Chapter 34
Thirty-four
Kingston
The plane drones beneath us, a sensation I can feel in my chest more than hear. Private jets are not loud the way commercial flights are, but the sound is constant, an undercurrent that reminds me we are suspended in the sky.
Elise is asleep against my shoulder. Her head fits there like it was made for that spot, a soft weight that grounds me better than gravity. The plane tilts slightly, and my shoulder aches from holding still, but I don’t move. The tickle of her hair against my throat is worth the discomfort.
Her hand is in mine, slack but warm, fingers curled around my thumb like she’s tethered, even in her dreams. I shift just enough to lace our hands fully together.
My chest tightens at the sight. I never thought something this simple, someone holding on without hesitation, would undo me more than any grand gesture ever could. I never thought I’d allow it again.
I tilt my head to rest against hers. The scent of her shampoo, something faint and floral, mixes with the recirculated air, and somehow, it’s enough to quiet the storm that usually churns inside me.
God, I need her. Not just her laugh or her body but the calm that settles in me when she’s near. The way my pulse slows, like my heart recognizes something it has been chasing all along.
It scares me how much I’ve come to rely on her in such a short time. I’ve spent years training myself not to depend on anyone. Dependence gives leverage. Leverage leads to betrayal. My own history is proof enough. But in my heart, I believe this is different.
The captain’s voice breaks through the quiet, polite and professional, telling us we’ve begun our descent into Vancouver.
Elise stirs, her lashes fluttering before she nuzzles deeper into my shoulder.
My chest aches at the sight. She’s so unguarded, so trusting.
I want to freeze time, to hold us here in this fragile space.
I brush my thumb over the back of Elise’s hand, gentle until her eyes blink open. She looks up at me, sleepy and soft, lips curving in the smallest smile. My heart stumbles.
“Hey,” she whispers, voice rough from sleep.
“Hey yourself.” I lower my head, press a kiss to her temple. “We’re almost home.”
Her eyes open wider, and a sleepy smile tugs her lips. “Were you staring at me the whole time?” she teases.
“Maybe.”
She rolls her eyes but squeezes my hand, as if to say she doesn’t mind.
Her smile grows, though there’s a shadow in it. I know she’s thinking the same thing I am, that home isn’t just comfort. It’s questions, judgments, responsibilities. It’s a family that doesn’t make space easily, not even for me. For her, it will be worse.
I push the thought away and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sleep okay?”
She nods, shifting upright, though she keeps her hand in mine. “Better than I expected.”
She glances out the window at the landscape below. “I wish we could stay wrapped up together, just the two of us, where Renew Motion isn’t pulling at you and Paradise Hill isn’t pulling at me.”
“We’ll have our evenings,” I offer.
“We haven’t really talked about what we’re going to do when we land. I don’t know if I can commute back and forth.”
The plane dips lower, and my ears pop with the pressure change. Elise shifts against me, and I feel the heat of her thigh pressed alongside mine. I study her profile in the glow from the window as the sun rises outside.
A thread of worry coils in my gut. “I’ll get you back and forth in the helicopter. And I’m hoping you’ll stay with me in my room, not the guest room.”
She considers that. “The problem is you travel a lot, as you should for Renew Motion. Which means when you’re out of town, I’m driving the hour plus back and forth to work, ten hours every week.”
“My pilot, Kevin, can take you back and forth.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience him.”
“He takes the helicopter out every day. He’ll work around you. And I keep a car at my parents’, so you can do things you need to. Trust me, he’ll love having more to do since I like to fly myself. He’ll be at the airport when we land to fly us home.”
“I didn’t realize you wouldn’t have a car at the airport. That’s how most people get home.”
I pull her close as the landing gear drops. “Getting you to your job is easy. We will make this work.”
She turns then, meeting my gaze. “You okay?” she asks softly.
No. Not even close. But I nod because I will not make her carry my dread. “Now, that you’re awake? Yeah.”
But the moment my phone reconnects, the illusion cracks wide open.
The buzzing starts almost instantly, one vibration after another rattling through the armrest pocket. Emails, texts, notifications piling up after hours of silence. I ignore it at first, focused on Elise, her hair falling loose around her face, the way she stretches like a cat shaking off sleep.
Then I see the name on the screen.
Hope.
My chest goes tight.
It’s not just one message. It’s three. Four. And an email stacked on top, her name glaring at me like a ghost I thought I’d buried. Sure, it might be business she’s reaching out for, but this many messages in a row feels different.
“Elise,” I say. She looks at me, eyes clear now, curious. I force a smile, tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, anything to keep her from leaning over to see the screen.
She doesn’t press, bless her. She just returns the smile, trusting me. That trust cuts deeper than any blade.
The phone buzzes again, and I drag my thumb across the screen to open the thread.
Hope: Kingston, please talk to me.
Hope: I know I made mistakes, but you can’t just erase me.
Hope: We need to meet. It’s important.
My pulse hammers so hard I can feel it in my fingertips, the phone slick in my hand. My thumb trembles over the screen. For one reckless second, I almost type back the words rising in my throat: What do you want? The urge makes my stomach roll, and I taste copper, feel sweat at my temple.
I told Hope exactly where we stood when I ended things. We’re colleagues now. Nothing more, nothing less. It was always going to come to this, but sitting here, I can’t shake the irritation that she believed she’d changed things between us without even a conversation.
Another message blinks through, almost instantly, like she knows I’m here.
Hope: Please. Just five minutes. For old times’ sake.
Delete.
The email subject line flashes, I made a mistake.
I don’t open it. I don’t need to. I swipe it into oblivion.
The ache in my chest doesn’t ease, though.
Because no matter how many times I hit delete, Hope’s shadow lingers.
And the worst part, the seed is planted.
What happens if Elise sees these messages?
If she wonders why I didn’t talk to her about this?
I’ve told her about Hope, but now, it’s gotten more complicated, and I had no idea.
I don’t know how to explain that to Elise.
What if this is another thing I can’t fix, no matter how I try?
I glance at her, and she’s watching the runway streak by, her expression open. She’s completely unaware of the landmine that just went off on my phone.
I curl an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against me. She relaxes, her head tucking beneath my chin. She trusts me, and I am already keeping things from her. “I’ve got you,” I whisper, though the words are more for me than her.
Because I do. I have got her, and I’m not letting go.
Once we’ve come to a stop, the cabin door opens, and cool Canadian morning floods in. The flight attendant gestures us forward, and Elise smiles as she gathers her bag, her hand brushing mine. I force myself to smile back.
But the weight of Hope’s messages presses on me, like contraband in my pocket.
I delete everything one last time before putting the phone away. Clean slate. At least that’s what I tell myself.
And I need to tell Elise. The hard part will be explaining that while I won’t ever sleep with Hope again, I still want her to be my lawyer. At least, I think I do. Every message she sends makes the possibility of a working, professional relationship seem more unlikely.
Elise slips her hand into mine as we move toward the stairs.
She’s smiling, still a little sleepy, hair mussed from leaning against me.
I keep my hand at the small of her back, protective, steadying us both.
Beyond the tarmac, the helicopter waits, the sun throwing our shadows long across the pavement.
She glances up at me, eyes brightening. “It feels good to be home.”
My throat locks. I force a smile, but inside, the words twist. Because home is complicated, sharp edged, dangerous. And even though I have just erased every trace of Hope’s messages, I can feel them lingering in my chest like splinters.
I bend to kiss Elise’s hair as the wind whips it across her cheek. “Yeah,” I say, my voice steady even if I am not. “Home.”
I don’t let go of her hand. I can’t. Because holding on is the only thing keeping me whole.