There’s one last goodbye that has to be said, so Sunday and I venture out to the back alley together. We hand a note to Mr. Ambrose with mine and Sunday’s cell numbers on it, just in case he ever needs anything, though she and I both know it’s not likely he’ll call us. Sunday also manages to sneakily stuff a few folded bills that I’m pretty sure were hundreds into his coat pocket when she gives him a hug.
Sally promised me she’d keep up the tradition of making sure he gets fed every day, and I know he’ll be as well taken care of as he’ll allow himself to be. He’s been uncharacteristically silent since we came to say goodbye, but his rheumy eyes look sad to see us go, and I’ll miss the old man.
Once back at the car, I choose to sit in the back next to the window. Payne and Sunday slide in beside me, trying to pretend the little standoff between them in my apartment never happened and the sexual tension between them isn’t real. Poe makes no argument about sitting in the front with his dad. However, he does give me a thoughtful and slightly questioning look before facing forward and buckling his seat belt.
The twenty-five-minute ride to the airport in Syracuse is like being caught in a daydream somewhere between awake and asleep. Just as I feel myself start to nod off, something jars me back to reality–a bump on the road, a car horn, snippets of conversation floating around me. Resting my forehead against the dark tinted window, I watch as fall in upstate New York flies past, my mind wandering.
Everything that’s happened could finally be catching up with me, or it could be I’m feeling my exit from New York more than I expected to. Whatever it is, it’s seriously kicking my ass. My heart is aching, and my mind is clouded by melancholy and sudden uncertainty.
Goodbye, New York, this is the end of the line for us. I really hope I’m making the right decision. If you happen to see my mom somewhere, tell her I miss her more than ever.
Unshed tears make the scene that greets us upon our arrival at the airport shimmer and sway in front of me. The SUV rolls to a smooth stop on the tarmac, and I open my door, letting the chilly October breeze dry my eyes as I step out of the vehicle. Silently, I stand in a daze, my mouth agape, and what I’m sure is a look of utter shock on my face before a disbelieving half-laugh chokes its way out of me. Never in my wildest dreams would I have pictured this.
I’m about to board a private jet with my slightly crazy but entirely wonderful best friend and two of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen. Three if you count Mr. Halliday. Things like this don’t happen to girls like me in real life—this is some straight-up Hollywood shit right here.
Sunday materializes beside me and reaches for my hand.
“It’s different being on a smaller plane, Stell, I promise.” Having been privy to exactly how paralyzing my fear of flying can be on our trip out here, I know she’s trying to reassure me.
“Different like we don’t have as far to fall when we crash because we don’t fly as high? So we’ll all die quicker? Because really, it’s the anticipation on the way down that’s terrifying.” Trying to joke my way out of my panic fails miserably, and I feel myself start to hyperventilate. “Doesn’t matter if the plane is smaller, Sun, it’s still a cigar tube with wings, and I’m still trapped. There’s no ‘hey, I want off this crazy ride’ mid-flight.” The weird way I’m breathing is starting to make me feel lightheaded and a little pukey, but I can’t get my lungs under control.
“Well, technically, you could get the plane to land mid-flight if you wanted off, but it would require some heavy threatening and gun-waving, and you’d likely spend a few nights in jail afterward.” Sunday grins as I bark out a laugh. “Just sayin’, there’s always an out. It all comes down to how far you’re willing to go.” Squeezing my hand tightly once, she lets go as Poe approaches the two of us, looking like he walked straight off the pages of some kind of hot guy magazine.
Is there such a thing as a hot guy magazine?
If there is, and really, there should be, do the hot guys sell the stuff, or does the magazine sell the hot guys?
A high-pitched squeak of a laugh escapes me.
Oh my God, I’ve gone bat-shit crazy. What the hell am I thinking? Running on pure adrenaline and shitty sleep has finally eaten my brain.
“You guys ready?” Poe interrupts my runaway train of thought.
My teeth are clenched too tightly to answer him, and my closed-lip smile feels more like a grimace, but my knees haven’t buckled, and I’m still upright, so sure, I’ll go with ‘ready’.
“Uh, Poe? Can I talk to you for a quick sec?” Sunday asks, the worried mother-hen look back on her face. She takes a few steps away and motions for him to follow, which he does after staring at me in confusion for a few seconds, his eyebrows furrowed. My cheeks light up in embarrassment as she speaks to him in tones too quiet for me to hear because I know she’s explaining my habit of coming unglued when I have to fly. Watching the two of them, I can see precisely when the look of understanding, tinged with just the barest hint of amusement, floods his handsome face.
Jogging over to the small set of stairs at the entrance to the jet, Sunday turns back to face me for just a second, shooting me an obvious, overdone wink before disappearing into the interior. Poe’s left arm curls around my waist, and his lips press against my hair as he steps up behind me, making me jump.
“Come on, Star,” he coaxes. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” Trying desperately to not look like more of an ass than strictly necessary, no matter how fucking freaked out I am, I let him guide me up the stairs in front of him and into the luxurious cabin.
The six off-white individual leather seats and single comfortable looking couch that runs along one side are not what I expected to see. A restroom and a half galley that make up the rear are pointed out to me by a pleasant, uniformed man who introduces himself as the steward. Poe gently pushes me forward, and I realize Sunday, Payne, and Mr. Halliday are all still standing, waiting for me to choose my seat before committing to theirs.
Of course she told them.
“Yep. I fly like shit,” I confirm loudly, rolling my eyes. “Thanks for letting everybody know I’m a giant goober, Sun.” She just grins and shrugs.
“Not at all, Stella,” Mr. Halliday chimes in. “The fear of flying is quite common. You decide where you think you’ll be most comfortable, and the rest of us will go from there.” He smiles indulgently at me, and for a split second, I can see what it would be like to have a dad.
Poe steers me toward the couch, and I sit down with a thud, keeping my back ramrod straight as my leg starts to shake. When he reaches for the storage compartment above my head, I’m briefly distracted from my panic by the proximity of my face to his midsection. Curbing my impulse to reach out and slide a hand up his shirt to touch the defined abs I know are beneath it, I settle instead for a slow deep breath, inhaling his scent.
God, he smells absolutely lickable.
He looks down at me between his outstretched arms and gives me a toothy grin before removing a soft, oatmeal-colored blanket from the compartment. Shaking the folds out of it with one hand, he uses the other to push me back into the seat before tucking the blanket loosely around my lower body.
Satisfied with his handiwork, he pulls his iPhone and Airpods from the front pocket of his hoodie. Squatting down in the aisle in front of me, he uses gentle fingers to place the wireless headphones into my ears and hands me the phone after disabling the lock screen. He gets up only to flop onto the couch beside me, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to my temple before settling in and stretching out his long legs.