Chapter 20 #2
Faye’s cap was pulled low, her sunglasses on.
“You okay?” I asked quietly.
“No,” she answered. “Trying not to be dramatic in public, though.”
“We can be dramatic for you,” Dylan offered. “Pretty sure I can cry on command if I think hard enough about rookie hazing.”
A short laugh escaped her. “You’re a menace.”
The island behind us grew smaller, just a strip of green and sand and roofs along the water. The one ahead was busier, with more buildings stacked up the hill, cruise ships in the harbor, and cars already moving along the road by the dock.
Once off the boat, we grabbed another cab and headed to the airport. When we arrived at departures, we checked our bags, then TSA. By the time we got through security, my chest was hurting from what was coming.
“This is it,” Faye murmured.
“Yeah,” Dylan answered. “This is the ugly part.”
I turned toward her. “We’ll call when we land. And tonight. Then again tomorrow. You’re not getting rid of us.”
Her eyes were already shiny. “Good.”
“And we’ll try to see you again before spring training starts,” Dylan said.
“Okay.” She let out a shaky breath and adjusted the strap on her backpack and glanced up at the monitors. “Okay, my gate’s down that way.”
“We’re the opposite direction,” Dylan said absently as he checked his boarding pass. “Since our gate’s closer, we can walk you to yours first.”
She shook her head. “No. Your flight’s earlier. I’ll walk you to yours.”
Our gate sat at the end of a short hallway. The seats were already filled with people.
Dylan checked the screen. “Boarding in about twenty minutes.”
“Too soon,” Faye muttered.
We found a spot off to the side, out of the main flow. She dropped her backpack at her feet and looked between us.
“So this is where I try not to cry and ruin my mascara.” She frowned.
“You’d still be hot,” Dylan answered.
She snorted. “Not the point.”
I took her hand. “You remember the plan?”
“You’ll call when you land in Atlanta,” she recited.
“Then again tonight once you’re back in Portland.
And we’ll text too much after that, and you’ll harass me with pictures.
You two will try to get to Boston before spring training starts, if security and schedules don’t implode.
If that fails, we figure something out.”
“That’s it.” I squeezed her fingers.
Dylan rubbed the back of his neck. “You know where we stand on all this.”
“Yeah.” Her gaze moved between us. “You’re in. I’m in. We have no idea how it’s going to go in the next few months.”
The agent at the podium picked up the microphone and announced preboarding. A small group began lining up.
Dylan grimaced. “That’s us in a minute.”
“I hate this,” she whispered.
“Same,” I answered. “But you’re not losing us. You’re just getting on a different plane.”
“For now,” Dylan added.
She took a breath that trembled slightly and stepped into us, looping her arms around our necks and pulling us into a hug. We held on, three people in the middle of a busy gate, pretending we were alone.
“I’m going to miss you,” she said into my shoulder.
“We’re going to make you sick of us on video calls,” Dylan told her.
“That’s the goal,” I added.
The gate agent called our group.
I kissed her first. It wasn’t filthy or epic, just enough to make my chest hurt when I pulled back.
“Text when you get to your gate?” I asked.
“I will.” Her thumb brushed my jaw.
Dylan kissed her next. “If some guy hits on you, tell him you already have people who adore you.”
Her lips curved. “I will.”
Our group got called again. We didn’t have any more excuses.
“Go,” she urged. “Before the plane leaves.”
“You sure?” I asked.
“No,” she answered. “Go anyway.”
We grabbed our carry-ons and stepped into line. I turned around once more. She stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself, watching us.
I lifted my hand.
She lifted hers back.
Then Dylan and I walked down outside toward our plane.
He took the window. I had the middle. The aisle seat stayed empty while people shoved bags into the overhead bins and tried to figure out which row they were supposed to be in.
A flight attendant walked past, checked the bin above us, then grabbed the intercom. “We’re almost ready to depart. We’re just holding for one last passenger.”
Someone a few rows up groaned.
I glanced at my phone. No new text from Faye. She had her own gate, her own flight, her own life pulling her in a different direction.
A few minutes later, the attendant at the front stepped aside to let the last passenger on.
I looked down at my phone, waiting for the text from Faye that she was at her gate. Maybe she stopped for something to drink.
“This is me.”
I looked up, my brain stalling for a second. “What are you doing?”
“Changed my ticket,” Faye answered.
Dylan blinked at her. “You’re coming to Portland?”
“If you want me there,” she replied.
“Yeah,” I answered, a little rough. “We want you there.”
“Good, because I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.” She slid into the aisle seat and buckled her seatbelt.
“I was going to text,” she explained. “Then the gate stuff got crazy, and I decided I liked this better.”
Dylan let out a breath that sounded way too close to a laugh. “This is way better.”
“Yeah. It is.”