The flight attendant returned, whisked his bag away, and took his drink order.
“So.” Adesola’s smile was full of mischief, and I swallowed back the impulse to club her with my Kindle as I scented trouble on the horizon. “Nick told me a little about his childhood in Green Valley. I learned things I’d never known about you, too.”
I turned and found Nick leaning toward me, his elbow on the armrest between us. “The good old days,” he said, and I wondered what was behind his flat tone.
“He said he wanted to be a politician when he grew up. Governor, then president. And you wanted to be a doctor. I never knew that about you. You never told me that.”
I nodded. “I did. I wanted to have a free clinic in Green Valley and spend part of the year with Doctors Without Borders.”
“So? What happened? You’d be an incredible doctor.” Her confusion and curiosity were plain as she propped her chin on a fist, her dark eyes moving between us.
“Life.” I shrugged, not wanting to dig that deeply into the past with Nick at my elbow.
Perhaps sensing my discomfort, Nick stepped in. “The plan was that I was going to hold it down at home most of the year, passing legislation that made life better for people in town and nearby Appalachia. But we agreed I’d travel with her, to keep her safe and maybe help with peace-keeping missions.”
Well, so much for any attempt to downplay the nature of our past relationship.
I risked a look at him, turning my head on a slow swivel to face him. God, he looked so tired. My fingers yearned to coast along the prickled surface of his jaw, to test the depth of weariness under his eyes.
“We were silly, weren’t we?” His smile and his tone somehow seemed too personal, too private for the moment given Adesola was sitting right there. “Just dumb kids.”
I looked away. “Yeah. We were dumb.”
“Well,” Adesola said, in the same overloud voice, “I’m just going to put some music on. So I can get to sleep. I probably won’t be able to hear a thing, so don’t worry about talking to me from here on out.”
Yep. I was gonna kill her. Slowly.
I kept my face in my Kindle until after take-off. When the flight attendant came over to ask if we needed anything else, Nick spoke up.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything? You seem tired. Anything you could use to relax?”
I closed my eyes, wondering what I’d done to become fate’s adversary. Nick and I were practically fully reclined in our chairs now. The armrest between us, which had served as a natural boundary between our seats, was now lifted away to allow complete access to the fast-charging ports below. Yes, we were in two separate chairs, but it suddenly felt a lot like sleeping in the same bed together, scarcely more than two feet apart. Those biceps, those shoulders, those wicked eyes, that mouth, all less than two feet away. And he was giving me that concerned look I remembered all too well.
My heart was not fashioned from concrete. I doubted I’d survive this flight, survive him. His proximity, the clean smell of him, the ghost of all that had been between us, it all threatened my very existence.
“I’m okay. I don’t need anything.”
He looked past me to the flight attendant. “Get her a warm blanket, please.”
She murmured her assent and disappeared.
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Bossy, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “You didn’t know you needed it yet.”
I bit back my usual reaction, the impulse to correct him for overriding my wishes. I was tired of fighting. Tired, period.
“You’re not sleeping much.” He lifted a brow as his gaze moved over my face.
“And you are?”
He ran a hand over his lower jaw before shoving it through his hair. “I don’t sleep well in general.”
There had been a time when my hands had always been in his hair, rearranging the mess he’d made or taming that stubborn cowlick at the crown. With all that was unsettled and forgotten between us, I couldn’t understand my current urge to feel those slick, dark locks sliding through my fingers again. I wanted to close the space between us, to revel in the strength of his chest against my own softness. I wanted to feel the steel of his thighs under mine.
Who said human biology was wired for safety or common sense?
“You used to sleep like the dead. What changed?”
“Life.” He said it just as stiffly as I probably had, and I nodded before turning away.
The flight attendant returned in short order, spreading a warm blanket over me that felt like the best hug I’d ever gotten.
I tucked into the romance novel on my Kindle, feeling sleep hovering somewhere in the not-too-distant periphery. The book had come highly recommended by Leigh and sat waiting on my virtual bookshelf for months. It was entertaining from the first page and then . . . I blinked in disbelief as the first chapter unfolded into a highly explicit sex scene.
“What are you reading? You’re breathing funny.”
I looked up, startled.
“Uh . . . a grant application?”
“Oh, really?” His tone was one of casual disinterest, and he flipped through his screen with a stylus. “What’s the topic?”
I groped for an answer. “Communication. And, uh, doctors.”
“Well, that’s specific.”
I turned and found him suddenly much closer than I’d expected, his weight fully canted toward my side as he peered at my screen. This close, I could see each of the individual coarse hairs in the growing scruff over his cheeks. His smell was enticing, the notes of clean skin and sandalwood beckoning me closer. I turned away, taking my roving eyes with me, before I did something embarrassing like nosing farther into him to chase the elusive scent.
“Yeah, it’s interesting.”
“I guess so.” His voice was laden with laughter. “Especially if they’re advocating for—” He leaned even closer, his eyes on my screen. “‘The proud, arrogant upthrust of his turgid length’?”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “Get back on your side!”
He cracked up, head thrown against the headrest, Adam’s apple working.
