12. Whitney
12
WHITNEY
T he morning of our trip to Vegas, I shoot up in bed at the crack of dawn. After triple checking my suitcase, I go into the kitchen and quickly make a couple of sandwiches for the flight. Everything is ready.
Except I haven’t heard a peep from Liam’s room.
I knock on his door, softly at first. There’s no response, so I knock again, harder this time, but still nothing.
Glancing at the oven clock, I shake my head and open the door. The room is a dark cave, the blackout curtains drawn so not a sliver of light can get in. Liam’s muscular figure is sprawled across the bed, and he’s shirtless.
Very shirtless.
For a moment, I just stare at him, taking in the broad lines of his shoulders and the dark ink splattered across his arms and chest. I’ve never really looked at his tattoos or studied his body, but he’s incredible. Ignoring the sudden flush of heat rushing through me, I cross the room and nudge his sleeping form, trying to wake him in the least intrusive way possible. He doesn’t seem to even register my presence.
I nudge him again. “Liam. Wake up,” I whisper into the darkness.
Nothing.
“Liam!” A little louder now. “We have to go!”
He stirs, grumbling into his pillow.
“Get up!” I say, sounding too much like my mother for my liking. “I’m calling the car in ten minutes.”
He lifts his head slightly. “What time is it?” he rasps, sending another strange flush through me.
“A little past five.”
“Isn’t our flight at ten?” he mumbles into the pillow.
“Yes. It’s a forty-five-minute drive to JFK. If we leave before six, we’ll be there a bit before seven, and that gives us three hours to get through security.”
Finally, he opens his eyes. “Three hours? Are you insane? Go back to bed.”
I roll my eyes. “Liam. Get up. I will be calling the car in ten minutes, with or without you.”
“Yeah? Gonna say the vows without me, too?”
I throw my hands in the air. “Ugh. Just get up! Please.”
He rolls over, facing away from me. “Fine. Get out so I can get dressed.”
I glance around at the messy room, barely visible in the darkness. I don’t see a suitcase anywhere. “You’re packed, right?”
“Sure, sunshine. Now get out.” Before I can duck, he sends a pillow flying in my direction, hitting me square in the chest. Taking the hint, I slip out of the room, slamming the door behind me.
Twenty minutes later, my thumb is hovering over the Uber app impatiently. I’m about to lose my shit when Liam finally stumbles out of his room with a duffel bag over his shoulder.
“Great! Let’s go!”
He blinks slowly. “How do you have this much energy?”
“I’m a morning person. Haven’t you realized that by now?”
He shrugs and sits across from me, setting his bag on the ground. “I guess.”
I call the car and the app says it’s five minutes away. I take a deep breath, unsure how much to reveal about my fear. “Also… I’m kind of a nervous flier.”
He puts his head in his hands, closing his eyes. “Lovely. You’re not going to vomit, are you?”
I shake my head. “Probably not.”
“Thank God.”
We’re quiet on the ride to JFK. All through security, we barely engage in conversation. I comment on the length of the line, and he says nothing in response. When we finally sit down at the gate, we have over an hour until boarding starts.
He turns his full gaze onto me, his eyes hard. “What did I tell you? I could’ve slept another hour.”
I shrug. “Better safe than sorry.”
“I’m already sorry,” he mutters under his breath. I try to hide my chuckle at his grumpiness, which I’m starting to find entertaining. He stands and gestures at the Starbucks. “Want a coffee?”
“Oh, sure. I’ll take a?—”
“I got it,” he cuts me off and walks away without another glance.
I take out my iPad and connect to the Wi-Fi, downloading a few Netflix episodes for the flight. Ten minutes later, Liam returns with two drinks and a bag. He hands me one of the cups and the bag.
I eyeball the two items. “What is this?”
“Iced oat milk latte and a cake pop. What does it look like?”
My mouth hangs open in shock. “How do you know my Starbucks order?”
He just shrugs in response. “You’ve left like four of those cups in the trash and I saw you eating a cake pop twice in the last week. Don’t know how you can stand them. They taste like balls of sugar.”
“What a great new term of endearment for you, Sugar Balls.” I open the bag and sure enough, there’s a brownie cake pop sitting inside. “Thank you, Liam.”
He just nods curtly, avoiding my eyes. He’s acting like it’s not a big deal, but I’m surprisingly touched that he noticed anything about me other than what an annoyance I am.
While I finish downloading a few episodes of Stranger Things onto my iPad, Liam takes out a book. I slant my gaze over to read the title — it’s a Vonnegut book.
He catches my eye. “What?”
“Nothing. I was just wondering what you’re reading.” He opens the book to the first page. “I liked that one.”
He glances up again. “You’ve read it?”
“Yes, women can read you know.”
He shakes his head. “Why do you do that?”
“I was joking.”
“It wasn’t very funny,” he says bluntly, his eyes falling back down to the page. “If this is going to work — you know, me being your husband and all — you might want to give me some benefit of the doubt. Stop assuming the worst.”
I huff and cross my arms. “I was trying to be friendly! Make small talk about Sirens of Titan. Maybe we have that in common.”
He shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out once I finish.”
I sigh and turn back to my iPad, feeling frustrated that my efforts at conversation turned into another argument. Maybe I am being too harsh on him. But he started it by acting like a jerk the last few weeks we’ve been living together.
