29. Tyler
29
TYLER
Flight attendants begin walking the aisles, checking seat belts and helping stragglers stow their bags as I reach to set my phone to airplane mode. Just as I unlock the screen, the phone buzzes, and a message comes through.
Isaac: I will wait for you for as long as it takes. I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.
My heart slams against my ribs. I stare at the screen, breath caught in my throat, and I know I do this. I can't. I can't.
I stand so fast the lady next to me shrieks.
“Wait! Please, don’t close the doors!”
A flight attendant steps forward, alarmed. “Sir?”
“I'm sorry. I need to go. I can't do this. I need to get off the plane. Please. Now.”
People are staring, some annoyed, some curious, but I don’t care. My hands are shaking as I grab my carry-on and stumble down the aisle. People are murmuring to each other, a constant low hum of judgement and curiosity. I ignore it.
The cabin feels too small, like the air is closing in around me. Each step toward the front feels like breaking through glass. I murmur frantic apologies as I pass, but they don't register, not even to me. A man across the aisle glances up from his tablet with thinly veiled judgment. Another in the row ahead mutters something about ‘rich kids having meltdowns.’ A flight attendant near the galley steps aside and lifts her walkie-talkie, eyes tracking me like I might be unstable. I think I knock someone’s bag down, but I don’t look back. All I can see is the door ahead.
The moment I'm through the jet bridge and back into the terminal, it’s like I can finally breathe again. My chest heaves like I’ve been holding my breath for days.
Everything around me is too bright. Too loud. The buzz of gate announcements and rolling luggage fades to a dull hum in the back of my skull. All I can think about is him.
I don’t stop walking until I’m out of the gate area, stumbling into a row of empty chairs. I fumble my phone back out and call my father.
He answers on the second ring, calm as ever. Too calm. "Tyler," he says, in that neutral tone that never matches the weight of a moment.
“I’d like to renegotiate.”
A pause. “Excuse me?”
“I heard everything you said. I took it seriously, but I'd like to renegotiate your terms. That's how a deal works, right?" He grunts noncommittally. "I'll go to law school. And I'll come work with you at the firm. But I don't want to move to California. I'll go to law school here, locally."
"And I suppose this has something to do with a certain tattooed ex-delinquent?"
I'm reading into that statement, hoping it means that he followed through on his part of the deal. If it comes down to it, I'll go to the North Pole if that's what it takes to save him. But as long as I'm giving him what he really wants, why does he care about any of the other details? I have to at least try.
"It hurts too much," I admit softly. "I'm sure you think that makes me weak, or dramatic. I don't care what you think of me. You said you want what's best for me, and that's Isaac. Isaac is what's best for me."
Another pause. Then the sigh I’ve come to expect. The one that says I’m being difficult. Emotional. Soft.
“Everything means nothing if I can’t have him,” I say before he can speak.
He starts to say something, but there’s a disturbance on his end. “Hold for just a moment, please,” he says.
But I hear him. In the background. It's faint, muffled. But I know that voice. Isaac.
I catch fragments through the static: “…you think I’m not good enough…” and “…the best thing to ever happen to me…” then, clearer than the rest , “…I'll carry him, if that's what he needs.”
Each word hits like it’s meant for me. Every syllable full of the man I love, the one who would fight for me with his last breath.
The line suddenly sharpens, like the hand muffling the receiver has just moved away. I don't know if it's on purpose, if he's trying to make sure I hear this next part, but the words cut through cleanly:
“You have some kind of audacity to disregard everything I’ve given you. To throw an opportunity like this away. What’s your price?”
My breath hitches. It’s like the air has been sucked out of the room and replaced with something too sharp to inhale. My chest expands, desperate for a full breath, but there’s no space—no room for anything but him. I'm forced to hold my breath, bracing myself, waiting to hear what he'll say.
When he answers, his voice is steady. Clear. Strong.
“There is no price, Mr. Valdin. Everything means nothing if I can’t love him.”
My heart stops. Or maybe it skips. Or maybe it just clenches so hard in my chest I can’t feel anything else.
My knees nearly give. I sit down hard, one hand pressed to my face as if that can contain the storm building in my rib cage. I close my eyes and try to slow my heartbeat, but it’s impossible. The certainty in his tone echoes in my bones. Like gravity shifting. Like something in the universe just snapped into place and dared me to doubt it.
Then I hear my father again, this time closer to the phone. There’s something in his voice I’ve never heard before, something almost hesitant.
“This is for you,” he says.
A shuffle, then–
"Hello?" He sounds gruff. Confused. Grouchy as fuck. It has a smile so wide it hurts breaking across my face.
I love him so much. My whole body feels like it’s pulsing with it. Raw and exposed and alive. I clutch the phone tighter, like if I squeeze hard enough, maybe I can crawl through it.
“Isaac,” I whisper. His name leaves my mouth like a prayer.
He gasps. "Baby, where are you? Wherever you are, I'll come there. I just want us to talk. I love you so much and if space is what you need, then–"
“Fuck space. I’m on my way home.”