My reaction, to throw my elbow into his side, was deeply ingrained, a reflex learned in third grade. I didn’t really register what I’d done until he gave a loud laugh-groan.
“I’m not judging, Zora. Hell, I think you’ve got the market cornered on what makes for an enjoyable flight.”
“It’s an invasion of privacy, you know, to read someone else’s screen.”
His color was high from laughing. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Why don’t we switch? Although I think I’d be the real winner in that trade. I’m reviewing a lease. Nothing fun here.”
That got my attention. “Lease? What do you need a lease for? Where?”
“I’m leasing a house in Green Valley. Hopefully, I won’t need it for more than a month. Just until things are worked out with the app and the hospital is satisfied Rocket has met all their conditions.”
“Why lease a house for something so temporary?”
“Because of Sir Duke. He’ll need someplace to run around.”
“Sir Duke?”
“Yes.” He scrolled through his iPad until he turned it my way.
I gawped at the screen.
It was a greyhound, exceptionally slim, without an ounce of extra fat anywhere on its entire body. Judging from the patch of gray around its snout, it was older.
“This is your dog? You have a dog?” He nodded, and I was both amused and touched to see the same expression new mothers wore when foisting baby pictures on unsuspecting strangers.
“You named him Sir Duke?”
I looked up from the screen. Nick nodded, holding my gaze. “Yes.”
And just like that, I remembered all the dance parties we’d had in my parents’ finished basement as kids. My dad or Walker playing DJ, spinning our favorites, organizing Soul Train Lines we all boogied down. Stevie Wonder was one of Nick’s absolute favorite
artists. Songs in the Key of Life had been our favorite album, and “Sir Duke” was one of Nick’s favorite songs. He loved the driving beat, the exultant lyrics, the infectious melody. He’d played, sang it, hummed it, head bopped to it when he was happy and in the moments when he was desperately trying to get back to happy. I’d once threatened him with death after hearing him hum it all day at school, and then during dinner at my house that evening. He’d agreed to stop with mock solemnity until my mother suddenly started singing backup for him while Tavia imitated the trumpet blare and Walker played the drumline on the table. That song was the soundtrack of our childhood.
And he’d named his damn dog “Sir Duke.”
God. I needed to get away from him. Off this plane, and then to whatever half of Green Valley or Knoxville he wasn’t in. Spending time with him was like opening a cedar chest of memories that started out sweet, then turned rotten and moth-eaten.
“I always wanted a dog.” He grinned at the phone’s display of his skeletal dog, and despite myself, something in my heart pinched.
“I know.” His mother had not been a fan of dogs.
“And then I kept saying I would get one whenever things slowed down. And then I realized that there would never be a perfect time and things were never gonna slow down. So I rescued Sir Duke from a racing outfit in Florida. We have a rule, he and I. We don’t spend more than five days apart unless I’m traveling internationally.”
“Sounds like a celebrity marriage.”
“Nah, I can actually trust him.” He laughed, then stopped. His gaze flew to mine as he breathed in sharply.
I frowned, apparently having missed something.
“He’s my guy. Since these negotiations are taking longer than I’d anticipated, and I hate living out of a hotel anyway, one of my assistants is driving him down. His stomach is unpredictable on planes and I decided to make life a little easier on the flight staff and just have Sir Duke driven when necessary.”
I smiled privately, imagining the bony dog riding in the back of a limousine with sunglasses. “Sounds like Sir Duke certainly lives a charmed life.”
“He deserves it,” Nick said, and I frowned at the dissonant note in his voice. “He’s had a hard life up until now.”
I listened as Nick extolled Sir Duke’s virtues. I watched a video he’d taken of the dog racing through the park and collecting thrown balls.
And I wondered if Nick even realized that he was talking about himself.
Nick
This was the flight from hell.
Zora’s head rested on my chest. Her hand had started out resting against my collarbone, then slowly descended down my side until it clasped my hip. I held my breath, fighting against the tickle of her pineapple-scented curls under my nose, the softness of her hip against mine, the fullness of her breast against my chest.
Bravely, I kept my eyes ahead where a large monitor tracked the flight’s progress. Only an hour and forty-five minutes from New York to Knoxville. Only an hour to go.
I could not think of a more effective form of torture.
The flight attendant smiled at Zora’s snuggle-assault and tucked the blanket more securely around us. Zora tightened her hold on me, nuzzled more closely into my chest. One of her legs intruded between mine.
I swallowed back the sawdust in my mouth, ran through the stats for each of the Yankees. I needed to suppress the lurid thoughts that accompanied the press of Zora’s softness against the entire right side of my body.
After days of Zora staring at me with accusing eyes, of her watching me with all the caution of a spooked deer, here she was. In sleep, her body still conformed to mine the same way, twelve years later.
Her body remembered my body. My body remembered hers.
But when she woke up, she’d retreat. The spell would be broken. All that separated us before would divide us again.
I allowed myself to rest my chin against her forehead. Closed my eyes and listened as her breath whistled in and out. I meditated on the little kitten noises, the tiny stretch she made when I slid my numb hand from under her and rested it chastely against her back.
