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Nothing.

Frowning, I go to text him, and just as I do, he sends me a screenshot of it.

My brows rise. First class.

Feeling bougie today, huh? I text back.

Yep, he says.

I roll my eyes. Before I can answer him, Mom responds. My pulse increases even faster as I type out the message I need to send: I’m going to see Jamie at his house in Maine. I’m not ready to talk about it. But I need a chance to get him out of my system. I won’t be gone for more than tonight.

When I send that, something clicks into place in my chest, and I go from anxious to determined. I made the right choice in seeing him again. My phone pings, and I turn it over with apprehension.

At least you got The Works done the other day. Love you and use protection.

Xx, Mom.

I bite my lip and smile. Over the intercom, they’re calling first class. I grab my bag and get in line and head along the walkway to find my seat. I pull my headphones over my ears and sink into the coziness of Mom’s hoodie. It smells faintly of her perfume. A little bit of guilt rises. I was only there for four days, granted we did everything we could possibly fit in over the weekend. But I know Mom loves it when her daughters are around, and I’m sure she’s disappointed that I left.

I’ll fix it.

I just…have to fix this first.

The seatbelt lights come on. The runway rumbles beneath my feet, and then we’re rising into the air.

It’s too late to turn back. Not when he paid for a car and a first-class ticket. I don’t want to turn back, anyway. All I can think about is the last time we fucked, in my bedroom. He was so gentle, like he knew it would be a long time until he saw me again. I wonder whether he did. I’ve wondered that every day since. It’s driven me up the wall, turning it over in my head. When he kissed me the last time…did he know he was leaving without saying goodbye properly? Or was that intentional?

I thought for so long it was because he didn’t care.

And then…he texted me this morning.

If he was a fuck boy, he would have come around again. He knows I won’t turn him down even though I should after how he iced me out. So what happened in the last year that made him send that text? Did his trip to the ranch change something? I want to believe he’s been suffering the way I have—tortured by the memories of what we did on my rickety twin bed that summer. Did he lay awake all night the way I did?

I flip to the next song on my playlist. It’s slow, sad. I move on to another, but it’s just as sad. I’m starting to see a pattern here.

Turning my head, I lean my temple against the wall and look at the checkerboard below. If I’m honest with myself, I need this because since he touched me, I haven’t been the same.

Every day is like the day after I died. Except I’m still alive and living the same day over and over again. Get up, chores, eat, chores, eat, sleep, and do it all over again. I play the guitar and sing a little, but other than that, I haven’t been interested in books or shows. I sit at the table like a doll in a dollhouse and watch my sister smile, her life starting with the man she loves. I wonder whether she feels what I felt for those five nights.

I wonder if I’m pathetic and unreasonable.

Is it possible to be in love with someone after such a short amount of time?

Or is this just lust?

There’s a possibility I’m too fucked up or something to know the difference.

The flight attendant comes around. I get a glass of champagne to help calm my nerves. By the time we touch down, there’s a pleasant buzz in the back of my skull. I drink the rest of my water and stop for an iced coffee, then gather my rolling carry-on and head through the exit ramp. My stomach flip-flops as I pause and scan the pick-up area. It’s almost six. I don’t see him anywhere. Maybe the plane landed early.

“Hey.”

My heart rises sharply. My ears roar.

I turn, and there he is: Jamie Iron. Just standing there, looking so handsome it almost spirals me into a fresh rage. I take a second, swallow hard.

I agreed to be here. I could have said no.

Heat trickles through my veins, and I push my anger to the back burner. He comes closer, and I sense a little bit of hesitation in the way he’s walking. I start toward him, and we meet just inside the doors. He’s so fucking tall and handsome. I hate his sexy mustache and his heavy eyes that feel like his bare hands when they drag over me from head to toe.