My dad’s voice tries to crawl up the back of my skull like a roach.
I swallow it down.
Hard.
I will not let him steal this from me.
The plane lifts, my stomach floats, and my pump vibrates once like it’s also nervous.
I check my watch: 112 with a steady arrow.
Decent.
“Just try to relax,hermoso.In a little bit, we’ll get you a diet ginger ale and it’ll make the queasiness go away.”
The way this man can read my body is crazy.
“I’ll try.” Tilting my head to the side so I can give him a smirk. “No promises, though.”
By the time we land,the city outside the windows looks nothing like home. Gone are the tall buildings, and even the air feels different. We file off the plane, all of us in our matching team gear, and I catch the eyes of a few people in the terminal. Some recognize us. Some don’t. A kid who can’t be older than six points and whispers to his mom, who lifts her phone like she wants a photo.
That part isn’t new.
What’s new is the way my brain immediately calculates angles.
Where are the cameras?
Where’s the nearest person who might see something and assume something and turn it into a headline?
Andres steps closer, shoulder brushing mine on purpose this time. It’s not him holding my hand like I know we both want. Or a kiss to calm my nerves. Just a quiet claim.
It steadies me anyway.
“Bus is outside,” Coach calls, waving us along.
The team piles in, duffels in the undercarriage, bodies filling the seats. I slide into a window spot halfway back. Andres takes the seat beside me, finally taking my hand in his. “You did good on the plane. Don’t worry though, I’ve already decided that when we fly back, I’ll bribe whoever has the seat next to you so we can sit together.”
Kai sits across the aisle, feet stretched out, grin sharp.
“Look at you two,” he says. “All domestic and shit. It’s about fucking time you guys just?—”
“Shut up,” I mutter.
Andres doesn’t even flinch. He just settles in, knee pressing lightly against mine, and pulls out his water bottle. Brooks leans over the seat behind us, sunglasses still on like he’s afraid of daylight.
“You guys gonna start making out?” he teases. “I’m sure we can make a makeshift curtain out of our jackets so you have some privacy.”
I flip him off without turning around.
“Aw,” he coos. “He’s blushing. That’s adorable.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“Your ears are literally red, bro.”
I press a hand to my ear like it’s going to hide the color I’m sure is blooming.
Andres laughs quietly. Then, under the noise of the bus and the team chatter, he leans in and murmurs against my ear, “Your ears are red,mi sol.”