“Does she know?”
I glanced over to find Adesola standing in the aisle between us, leaning against the seat, arms folded. I wondered how long she’d stood there. Ever since she’d migrated over to my seat, Zora had been my only reality.
“Know what?” My fingers splayed against Zora’s back as I internally assured myself she was real. She was actually in my arms after all these years.
“That you’re here for her.” Her head tilted, her eyes going soft as she regarded me. “We both know you’re not here for that app. I met at least five of your employees yesterday who are more than capable of doing this.” She sent me a tell the truth look. “You’re here for her.”
I liked Adesola, a lot. She was smart as hell, warm, funny, and didn’t suffer fools. I shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d so easily identified my intentions.
I gave my attention to the window and stretches of clouds hundreds of miles beneath us. Zora’s chest expanded against mine in regular intervals, her breathing still deep.
“She’s with someone.” The words angered me even as I spoke them. Fucking Jackson James, of all people.
Adesola made a scornful noise, and I looked back to see her wave a hand as if I’d irritated her. “I never hear her talk about that guy. She doesn’t bring him to functions. He doesn’t check on her, I don’t even know if he knows about the position she’s in now—”
What? “What do you mean?”
She hesitated, worrying her lip as she regarded me. “What do you want from her?”
The answer came far more quickly than I’d anticipated. “Everything.”
“I like you, I do. I like seeing the two of you together. Zora’s . . . different with you. Off-balance. I think that’s good for her, and I think you remind her of the things she’s given up on or forgotten. She deserves to be happy more than anyone I know. God knows she does so much for everyone else.” She pinned me in place with a glare. “But if you so much as hurt a hair on her head, I swear to God—”
“Dr. Rojas—”
“Adesola.”
“Adesola. I don’t know . . . It’s been a long time.”
“Just be there for her. She needs that. Especially right now.”
This was maddening. “What, exactly, is going on? What position is she in? What do I need to do?”
“Talk to her. And let me say this: That woman is not just my colleague, she’s my friend. I’d never speak so informally or even broach the topic if I wasn’t so close with Zora, and if I didn’t see that look in your eyes. You’re not going to stop, are you, until you get what you want?”
I let out a breath, recognizing the truth in her words. “That’s right.”
She nodded, her eyes on her feet. “Well, then I need to let you know, business relationship or not—if you hurt her, I’ll pull your testicles through your throat.”
That made me smile. “You know, for a gynecologist, your take on anatomy—”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.” She shaped her small hand into a fist. “Just remember. Through your throat. Got it?”
I nodded, my hand absently massaging a pattern into Zora’s back. “I got it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Zora
It’s not just my story to tell.
That’s what he’d said. What had he meant by that? Who, exactly, “owned” the story, besides his mother?
Those and many other questions had been rattling around my brain like loose marbles ever since I returned from New York earlier that week. I hadn’t planned on visiting my parents before my Friday morning drive to Knoxville. Even as I turned the corner and piloted my car past the familiar brick homes and waved to dog-walking neighbors, I questioned how wise it was to resurrect the past with my parents. The likelihood of them having any insight into what had happened all those years ago would have been small. They’d been just as s
hocked and dismayed when Nick and his mother disappeared. Not a smart move, I told myself. I didn’t need my parents thinking there was a hiccup or sudden uncertainty in my supposedly picture-perfect relationship with Jackson. The best move? Going to work, getting my lecture out of the way, and starting the weekend early with Leigh and boozy margaritas.
And yet . . . here I was in the foyer of my childhood home, intent on interrogating my mother for any clues she could offer about the past. I shucked off my flats before I headed down the hallway and into the kitchen where my father sat at the table eating breakfast. He lowered his newspaper to observe my approach, then grinned. “ZoZo! Whoa! This is a nice surprise.”
I laughed at my father’s exaggerated intake of breath as I padded into the kitchen on bare feet. God, I hadn’t expected to feel such overwhelming relief at being home. Lately, I hadn’t seen my parents as often as usual, and I had my reasons. It wasn’t easy to admit personal defeat to the two people who’d raised me to endure and triumph over any difficulties I encountered in life. Lately my endurance had been badly frayed and any chances of a victory seemed further and further away. And I didn’t want to be fussed at or lectured for admitting that I suddenly wasn’t sure about a lot of the things I’d always taken for granted. I hadn’t realized until Nick reappeared just how far my life had fallen into disrepair. Just how unhappy I was. But now, here in my family’s home, I was again a smaller part docked into a larger unit, no longer adrift in the world. I inhaled the scent of cooling cinnamon rolls on the stove and relaxed at the soft bubbling of percolating coffee. I sighed at the quiet rush of reassurance that came from being in this very familiar space.
Both the epic and mundane had occurred at this very kitchen table. My parents had presided over many a scrabble between my siblings and myself, meted out punishments over large and small infractions, and celebrated our triumphs. Memories assaulted me as I stopped and really took in my father, surrounded by all the little tchotchkes and mementos accumulated in our harvest-themed kitchen. It was a testament to the life my parents had built together, a lifetime of loving, fighting, making up, and loving even more fiercely than before.
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