Chapter 48 Maya
MAYA
The drive back to the airport took just under two hours. Nate drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on my thigh, his thumb tracing slow circles through my jeans the way it always did.
The lava fields unfurled flat and endless under the grey sky, broken only by the occasional farmhouse sitting low against the wind. The radio played something low and Icelandic that neither of us understood.
The silence between us stretched, thick and uncomfortable, and I didn’t quite know why. I reached for my phone, more for something to do with my hands than anything else.
Oh good lord, the group chat had exploded overnight.
Mia: Have a safe flight home. Can’t wait to see you and hear all about it.
Poppy: Oooh yes, same here. I bet it’s been absolutely magical.
Samara: I hope you took lots of pics.
Hannah: You guys are being way too kind…
There was a further wall of text that I skim read. “Oh man, I’m going to be in so much trouble when we get back.”
Nate flicked me a glance. “How so?”
“Well, you know the girls have pretty much left me alone up to now, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“The amnesty is officially over. Hannah’s blowing up the group chat, threatening to come to the airport if I don’t commit to a debrief within forty-eight hours.”
His lips quirked in a half smile, but he didn’t say anything. Was it my imagination, or was there some strain in that smile?
“And of course Mom and Dad’s anniversary party is coming up, so Mom’s just texted me about the seating plan, which means she’s already in full Nancy mode.
I wonder how Dad’s coping. Probably okay, since he’s been dealing with it for over thirty years.
Thirty years. Can you imagine? More than half their lives.
How crazy is that? Dan said Dad’s writing a speech.
He’s been practicing it in the garage so Mom won’t hear. Isn’t that cute?”
“Yeah.”
Fuck, I was babbling like a crazy person and all he could give me was, Yeah.
I turned to the window and drew my jacket tighter.
Every mile was a mile closer to Keflavík. To the gate. To the flight home to Esperance and everything we’d spent a week pretending didn’t exist.
His hand slid from my thigh to my hand, his fingers threading through mine and holding tight. I squeezed in return and tried to focus on the warmth of his palm against mine instead of the silence filling the car.
When we got to the airport, Nate handled the rental car return while I stood outside with our bags.
The return took a little longer than expected. A frisson of anxiety spiked in my belly by the time he came out. He locked eyes with me, a frown pulling at his brows, and my heart hitched.
“All good?”
“Yeah, they just had to check some stuff with the mileage.” He reached for my duffel and I grabbed the strap.
“I can take mine.”
“I’ve got it.” He swung his bag over one shoulder, hooked mine over the other, and tucked me into his side with his free arm wrapped around my shoulders. As we walked toward the terminal, I tried to convince myself that the acid churning in my stomach was just travel anxiety.
But that knot only pulled tighter as we moved inside, navigating check-in and the usual security shuffle of shoes off, laptops out, and standing in line behind people who somehow always forgot they had water bottles.
At the gate, we sank into our seats, close enough that his thigh pressed against mine from hip to knee. He draped his arm across my chair, his fingers on the nape of my neck, his thumb brushing back and forth along the top of my spine.
I leaned into him. “Want a coffee? I saw a place near security as we came through.”
“I’m good.”
“Something to eat?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”
Thank you, though. What the fuck was that? It was so formal, so un-Nate like, that it sat wrong in the weirdest way. Like a shirt buttoned one hole off.
When they called our boarding group, the blur of the jet bridge and finding our seats faded into the background. All I really focused on was the heat of Nate’s hand resting on the small of my back, and the way he linked his fingers with mine the second he dropped into the seat beside me.
The plane eased onto the runway, the engines built to a roar and Iceland fell away beneath us. The coastline shrank to a dark, jagged line against gray water, and then the clouds swallowed it whole and there was nothing left but white.
Without a word, Nate lifted the armrest between us and pulled me against him. I went willingly, resting my head on his shoulder with a soft sigh.
His hand moved to my hair, his fingers combing through it in long, slow strokes. I closed my eyes and let my mind drift. It went straight to last night.
Under the glass dome. The northern lights bleeding across the dark sky.
We’d taken our time before. We’d done slow and intense plenty of times. But last night felt completely different.
Every time he moved inside me, his eyes stayed locked on mine. Systematically stripping away every layer of breezy indifference and casual confidence I wore like armor, until I felt completely, utterly exposed.
I’d spent half the night lying awake listening to his breathing, trying to decode the overwhelming, complicated emotion swimming in his eyes.
It was too profound to just be physical.
Too intense to just be a vacation fling hitting its peak.
It was like he was searching for something he needed to keep.
My stomach gave a sickening little swoop as a new thought finally clicked into place.
Was he memorizing me? Was he taking a mental picture?
Was last night a tragic send-off instead of some massive emotional breakthrough?Was it a beautiful goodbye?
Did that explain the rigid jaw today? The polite distance? The careful, formal way he was treating me felt like he was gently transitioning us out of our Icelandic bubble. Back into the real world.
A world where whatever this was had a hard expiration date.
I opened my eyes. His head was tipped against the headrest, his eyes closed. His fingers were still moving through my hair in that same steady rhythm.
Suddenly, the gentle stroke of his hand felt less like a comfort and more like a countdown.
If last night was his beautiful, tragic way of saying goodbye, lying here soaking up the last drops of his affection like some pathetic sponge was going to destroy me. My armor had been completely stripped away under that glass dome, but I desperately needed it now.
I shifted in my seat and pulled away from his warmth, sitting up straight. “I think I’m going to try to get some sleep,” I muttered, grabbing the thick blanket and covering myself with it.
He held my gaze for a second too long, his eyes dark and unreadable. A muscle feathered right at the corner of his jaw. Then he leaned in, his large hand gently cupping the back of my neck, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my temple. It was so incredibly tender it made my throat tight.
“Okay. Sleep well, Slayer.”
He pulled back and turned his head forward, taking all his warmth with him.
I swallowed hard, turning my face to the window to stare out at the endless expanse of snowy clouds. The idyll really was over. We were going home.