Chapter 3
Kane
I squinted at my phone through bleary vision, trying to focus on the gate number as we barreled through the international terminal. My head pounded from last night’s whiskey, which had somehow extended into this morning’s whiskey. The airport’s fluorescent lights were doing me no favors.
“You think?” Declan whirled around, his face a fascinating shade of crimson. “You fucking think? We’re about to miss the only flight to Dublin today, and you think you know the gate number?”
I shrugged, enjoying his meltdown more than I probably should. “Relax, cousin. The plane can’t leave without its most valuable passenger.” I patted my jacket pocket where my flask nestled comfortably.
“I swear to God, Kane, if you’re drunk right now—” Declan started.
“Not drunk,” I corrected, stumbling slightly as we rounded a corner. “Maintaining. There’s a difference.”
Behind us, Kat and Wren were struggling with their carry-ons, both inexplicably wearing oversized sunglasses inside the terminal. Something about a shopping spree last night when they should have been packing.
“Ladies,” I called back, “if you’d packed fewer shoes, maybe you could keep up.”
“If you’d packed more brain cells, maybe you could walk straight,” Kat shot back, making Wren snort with laughter.
Rory jogged past all of us, somehow balancing four coffees and a bag of airport muffins. “Final boarding call for flight 237 to Dublin, Ireland,” the announcement echoed through the terminal. “Final boarding call.”
“Fuck!” Declan shouted, loud enough that a nearby mother covered her toddler’s ears and glared at him. “Sorry,” he mumbled, then turned back to us. “Move your asses!”
I took a moment to appreciate the vein throbbing in Declan’s forehead. It was practically hypnotic. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly high-strung?” I asked him, taking a quick sip from my flask, when he turned away.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly unemployable?” he snapped back.
“Many times. Usually right before they hire me anyway.”
Declan breaks out into a full sprint now, his boots slapping against the polished floor. A group of nuns scattered before him like pigeons.
“Bless me, Sisters!” I called as we followed in his wake. “I’ve sinned considerably!”
“Kane, for God’s sake,” Kat hissed, but I caught the smile she tried to hide.
Catching up to Declan, we rounded another corner, and I crashed directly into a janitor’s cart, sending cleaning supplies scattering across the terminal floor. The janitor unleashed a string of what I assumed were Spanish curses.
“Lo siento,” I offered with an apologetic smile, trying to pick up a spray bottle but somehow knocking over three more in the process.
“Leave it!” Declan grabbed my collar and yanked me forward.
Wren and Kat finally caught up, both breathing heavily.
“Next time,” Wren gasped, adjusting her sunglasses, “we take the moving walkway instead of following Declan’s ‘shortcut’ through the food court.”
“There wouldn’t have been a shortcut necessary if Kane had gotten us here on time,” Declan growled.
“Technically,” I pointed out, “I was here exactly when you told me to be. I was just at the wrong terminal. Easy mistake.”
“There are signs everywhere!”
“I’m not a signs kind of guy, Declan. I’m more of a walk around and I’ll eventually find it, kind of guy.”
Rory reappeared, now somehow carrying our boarding passes in addition to the coffees. “Gate’s this way. They’re holding the door, but only for another two minutes.”
“How did you manage that?” Kat asked, impressed.
Rory shrugged. “Told them we’re traveling for a family funeral.”
“We don’t have a funeral,” Wren said.
“We might, if Declan murders Kane before we reach the gate,” Rory replied.
I stumbled again, this time nearly taking out an elderly couple with matching neck pillows. “Sorry, folks! Family emergency!”
“Gate C36!” Declan shouted, pointing ahead where a flight attendant was impatiently checking her watch by the jetway door.
We all broke into a run—well, four of us ran. I performed what might generously be called a “controlled forward momentum,” bouncing off several walls.
“Wait!” I called out suddenly, stopping dead in my tracks.
Everyone turned to look at me with varying degrees of murderous intent.
“I need to pee.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” Declan’s face went from red to purple. “We are literally twenty feet from the gate!”
“Nature calls, cousin. Very insistently.” I glanced around for a bathroom sign.
Kat rolled her eyes so hard I worried they might get stuck. “Use the bathroom on the plane like a normal person!”
“Have you seen those tiny coffins they call airplane bathrooms? My claustrophobia—”
“Since when do you have claustrophobia?” Wren demanded.
“Since right now. It's a very sudden onset. Tragic, really.”
Declan looked ready to explode. “Get. On. The. Plane.”
Rory handed me a coffee cup. “Here, use this if you’re desperate.”
I looked at the empty cup. “That’s disgusting.” Then I tucked it into my jacket pocket anyway. “But practical. Thanks.”
The flight attendant was now making “hurry up” gestures that were becoming increasingly aggressive.
“If you all wouldn’t mind,” she called, “we’d like to depart sometime this century.”
We made a final dash for the gate, me trailing behind as I tried to fish my boarding pass out of my pocket while also keeping my flask from falling out. In the process, I somehow dropped my passport.
“Boarding pass and passport, sir,” the flight attendant said with the strained smile of someone imagining my violent death.
I patted my pockets frantically. “I just had them...”
Declan looked like he might actually tackle me to the ground when Rory stepped forward, producing my passport and boarding pass from his pocket.
“How did you—” I began.
“I took them when you were harassing the janitor,” Rory explained. “Figured you’d lose them.”
The flight attendant scanned our passes with the efficiency of someone who’d given up on humanity long ago.
“Enjoy your flight,” she said in a tone that clearly meant “I hope you all get diarrhea.”
As we filed down the jetway, Declan grabbed my shoulder. “When we land, you’re getting sober. Cold turkey.”
I grinned at him. “You know turkeys don’t actually get cold, right? That’s a misconception.”
“I will throw you out of this plane mid-Atlantic.”
“That’s fair.”
Behind us, Kat and Wren were giggling about something on Wren’s phone; both were suddenly in much better spirits now that we’d made the flight.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, trying to peek at the screen.
Wren quickly turned her phone away. “Nothing.”
“They posted our little cemetery adventure on Instagram,” Rory explained, looking over their shoulders. “Hashtagged ‘grave goals.’”
“You what?” Declan whipped around, nearly clotheslining a businessman trying to get past him.
“Relax,” Kat said, waving her hand dismissively. “We just took artistic shots of the cemetery at night. No context, no empty coffin pics. We’re not idiots.”
“Speak for yourself,” I said, stumbling into the plane and immediately banging my head on the overhead bin.
The flight attendant inside the plane looked at our disheveled group with thinly veiled horror. “Welcome aboard. Please find your seats quickly so we can depart.”
I glanced at my boarding pass. “22F. Window seat. Nice.”
“That’s my seat,” Declan said. “You’re in 22D.”
“Am I?” I squinted at the pass again. “These letters are tiny. And possibly moving.”
Wren sighed and took the pass from my hand. “You’re in 22C, middle seat, between Declan and me.”
“Perfect,” Declan muttered. “Seven hours trapped next to the human distillery.”