Chapter 28
The plane ride back is even more awkward than the flight to Fiji.
For starters, both Bannam brothers are present.
Nate is next to me as “Brody” with the real one in the row behind us kicking my seat every time he moves.
Perhaps on purpose, since I’d barely talked to either of them since yesterday’s fiasco on the beach.
Nate’s been avoiding me (or I’m avoiding him), and my conversations with Brody were limited to business.
Me reminding him he’s responsible for his brand as he seeks a new manager, though not at BrandMe since I’m moving forward with my case.
Him asking to be the one to announce our breakup later, when it wouldn’t taint the show.
Me blindly agreeing as a last gift to a man I once loved, even if neither Bannam brother wants me now.
At least we’re seated in first class, and I have a window seat where I can watch the plane slice through the clouds as if they were never real to begin with.
For the first hour, I pretend we’re slicing through Travis’s face, smug from the news I’d lost the Bannam account after all.
Then the clouds morph into other things—keys, lockets, hearts. Me.
It’s so distracting, I can almost forget Nate is next to me. His head is leaning back, eyes closed, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Smelling of sage and citrus. A magnetic pull beckoning me…
“How can he sleep?” Brody mutters to himself, though it’s loud enough to overhear. Is he upset Nate fell asleep so easily or because he can sleep at all after yesterday?
Not that it matters, because Nate isn’t sleeping.
If the last two weeks taught me anything about Nate, it’s that he can’t really sleep without snoring a trumpet solo.
No, he’s choosing to ignore us, to ignore me.
Can I blame him? After yesterday, sitting together pretending to be in love as Brody and Abigail for 15 hours is far from ideal.
I’d pick sleep, too, if my brain would let me.
Four hours into the flight, I need to pee. Badly. I climb over the supposedly sleeping Nate and hurry to the front restrooms, relieved to find one open. I finish up quickly, take an extra minute to fix my hair, then head back to my seat, where I slide over Nate’s knees and stare out the window.
It’s clearly going to be a long flight, but it’s not until I go to the bathroom another three times over the next hour that I realize how long. Thankfully, it’s just to pee and not something more dire. It’s urgent and painful and—fuck. It’s most definitely a UTI.
“You okay, miss?” a flight attendant asks, concern etched on her face as I head back from the restroom for at least the eighth time on this flight.
“Do you have any cranberry juice?” It wouldn’t do much good now, but I’d try anything to prevent needing to race to the bathroom 50 more times on this flight.
The flight attendant grimaces in understanding before shaking her head no. “Only apple and orange. Not quite the same thing.”
“Not quite.” I return to my seat, scooting past Nate and trying to get comfortable.
Apples, oranges, and cranberries. Sure, they’re all fruit, but they’re otherwise completely different.
Like Brody and Nate, who had the same upbringing, genetics, and even identical appearances.
But at their core, it’s easy to see how they are two different men who both somehow claimed a piece of my heart.
There’s Brody, who takes his career more seriously than anyone I’ve ever known while keeping entanglements of the heart a lot more casual.
Then there’s Nate, who cares about his career but puts his family and then other relationships first. The brother who is more of a giver in the sheets, and the shower, and the lagoon—where this whole UTI thing probably started.
The realization should make the memory less sexy, but it doesn’t.
I’d take my current discomfort multiplied tenfold if it meant having one more night with Nate.
And to have even longer? For that, I’d give just about anything.
The thought makes me need to pee. Again.
I make it to the bathroom and back to my seat in under five minutes, which might be an embarrassing record considering the last couple of trips.
Who knew what the rest of the passengers thought of me?
Thankfully, most are sleeping or engrossed in a movie.
Even Brody is leaning against the window with his eyes shut and mouth parted slightly, but he’s a silent sleeper.
And Nate…he is no longer in his seat. He’s in mine.
“You’re in my spot,” I whisper.
But Nate’s eyes and mouth stay closed.
“I know you’re not sleeping. No trumpets.” I tap my nose to clarify, even though he isn’t looking. The act reminds me of our first meeting in the hospital when Nate told me I smelled like a distillery. Things were complicated then, but now that time seems so simple.
This situation is so much worse.
I’m about to say his name but catch myself in time. “Brody?”
