New York Alano
New York Alano
6:07 a.m. (Eastern Daylight Time)
We’ve boarded our private jet, preparing for takeoff to Los Angeles, where we will lay low until it’s time to return for the
Decade Gala. I’m up front with many other Shield-Cast agents and my parents. Bucky is secure in the bedroom and being monitored
by Agent Dane, which my father is treating like an insult, but I want my bodyguard taking care of my dog too. It’s now July
24, exactly ten years since Bucky was adopted. I can’t believe I was almost killed on this anniversary.
I can’t believe I was almost killed .
Ma helps secure my seat belt. “Have you told Ariana we’re leaving?”
“She doesn’t care,” I say while looking out at the runway.
“Of course she cares,” she says, taking her seat next to Pa.
If she cared, she would’ve called.
“It will all work out, mi hijo,” Pa says, nursing an ale instead of his typical whiskey.
I almost explode because he’s not all-knowing, but that’s the last thing anyone wants on a plane, even one that has yet to take off, even on a day where we’re as guaranteed to not crash as anyone can be since none of us have received alerts tonight. But I close my eyes instead and once we’re in the sky, the last thing I think about before falling asleep is how easy my death could have been if only I’d left my neck open for the assassination.