Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
MORGAN
“Please tell me that’s not airport sushi,” AJ says, glancing down at the plastic container I just opened in the seat next to hers on the Rebels’ plane.
Even though it’s midmorning, I’m still not quite awake.
I fell asleep before the plane even took off, which makes sense given that I barely slept at all last night.
When I curled into Aidan in bed, closing my eyes and slowing my breathing so he’d think I was asleep, it took everything in me to keep from sobbing.
Despite the fact that the sex was amazing, as always, it felt like we were saying goodbye.
How could it not? When I’d asked him what he wanted, he hadn’t said anything about our relationship.
He’d just said I want you, while looking like he was feral for me, and then pulling me to him before we used each other for sex.
There were no emotions, no declarations like I’d gotten used to while we were in Ember Cove.
Last night, it felt like he was already pulling away.
I don’t know what I’d expected. He said he doesn’t do relationships.
He told me, over and over again, that what we had was not monogamous nor did it imply any long-term commitment.
And somehow, just like I always do, I’d convinced myself that he’d eventually admit that there were actual feelings involved, and he’d choose me.
But he didn’t. He chose sex with me, as if that was the same thing.
“It’s fine,” I tell AJ through a yawn. I’m having a hard time waking up after my much-needed nap, and just want to close my eyes again. Except I’m starving and won’t be able to fall back asleep when I’m this hungry. “I get sushi at the airport all the time.”
“You have no idea how long that had been sitting there before you bought it,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “And now you’ve had it on the plane for hours, unrefrigerated.”
“This plane is a refrigerator, which is why we’re both bundled up,” I say, indicating my zip-up cardigan and AJ’s suit jacket. Then I hold the container up to my nose. “This smells perfectly fine.”
“I really hope you don’t regret that,” she says, then goes back to working on her laptop while I eat.
I should get some work done, too. I still have hours of client work to finish up by the end of the day, but I’m too tired.
So, once I’ve finished eating, I sit back in the comfy seat, close my eyes, and let the hum of the engine lull me back to sleep.
When the wheels hit the ground about two hours later, I nearly jolt out of my seat.
It’s not the shock of waking up during landing, it’s my roiling stomach and churning intestines.
I breathe through my nose as the plane slows, and by the time we make the turn off the runway, taxiing toward the terminal, I know I can’t wait to use the bathroom.
I jolt out of my seat, stepping past AJ, who looks up at me in surprise, as I make my way forward to the bathroom.
“Ma’am,” the flight attendant says as I approach, “the seatbelt sign is on. I need you to return to your seat.”
“I’m going to be sick,” I say, throwing open the bathroom door and barely getting it closed and locked behind me before I’m on my knees, emptying the contents of my stomach into the small toilet.
I’ve always hated being sick, but being sick in an airplane bathroom, within earshot of my colleagues chatting right on the other side of the bathroom door as they wait to get off the plane, is a special kind of torture.
I lose track of how many times I flush the toilet, because there doesn’t seem to be any end to how much partially digested food wants to leave my body.
By the time I finally stop vomiting, it’s quiet enough that I worry everyone may have forgotten I was in here. Am I going to find myself locked inside this plane? And if so, who the hell do I call to get me out?
I wash and dry my hands, then use the wet paper towel to wipe the dried streaks of tears off my face.
I think vomiting has overheated me, because my whole body feels clammy from the thin coat of sweat covering my skin.
I need to get the hell out of here and get home before I get sick again.
I can tell by the gurgling in my stomach that it’s only a matter of time.
When I push open the door, the plane is quiet.
But when I turn to head back to my seat, I notice the door is still open, and the stairs are still pushed up against the plane, so at least I’m not locked in.
And, right ahead of me, sitting in the aisle seats in the first row, are the flight attendant, and Aidan Renaud.
Fuck my life.
He lifts an eyebrow as he says, “You survived?”
“Barely.” I turn toward the flight attendant. “I think you may need a hazmat team to clean that bathroom.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “That is the protocol in this situation.”
“AJ said you ate bad sushi?” Aidan says.
“In my defense, I didn’t think it was bad when I ate it.”
“Let’s get you home,” he says. It’s then that I notice my carry-on suitcase in the aisle, with my bag on top of it.
