Chapter 19
WORTH
“And don’t forget to call me if anything goes wrong while I’m away,” I tell Brianna as I fold the last of my shirts and drop them into the suitcase.
I’m leaving for Singapore on a red eye tonight, and worry sits heavy on my chest.
A week away doesn’t sound long, but when it comes to my daughter, it’ll feel like forever. Maggie will be here the whole time, and I trust her more than anyone, but the thought of leaving makes my gut tighten.
“Yes, Dad,” Brianna says with a dramatic eye roll. “We’ll be fine.”
I grunt. “I know you’ll be fine. I’m worried about Maggie.”
Sitting nearby with a notebook in her lap, she frowns. “Why?”
“Because she’ll have to deal with a little menace like you for an entire week.” I cross the room in two strides and dig my fingers into her armpits. Brianna squeals, laughter bubbling out of her as she shoves me away.
“What do you mean? I’m an angel!”
“The devil was once an angel, too, Brianna,” I deadpan.
She gasps, clutching her chest in mock offense. “Dad!”
I chuckle. “I’m just kidding, Piglet. But in all seriousness, I programmed all of our emergency contacts into your phone, and Dre printed a copy for the fridge so you and Maggie have them handy.
I also gave Uncle Henson and Uncle Griffin a spare key and the garage code. They’ll be checking in, too.”
“Such a helicopter dad,” she teases.
Hell yeah, maybe I am. But I don’t care. Bri is my whole world, and I’d rather smother her than ever let her feel unprotected.
“Come help me pack the rest,” I say, handing her a pile of pants.
She sighs but joins me, folding with exaggerated slowness just to get under my skin. I let her.
As I watch her hands move, a thought cuts deep through me.
Her mom is missing this. Every new piece of the young woman Brianna is becoming.
And though I’ll never forgive her for walking away, sometimes I wonder if Brianna feels that absence more than she lets on.
It makes me wonder if I should give Vanessa another chance?
It’s been incredible to watch my daughter grow, to see her find her voice and her confidence.
I wouldn’t trade a second of being a single dad to her.
But there’s always a sliver of fear gnawing at me—that I’m not enough.
That one day she’ll realize the gap her mom left and think I could never fill it.
I shove the thought away and zip up the suitcase. “See? We make a pretty good team.”
Brianna smirks. “Obviously. You’d be lost without me.”
And she’s right.
The runway lights glow against the tarmac as I step out of the car and towards the company jet. Our plane isn’t flashy, but it’s large enough to hold the six members of our team comfortably.
I send a quick round of texts before boarding.
To Brianna: Remember to call me if you need anything. Love you, Piglet.
To Maggie: Plane’s here. I’ll check in once we land in Singapore. Thanks, Mags.
To Henson and Griffin: Boarding now. Keep an eye out at the house. Appreciate it.
When I climb the steps into the cabin, my eyes scan the rows automatically, not for my seat, but for her. Mya isn’t here yet.
Disappointment settles in my chest, enough to irritate me. I brush it off. The last thing I need is to start my week-long trip with that particular feeling.
I sit in a leather seat near the front, rolling my shoulders back. I’ve already decided: no more pursuing her. Whatever the hell I feel when Mya looks at me—heat, hunger, that magnetic pull that makes me act reckless—it has to end. I don’t beg. I don’t chase women.
And if the whispers and headlines want to keep painting me as the blue collar playboy, so be it. I know who I am, and I know what I’m not. It gnaws at me sometimes, the idea that my daughter might one day believe the tabloids over the man who raised her, but that’s my cross to bear.
I’ll just have to figure out another way to convince the judge that I’m suitable to continue being Brianna’s full-time parent.
I drag in a breath, grip the armrest, and close my eyes for a moment.
Her perfume hits me before I see her.
When I open my eyes, Mya is stepping onto the plane, curves wrapped in a business-casual outfit. My pulse betrays me instantly.
Her gaze doesn’t land on me once. Not even a glance. She passes by, the faintest brush of air following her, and keeps walking until she’s at the very back of the plane.
My jaw locks.
So that’s how it’s going to be.
I flag down the flight attendant with a clipped gesture. “Scotch. Neat. Make it a double.”
She nods quickly, disappearing down the aisle, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. By the time the attendant sets the glass down on the tray beside me, my patience has already worn thin. I knock it back in one go, the liquor scorching a path down my throat.
The burn should ground me. It doesn’t.
I pull out my phone, pretending to scroll through contracts, emails, zoning updates—anything to keep me focused. My thumb moves, but my brain doesn’t register a single word. Instead, I’m straining to hear something else.
Her voice. Her laugh.
There’s nothing.
Mya’s silence irritates me more than it should. With a scowl, I tilt my head slightly, just enough to look over my shoulder.
She’s all the way at the back, tucked into an aisle seat like she’s trying to disappear. Her knuckles are white around the armrests, chest rising and falling fast. The fear written across her face is obvious.
For all her bravado, Mya is terrified of flying.
And I hate how much I want to get up, go back there and comfort her.
I debate it for all of ten seconds. Then I’m on my feet, striding down the aisle before I can talk myself out of it.
Mya doesn’t look at me when I stop beside her row, just keeps her wide eyes locked on the seatback in front of her like it might save her life.
“What’s wrong?”
No answer.
I lean closer. “Are you scared?”
Finally, Mya gives the smallest nod. Her shoulders bunch in tight, and for the first time, I notice how tiny she looks with me hovering over her. The sight sparks an irrational urge to scoop her up, hold her against me, and tell her nothing can touch her while she’s in my arms.
“Have you ever been on a plane before?”
Another tiny shake of her head.
Something twists in my chest. Without thinking, I slide into the empty seat beside her. Her gaze snaps to mine at last.
“What are you doing?” she hisses, her voice shaky.
I buckle myself in, leaning over her before she can stop me. “Sitting next to you for takeoff.” My hand brushes her hip as I tug her seatbelt across her lap and click it into place.
Her eyes dart towards the aisle, then back to me, panic flickering across her face like she’s worried one of our colleagues will see us.
Her throat bobs as she swallows.
The seatbelt sign dings above us. The flight attendant’s voice begins droning through the safety message, but all I hear is Mya’s quick breathing.
I reach for her hand without giving myself time to reconsider. Her palm is cold, stiff as stone in mine. “Squeeze when you get scared,” I murmur.
For a few seconds, she’s rigid, like she might yank away. But then her fingers soften, fitting against mine.
Her hand is so damn small—and fuck if it doesn’t feel like it belongs there.
The engines roar as the plane lurches forward. Beside me, Mya’s back goes ramrod straight. Her nails dig into my hand, and the little squeezes shoot straight up my arm. She still won’t look at me.
I don’t say a word. Just keep my hand firm around hers, anchoring her.
When the nose tips up and the pressure shifts, she squeezes again, harder this time. My thumb drags over her knuckles in slow, grounding circles. The cabin rattles, the sky opening wide, and still I don’t let go.
Finally, the hum evens out. The seatbelt light dings off, signaling we’ve leveled at cruising altitude.
And just like that, Mya yanks her hand free, leaving mine abruptly empty.
“Thanks,” she mutters, still staring ahead. “You can go back to your seat now.”
Dismissed. Just like that.
For a second, I consider staying put, forcing her to look at me. But her shoulders are stiff, her body angled away, a clear line drawn in the sand.
So I bite back the words burning in my chest, unbuckle my belt, and push to my feet.