Nate huffs, then whispers, “I’m sleeping.”
I bite back a smile. How can just hearing him talk to me again do that? “Okay, but you’re in my seat.”
“Take mine.”
“I had the window, though.”
He groans but still doesn’t open his eyes as he speaks in a demanding whisper. “Take the seat. You keep getting up, and I cannot have you brushing against me and practically falling into my lap every time. It’s too much.”
There’s a pain or irritation in his voice that convinces me to accept his seat and buckle in.
If the plane hit turbulence, I doubt I’d even notice.
There’s already a world of turbulence inside me.
The brothers leave together once we land in Vegas, while I watch from baggage claim.
If they stick to the plan, they’re heading back to Brody’s house to resume their true identities in private—a change of clothes, the taking down of a bun, the switching of luggage.
Then Nate would get in his car and drive home, and our lives would return to normal.
But nothing about this is normal. After another bathroom break, I catch a ride and text Corina an update along the way.
I’m home just long enough to slide my bags through the door, pet Jasper, and hit the bathroom again before going to the doctor to confirm what I already know.
An especially angry UTI. Hopefully, the antibiotics will do their thing quickly.
By the time I’m home again, I’m ready to collapse onto the sectional, curl up with Jasper, and sleep for the next week or at least until the meds work.
Because everything is wrong. I have no job, no boyfriend, no clients, no Nate.
The only thing I left Fiji with is a UTI, yet another painful reminder of all I’ve lost.
Not even ten minutes after sinking into the sectional with Jasper curled into the crook of my arm as if he’s afraid I’ll leave again, there’s a knock at the door.
I’m about to ignore it but then jolt up, scaring Jasper off the couch.
Nate. It has to be him. Maybe he left Brody’s, realized what a mistake he made with us, swung a U-turn in the middle of the road, and sped to my apartment.
Not that he knows where I live, but he could have asked Brody or looked it up online. It’s possible.
Or it could be Brody at the door. Once his brother left, he got to thinking about his career and realized he needs me running his brand. So he put all the Nate drama aside to rush over and beg me to take his account back.
The knock comes again, and I leap off the couch to answer it. Everything will be okay after all. It has to be.
But when I open the door, it isn’t a Bannam on the other side. Of course not. That would have been laughably easy after what we’ve been through.
It’s Corina, looking deeply tanned as if she were the one returning from a tropical vacation. With a beaming smile, she holds out a basket brimming with juice, snacks, and vitamins—all cranberry—along with a heap of heating pads.
“Girl, I missed the heck out of you.”
I set down the basket and envelop her in a long, overdue hug.
We settle down in the living room where we discuss Fiji, including the twin-switch plan. All while sipping cranberry juice from wine glasses.
“Do you want me to kill him?” she asks when I’ve gotten to the end of the love triangle that should never have been. “I’ve listened to enough true crime; I might be able to get away with it.”
“Which him?” I ask, though I want neither dead.
“Either! Both?”
“And did you say you might get away with it?”
She shrugs. “You don’t know until you try.”
We laugh, and boy does it feel good to laugh again.
As our tears of mirth subside, I clarify, “No, I’m good. No need to hurt either of the Bannam brothers.”
There had been plenty of pain already.
Jasper meows in something like agreement, and we burst into laughter again. Corina and this basket of UTI goodies are all I really need. And Jasper. I can make it without the Bannams.
I could. I would.
I’d have to.
At spin class three weeks later, the other shoe I’ve been waiting on drops. I’m sweaty, moving in time to the club music our spin instructor prefers when my phone screen lights up with a social media notification, interrupting my virtual view of Fiji.
Brody has tagged me in a post. Even though it could be a show promo, I already know it’s not. I grab the phone from its holder on the bike and click open to the app. My pedaling slows with the distraction.
It’s a black-and-white photo of Brody and me. Only, it’s not Brody in the photo—it’s Nate with his brother’s signature bun, holding me in his arms at the waterfall in Fiji.
Brody Bannam (@TheRealBrodyBannam): Sometimes the best thing you can do for someone you love is hold them close.
Other times, all you can do is let them go.
Abigail and I have decided to go our separate ways, but I wish her nothing but happiness.
