Chapter 23
Nolan
The jet is at forty thousand feet and Piper is staring out the window with the thousand-yard gaze of someone who’s been shot, patched up, and shot again for good measure.
I make a note of the color in her cheeks, which is only a shade better than corpse, and mentally mark her pulse under the skin of her neck as unacceptably fast. I’ve seen her hyped up, nervous, and even drunk on adrenaline, but this is none of those things.
This is defeat.
I fall into the seat next to her and pull her in close. I wrap my arms around her and am rewarded with a soft purr as she finally settles some.
“Can I get you anything?” I murmur.
She shakes her head against my chest. “This is what I need. Unless … you can get me off this plane and back to the rest of our pack as soon as possible?”
I weigh the pros and cons. “I mean, I can technically get us off this plane, yes, but I don’t think you’ll like the result.”
She chuckles and wraps her arms around my middle. “Look at you telling jokes. I’m proud of you.”
Deflections, all of it. “Like you yourself said, this isn’t goodbye.”
“I know. Doesn’t make the distance hurt any less, but…” She trails off and sighs heavily into my arms.
“But?”
She shrugs. “At some point, there’d be distance anyway, right? With Kellen being a prince and me having to tour.”
“This is different.” Somewhat forced. Absolutely unplanned.
She looks up at me. “Exactly. And like, I did it, right? I was the one who decided to leave.”
“It was the mature answer.” I kiss the top of Piper’s head. “Their minds wouldn’t have been swayed in that one conversation, and press will continue to be like today for at least another week.”
Her voice breaks when she asks, “Then why does it hurt so much?”
I hold her tighter and wish I could physically build a wall around my omega to keep her safe from everything. So that she would never hurt again. “I’m sorry, Piper. I wish it didn’t, but for what it’s worth, I’m hurting too. I was lucky enough to leave with you, but I do miss them.”
That makes her smile just a little bit. “Even Elliot?”
I laugh a little. “Maybe even especially Elliot. Only one of you three that thinks like I do.”
She chuckles and then burrows back into my chest. I kiss her head again and then look out the window at the clouds passing by underneath the plane.
She goes quiet. “You think this will work out?”
I could lie, but that’s not us. “I think we’ll find a way. But this temporary space, this cool down—it’s necessary. So we’ll survive it together.”
She nods, and the grief on her face is a little less bone-deep than before. “I wish we could see them.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket like a little reminder. “Well, we can’t see them, but we’ll still be in contact despite what I believe the queen would prefer.”
Piper sits up and looks at me. “What do you mean?”
I dig out my phone as it vibrates again and show Piper Elliot’s message. “I’m sure Kellen’s lines will be monitored, but Elliot’s won’t be. Can’t be with our tech. Here.”
We read Elliot’s message together: Have been instructed (by Kellen’s mother, no less) to discontinue contact with Piper. Please confirm compliance. Will contact when permitted.
I show Piper the message. She snorts. “Are they kidding? They can’t control him like that.”
“Like I said, Kellen’s lines are easy to monitor.” I type a quick response to Elliot confirming that communication will only be happening between us and then pocket my phone once more.
Piper crosses her arms. “They’re treating me like a criminal.”
“I don’t agree with it either.” In fact, I think it’s all stupid as fuck. “But if Kellen allows his parents this bit of control, he may have an easier time talking to them about all of this.”
For a long time, neither of us says anything. The jet hum fills the cabin, and the world outside is a flat expanse of indifference. But in here, the air is thick with Piper’s vanilla-cherry scent and resigned togetherness. There’s no playbook for moments like this, not for anyone.
The best we can do is be together as we are.
Eventually Piper steps out into the aisle and stretches. “Thanks for not letting me wallow.”
“Always, Piper.” I stand, too, and make way for the galley. “I’m happy to hold you whenever you need it. In the meantime.” I fish out two one-cup servings of pre-packaged mint chocolate chip ice cream and hold one out to Piper.
Her eyes light up. “Yes, thank you!”
There are very few things in Piper’s world that mint chocolate chip ice cream can’t at least help fix.
We eat together in companionable silence save for the jet hum and the sounds of spoons scraping against the plastic cups. The sweet chill of mint numbs our tongues.
When the plane eventually lands with a gentle bump that rocks us both forward, the California sun streams through the windows, painting Piper’s face in gold.
For the first time since takeoff, her shoulders aren’t tight against her ears.
The next few days—the interviews, the damage control, the inevitable questions about the prince—actually seem manageable.
And if it ever seems not, I’ll fix it. That’s my job.