12. CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER TWELVE
Joss
I ’m shaken awake by some aggressive turbulence. Feeling like I only just fell asleep, my heart is racing a million miles a minute. I’m in the crew space where we take turns getting some shuteye on these transcontinental flights. The curtain hangs closed, but it sways with the movement of the plane. There was nothing but clear skies ahead when I climbed in here, so the fact it’s bumpy as hell is startling.
My watch tells me I’ve been asleep for about an hour. Time flies when you’re having fun, right?
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I don’t get up just yet, taking deep breaths to calm my body out of fight or flight mode. It’s feeling gentler than it did a minute ago. Maybe I could fall back to sleep?
Or not .
A swish of fabric is the only warning before Sydney appears at my feet. And yes, she’s from Sydney. Her parents must’ve thought they were real funny. “Hey, we’ve got about two hours until we land. We need all hands on deck to get the food served.”
I suck in a deep inhale, wishing she’d take her lovely perky smile and go away. Somehow she still looks as fresh as she did when we took off from London this morning. I, however, feel like a wadded-up tissue. I groan again and sit up, giving her a thumbs-up as she closes the drape and leaves me in peace.
I’ve felt off this whole trip. What if I’m getting sick?
Nope, nope, nope. Don’t even let those thoughts into your head, Joss.
I cannot get sick. I do not have time to get sick. Ever. It’s something I simply don’t do. I know the other flight attendants are waiting on me, but I need five more minutes to feel human. That way I can put my best foot forward when I step out there to take care of the 200-plus people under our care.
I close my eyes and think about surfing, grounding myself in all five of my senses as I imagine my happy place. The sound of the waves hitting the shore. The feel of the water against my legs as I circle them under my board. The taste of the saltwater on my lips as it drips from my wet hair. The air, salty and clean. In my mind’s eye, it’s Wes I see sitting next to me, a soft grin on his face, dimples peeking through the stubble on his cheeks.
My heart rate slows, my thoughts resting on the last several weeks. On the mornings Wes and I (and sometimes Breck) have surfed. We’ve fallen into a steady rhythm—well, as steady as it can be with my constantly being out of the country. Since deciding to be more open to letting people in, I’m amazed at how much more fulfilling my mornings are. It’s kind of like when you don’t know you need glasses. When you finally bite the bullet and can see the world in its entirety, you realize how much you were missing.
I was content with my life a month ago. I loved my job and Jaz, but there was something missing. A hole I’ve never been able to fill that feels a little less empty these days. Somehow, in just a few short weeks, the companionship I’m slipping into with Wes feels as easy as breathing. He’s my glasses, showing me how much more there is in the world. Getting back to that feeling has been what’s kept me going on this trip.
Jaz, Wes, and I have plans for dinner tonight so that they can get to know each other beyond Harbour Grounds. Though, I’m wondering if we should have opted to do it tomorrow—I’m already knackered. Taking one more deep breath, I climb out to go help my coworkers.
The next couple of hours are a total crush, as is often the case with these long flights—everything happening at the beginning and the end, with a lot of downtime in the middle. It’s a blur of food service, drink service, clean up, and deplaning. But now that the passengers are gone and we’ve moved on to general turnover, I can feel the adrenaline wearing off and new sensations replacing it.
Why does the AC feel like it’s blasting? But also, why am I sweating? I want to crawl out of my skin. The synthetic fibers of my uniform scraping against it feel almost painful, there’s a pounding rhythm in my brain, and the lights are too bright.
“You okay, Joss?” Sydney asks from the back of the plane.
“Yeah, just tired I think,” I mumble, trying to steady myself .
She looks unconvinced as she watches me but gives a little shrug, moving on to finish her checklist. I’m just tired.
I’ll keep telling myself that until I believe it.
I’m so focused on getting home that I can’t remember my walk from the plane to the curb, and the drive is the same. One minute I’m sliding into the yellow cab, cracked leather seats catching on my nylons, and the next I’m outside my building. I must have fallen asleep. Grabbing my bags, I head for the door as the cab drives away, off into the bustle of the city.
Frank looks up, his greeting dying on his lips as he takes me in. “Ms. Morgan, are you alright?”
He’s always been more like a protective uncle than a security guard, and I love him for it. I smile, but it must come off as more of a grimace with the way his face contorts in worry. He jumps up from his chair and rushes over to take my bags from me.
“I’m fine, Frank. Just a little under the weather.”
I can’t imagine what I must look like if Frank is this concerned. I don’t think I’ve seen him be anything but cool, calm, and collected.
“Ms. Morgan, I’m going to escort you to your apartment, make sure you get in okay,” he says as he ushers me toward the elevator. I can’t even find the energy to argue with him about calling me Ms. Morgan instead of Joss.
The metal wall is cool on my skin. When did I lean against it? I close my eyes, taking stock of all the sensations in my body right now. Everything hurts. I’m so cold, like I took a dive in a plunge pool then decided to flounce about without drying off.
The ding of the elevator brings me back to my senses and to Frank, who’s staring down at me, eyebrows knitted together. He rolls my bag down the hall while I attempt to remove my keys from my purse, but my hands aren’t working properly. They end up on the floor, the jangling sound echoing inside my skull, and all I can do is stare at them.
“Dammit,” I mutter, or at least I think I do.
My ears never fully equalized from our descent, and it’s hard to judge the volume of my voice right now. I lean against the wall, not having the energy to pick my keys up. Frank moves toward them, but from of the corner of my eye, I see a hand shoot out and get there first. Appearing in front of me like I conjured him is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
Wes.
His long legs, in a pair of jeans that fit just right, are bent to kneel before me. His grey Henley, with the top buttons undone, stretches across broad shoulders and hugs his chest and arms. That face, the scruffy jawline, the deep blue eyes. There’s no smile or dimpled cheek like I’m used to. Instead, his brow is furrowed, worry lines bracketing his mouth. I think he’s talking to me, but I can’t hear it as I slide down the wall and everything goes black.