“What about my phone, and—”
“I got everything from your seat. C’mon, before you get sick again.” He sounds . . . concerned? The flight attendant hands him a couple of the barf bags you normally find in the seat back pocket. “Thanks, Brenda. Hope the birthday party goes well this week.”
At first I’m surprised by how familiar he is with her. Sometimes I forget that it’s the same flight crew on all the teams’ flights. Of course he knows her. And he just sat here for god knows how long waiting for me to finish puking my brains out.
“Thank you both,” I say as I reach for the handle of my suitcase.
“I’ve got it,” Aidan says, standing and blocking me from taking it. “You just get yourself safely down those steps. Or do you need me to carry you?”
“No,” I say, suddenly realizing how weak I am. “I can do it.” I turn toward the door of the aircraft, but I’m hit by a sudden dizzy spell and grab the wall of the galley to hold myself up.
“Like hell you can,” Aidan says from behind me. And then he’s scooping me into his arms.
“Hey, I'm sick but I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” he says, walking to the plane’s exit, “but I’m going to take care of you anyway. Hold onto me.”
I wrap my arms around him, resting my head on his chest as he carefully descends the stairs.
He walks over to his car, which for some reason is right on the tarmac of the private airport.
As if he knows I’m about to ask him, he says, “McCabe brought it over. No one believed you’d be able to walk to the parking lot after . . . that.”
“Could everyone hear me throwing up?” I groan.
“Pretty much. Don’t worry, everyone felt bad for you. I don’t think AJ told anyone but me that this was self-inflicted.”
“It wasn’t self-inflicted,” I mutter.
“Mm-hmm.” He opens the door, then sets me in the passenger seat. “I’m going to go get your bags. If you need to throw up again, try to do it outside the car, okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, but my stomach calls me out on the lie by loudly rumbling. I hate everything about this situation.
He turns and bounds up the steps to the plane, leaving me to consider that this was probably how my mom was feeling the day after her wedding. Maybe I was too judgmental about her forgetting my birthday, given that I barely know my own name right now.
Aidan comes back with my suitcase in one hand and my over-the-shoulder bag in the other. After setting them both in the trunk, he comes around and hands me the barf bags Brenda had given him, shuts my door, and then climbs in behind the wheel.
“Where’s your stuff?” I ask him as I pry open one of the plastic-coated bags. Hopefully I won’t need it, but better to have it ready just in case.
“McCabe put it in my car when he brought it around.”
I buckle my seat belt and rest my head against the headrest as I crack the window to get some fresh air. “Did this make him and AJ suspicious?”
“No more than they already were, I suspect.”
“They already think something’s going on between us?”
“McCabe does, for sure. Not sure about AJ.”
I wonder again what AJ’s feelings on the matter would be? On the one hand, if anyone would understand dating a player you work with, it would be her. Plus, the Rebels are a client of mine, I’m not even technically an employee. On the other hand, would she be mad that I hadn’t told her outright?
In the end, it probably doesn’t matter. This is never going to be an actual relationship, so there’s nothing to share.
Plus, since AJ already knows how I stupidly let Carter back into my life at the end of the summer, she doesn’t need to know how I’ve essentially set myself up for the same sort of heartbreak with Aidan.
We drive out of the airport in silence, and before we even reach the main road that will take us back into Boston, I’m resting my head against the window with my eyes closed.
The breeze on my face makes me feel less nauseous than before.
I don’t wake up until the car door opens and Aidan leans in, unbuckling me and picking me up like I weigh nothing.
“Where are we?” I ask, confused by the dim, unfamiliar space. I think it’s a small garage?
“My place.”
There are so many questions whirling through my head, but I’m mostly focused on how he can possibly have a private garage in the city, and why we are here.
But I’m too tired to ask, so I just give him a nod and close my eyes, while I enjoy how comfortable I am with my head resting against his chest.
When I wake up again, the room is dim. The shades are open, but it’s dark and stormy outside.
It’s the kind of late fall afternoon perfect for cozying up and watching a movie with a fire burning in the fireplace.
Unfortunately for me, though, my stomach is once again roiling, and I rush into the attached bathroom before heaving up the contents of my digestive system until I’m so exhausted, I can’t even get up.