Still so glad we got to film season 3 of Rush together (coming your way soon).
To the world, it’s a simple announcement of Brody and me splitting up. Plus, a teaser for Rush. I know there’s more to his photo choice and caption now I’ve let both brothers go.
“Keep going, Red!” our spin instructor shouts, pointing at me before motioning to the room to pick up the pace.
Corina looks over. “Everything okay?”
I’ve stopped pedaling, stopped maybe even breathing, to stare at the sleek screen of my phone like I’m looking at the aftermath of an explosion. I knew this was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier.
The booming music echoes in my head, and I have to get out of there.
I jump off the bike and run out of the gym.
The city buzzes around me, but it’s all as muted as the music inside as I watch the comments pour in on Brody’s post. Most are fans chattering about the next season of Rush, lamenting our “perfect love story,” or speculating wildly about what happened.
I scroll through them, forcing myself to read each one, even though they claw at the raw parts of my heart.
I can’t help it. Maybe I’m desperate for a sign someone understands, but Nate is the only one who really could.
And he’s been notably silent for the three weeks we’ve been back.
No reaching out, no changing his mind, no wanting me back.
The gym door opens behind me, and Corina appears, her hands full with our bags and water bottles. “Girl, you cannot run out mid-session when my legs are legit spaghetti. How am I to keep up?”
My mouth twitches, but nothing can make me smile right now. Instead, I take my belongings from Corina and pass her my phone.
She glances at the screen, then back up at me. “Oh. Is that…?”
I manage a nod, and she continues scrolling through the comments with more patience than I had. She sees what I did—words from strangers pouring in, yet nothing from Nate.
I take a sip of water, but it does nothing to quell the sick feeling in my stomach.
I hate myself for laying it all on the line for Nate in Fiji, thinking he’d choose me too.
Now with Brody’s breakup announcement gaining attention and no word from Nate, I can’t stop wondering if I was just a convenient distraction.
“Brody didn’t give you a heads-up?” She looks up from the phone, concern lacing her brown eyes.
I shake my head. “He wanted to be the one to announce it, but he never said when. I thought closer to the show’s release since he didn’t want it to seem like the show drove us apart.” It did; just differently than his social narrative would suggest.
“Maybe he couldn’t wait any longer? Or doesn’t have a new brand manager to dissuade him? You could probably get his account back if you wanted.”
An abrasive laugh escapes me. While I do want Brody and Nate back in my life, I ruined everything with the Bannam brothers. Fracturing, if not exploding, their relationship in the process.
My phone dings with a notification, and I snatch it out of Corina’s hands. My heart somersaults in my chest, praying it’s finally Nate. If he was waiting for some sort of prime opportunity to reconnect, Brody’s announcement should be it.
But the ding is just another damn comment on Brody’s post. A fan lamenting the demise of the “perfect couple” right after someone named Aspen offers to be his new girlfriend.
“Glad to see we aren’t still eagerly waiting for him to reach out,” Corina says, and I know she’s talking about Nate and not Brody. “I hate to say it, sweetie, but maybe he’s not going to. Maybe he can’t.”
She looks guilty for suggesting it, even though it’s the same thought that’s been racing through my mind since Nate and I parted ways at the airport. I’m not stupid; falling for him was a risk, but the connection between us felt undeniable.
By the time we fell together, I would’ve bet my life on it.
“I know it’s unlikely Nate will reach out.” Very, given he chose Brody over me. “But it feels unfinished between us…like this isn’t how our story is supposed to end.”
Like he’s out there, letting me slip through his fingers.
I fall back against the gym’s brick wall and close my eyes, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose to stop the tears from falling.
“What are you going to do?” Corina asks.
Isn’t that the question of the past several weeks? Moving on is easier said than done. While we weren’t together long, a taste of what we could have been was enough to make me crave him forever. If only I had been enough for him. If only he had chosen me the way I chose him.
My eyes fly open, and I take my phone back from Corina. I may not have all the answers yet, but I have this one. “What I do best.”
I pull up a photo of me smiling in Fiji to post to my own social accounts. My fingers shake as I type the caption, half-hoping Nate won’t read it, half-praying he will.
Because this time, I choose me.