t pronounce. A sectional sofa that could seat six. Individual seats that recline into beds.
Sage moves past me toward the back of the cabin, already on her phone, barking orders at whoever’s unlucky enough to be on the other end. Her assistant—a nervous-looking guy named Derek who I’ve met maybe three times—scurries after her with a tablet and an expression of uncontained panic. I don’t even thinkanything is particularly wrong, he’s just a bit squirrely. The flight crew disappears into the galley, tinkering like flight crews do.
And then it’s just me and Taio, standing in the middle of this absurd luxury, looking at each other like two people who aren’t sure what happens next.
“So,” he says.
“So,” I echo.
“Nice plane.”
“It’s my dad’s. Well, one of them.”
“One of the planes, or one of the dads?”
I laugh—a real laugh, surprising myself. “One of the planes. I only have one dad. Oh, wait. Actually, I guess now two. Am I allowed to claim a bio dad I’ve never met?”
“Most definitely.”
I hold my elbows, rubbing them like a genie might appear. “I can’t believe I told you all that within minutes of knowing you. I’m too much, huh?”
“You’re not too much for me.” He shrugs like it’s a casual statement, but there’s something distinct in his expression, like maybe he wants me to read between the lines. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you told me. It helped me understand.”
“Understand what?”
“You. Why you were so…” He searches for the word. “Untethered that night? Like you were floating away and looking for something to grab on to. Like you really needed a friend.”