“I liked Slaughterhouse Five , so I thought I’d try another,” Liam pipes up from beside me. I glance over at him, and his gaze meets mine, open and… warm?
I realize he’s trying, too. He’s giving me an olive branch.
I smile softly. “Yeah, I liked that one too. I thought he’d be insufferable and pretentious, but he’s actually got a really interesting style.”
He hums in agreement and turns his gaze back to the book. I let my eyes wander over his face, his sharp jaw line, his speckled green-hazel eyes, his soft brown curls and rugged beard that I want to reach out and touch. It would be a lot easier to hate him if he weren’t so absolutely gorgeous. I force my gaze back down and pretend he’s not there.
When the flight starts boarding, I slip my iPad into my bag. Of course, I want to wait until the last second to board, but Liam stands when they call our group, glancing back at where I’m sitting.
He smirks. “Surprised you aren’t the type to wait by the sides to board, blocking everyone in your path.”
I shrug, my nerves already starting to come on. My stomach is churning with anxiety. Why did I think I could handle this? Why didn’t I realize Liam would be sitting right next to me when I inevitably freak out? I should see if they can switch our seats. Maybe there’s an empty one in the exit row.
“Whitney?”
Liam’s voice jolts me out of my spiral, and I force what I hope looks like a real smile and grab my bag. “Yep! Let’s go.” I inject as much cheerfulness into my tone as I can, but it doesn’t help — I sound frantic.
As we make our way onto the plane, my fingers and toes are tingling with a familiar dread, and it only intensifies when we take our seats. When they finish boarding and announce that the doors are closed, my chest starts to feel tight. Gripping the sides of my seat, I inhale, willing my heart to stop racing.
You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.
The pilot comes over the intercom, announcing that we’ll be taking off soon. I think I hear a flight attendant say something nearby, but I’m starting to really feel like I’m going to be sick.
Nope, not fine.
“Y’alright?” Liam’s deep voice interrupts my panicking.
I think I manage a nod, but all I can feel is the growing tightness in my chest. I’m starting to feel like I can’t breathe, like I really might be losing air.
“Are you sure?”
I’m going to die.
“Whitney?”
I can’t do this. Why did I think I could do this? I just can’t.
“Are you okay?”
No. No. No.
“Whoa, Whit. Breathe. Just breathe.”
I want to speak, to tell him that I’m trying to breathe, but I can’t. I feel the warmth of his hand on my arm, gripping it lightly.
“Come on. In for four seconds. Breathe in — one, two, three, four. And hold it for one, two, three, four. Now exhale. That’s right. Just like that.”
I listen to his words. I let them be a tether, something to hold on to, to cling to in desperation. Something about the soft commanding tone in his voice makes me want to listen. I keep breathing like he says until I hear the pilot announcing that we’re cruising at 10,000 feet.
Opening my eyes feels like a herculean effort, but I manage to blink a few times and focus on the feeling of my body in this seat. I take another shaky breath, and exhale with a whoosh.
I’m okay. The worst is over. We’ve taken off.
Except now that I can breathe normally, the embarrassment is setting in. I don’t dare look to where Liam is sitting beside me. His hand is no longer wrapped around my arm, but I can still feel him. I can feel his gaze heavy on my face, warming my cheeks to a bright shade of red. My nose tingles and there’s pressure on the backs of my eyes, a telltale sign that I’m close to tears.
Do not cry.
I blink furiously, forcing the tears back, praying they don’t break through the dam I’m building inside. Brick by brick, keeping my emotions locked away.
“Is that what you meant when you said you’re a nervous flier?” Liam finally asks from beside me, his voice surprisingly soft.
“I guess,” I squeak, a shudder running through me. I rub my hands over my arms, feeling suddenly cold.
Liam reaches above me and closes my AC duct, pushing it away from me. “Does that happen every time you fly?”
I shake my head. “I try not to fly that much. I drive whenever I can.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything else.
Flattening my lips into a straight line, I take another deep breath. “Sorry. And… thanks.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
The rest of the flight is less eventful. Liam reads his book and says nothing else about my panic attack. I distract myself with Netflix and avoid thinking about the warm feeling of Liam’s arm pressing against mine.
A few hours later, the pilot announces that we’re landing, and my whole body tenses once again. I don’t know if I can handle another panic attack right now. I will definitely cry, and any ounce of dignity I have left will be completely shredded.
Suddenly, I feel Liam’s large, warm hand wrapping around mine. He brushes his thumb against the back of my hand.
“Does this help at all?”
All I can manage is a slight nod, unable to focus on anything but the sensation of his thumb rubbing soft circles on the back of my hand. Such a small movement should not be causing this kind of reaction in me — my heart is still racing, but for an entirely different reason.
“You can lean on me if you want. I dunno. Whatever would make you feel better, or if I can help somehow… ” He looks more unsure than usual, his brow furrowed as he gazes down at me. Something about the doubtful hope in his expression cracks through my anxiety.
“Thanks,” I whisper, closing my eyes and resting my head against his shoulder. I do the same deep breathing he coached me through earlier and it really helps. That and the feeling of his hand on mine, his fingers still brushing soft circles on the back of my hand.
For just a moment, I’m not so scared.