I make it to my gate with gum and an iced coffee and check my notifications to see if any of my assistants found anything. Nope. So I text Alana instead.
Me: At the airport now. Slept like shit. Miss you.
Alana (Future wife): Any luck?
Me: You think if I found my journal you’d be hearing about it through a half-hearted text? But I found other stuff.
The square velvet box sits in my inner jacket pocket next to my chest.
Alana (Future wife): Don’t stress about the journal… we can make up a reason and just move on.
Me: Can’t and won’t happen.
Me: It’s the whys that will eat me alive.
Me: It’s not knowing where it is, who has it, what happened to it. Did it get thrown out? Does someone have it?
Me: And we both deserve to know the truth.
They announce boarding, and people start swarming toward the gate.
Me: Random question. When did you start working with the Olympians?
First class is asked to board, and I jump to my feet. Once my boarding pass is scanned, I stare at the little dots bouncing on Alana’s text message. What is taking so long? The screen remains unchanged and the line of people trying to board the plane moves slower than a glacier. Unless you’re flying private, the line is the great equalizer. Everyone has to do it.
I take my seat by the window and pull out my phone again. Anything to look busy. Most of the time I don’t think people recognize me as much as they see an attractive man and start whispering. But any flight from L.A. increases the chance of a celebrity sighting. The phone vibrates and pings.
Alana (Future wife): My entire adult life. I started working for them a few weeks after we broke up.
Me: Are you close with them?
Alana (Future wife): I’m Olivia Olympian’s godmother.
I blink at the message a few times. It takes a second to really understand the world she’s been living in. Teddy wasn’t lying. Part criminal, all powerful, Alana is one step away from kingmakers.
Alana(Future wife): What time does your flight land?
Me: On it now. I’ll be home tonight.
Alana(Future wife):I’m going to a friend’s house.
Me: Gasp! You’re cheating on me… you have other friends.
Alana(Future wife): Eye-roll emoji.
Me: Wanna meet up after and I can tell you about my label-making system?
Alana(Future wife): You know how to show a girl a good time. But I thought there was a discussion about playing with my cat?
Me: I’ll be over later.
Me: Love ya… Delete.
Nope, too early to send that message. But why does it feel so right? Probably because I never stopped.
The last person boards the plane, and the flight attendants do their little spiel about emergencies and such. But I tune it out while replaying all the tidbits that bring my fuzzy vision of Alana into high definition. The Olympians have been deeply entwined into her life. Is it a one-sided loyalty thing or does it go both ways? It must, otherwise she wouldn’t be the godmother to the Olympian heir.
While the flight attendant talks about flotation devices, I start my deep dive into this family and as it turns out, Hadeon’s email address is stupid easy to find. Probably because it’s not real or scanned by bots. But it’s worth a shot. I’m pulling at straws here, but something has to pay off. I shoot him a quick email with the subject line, “Alana King.”
