Chapter 9
63 hours until the wedding
Okay, don’t panic. I’ll call Jack and he’ll come get me. But as soon as I reach into my pocket, I realize I left my phone at the table with the rest of my stuff.
Fuck.
Okay, now it’s time to panic.
I bang on the door. “Hello? Is anyone out there?” But there’s no answer.
This is so embarrassing. Who accidentally locks themselves in the bathroom?
“Hello?” I cry again.
When no one answers I begin to pace the length of the room like a lion held in captivity, trying to formulate a plan.
Maybe Jack will come looking for me. Surely he won’t leave without me. Right? But as one minute turns into two and two into three, I become less certain.
This is bad. Really bad. What if Jack doesn’t come looking for me? What if I die in here? What if it’s days before anyone finds me? What if I’ve decomposed to the point where all that’s left to identify me by is my teeth?
I lunge back toward the door, pounding my fists against the cold wood.
“Help! Someone help me!”
I’m getting ready to pound even harder, maybe even throw in a piercing scream, when I hear feet outside the door.
“Jack? Is that you?”
“Ada?”
Oh, thank God.
“Jack, help, I need you to unlock the door!”
“Is everything okay?” There’s a nervousness to his voice as though he’s afraid I’m going to say something about tampons or bodily fluids.
“I locked myself in.”
“You what ?”
“Just open the damn door,” I yell back, not in the mood to be chastised.
The doorknob shakes, but stays firmly shut.
“Can you get it open?” I ask, pressing my ear to the door.
“I’m working on it!”
Again, he rattles the handle and the door wobbles so hard that for a minute I wonder if he’s going to pull it off its hinges.
“Fuck. It’s stuck,” he says after a beat.
A small sense of validation flickers inside me. See?
“Stand away from the door,” he calls. There’s an edge to his voice as though he’s announced, Yes, we’ll have to amputate.
I step back, wondering what he’s going to do. Break the door down? Can he even do that?
But I only have a second to wonder before— wham! —Jack bursts into the bathroom, shoulder first. Behind him, the door swings, hanging limply off its hinges.
I gape at him. I didn’t know it was physically possible to ram a door down. I thought that was just something Jason Bourne did. And now I can’t help but wonder what else he could ram down.
Jack looks me up and down, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. “Are you okay?” he asks.
I hold out my arms, surveying them for signs of damage. “I think so.” My eyes lift, meeting his. “What the actual fuck was that?”
“ That was me breaking you out so we don’t miss our train.” Jack checks the time. “Come on. We still have four minutes.” He turns on his heel, waving for me to follow him, and together we run back through the dining area.
“Sorry about the bathroom door!” Jack yells over his shoulder as we collect our things. “I left fifty pounds on the table! That should cover it!”
The man behind the counter shouts something in Farsi, but we keep moving until we’re pushing open the door. Something catches, but Jack takes my hand, yanking me away before I can stop and see what it is.
My lungs are on fire, bones rattling inside me as we run down the street back toward the train station, but somehow, all I can think about is the weight of his hand in mine. How sturdy and secure he feels, like no matter what, we are going to be okay.
But we aren’t.
We run onto the platform just as our train is pulling out of the station.
I wave my hands, running after it, but it’s no use. It’s already disappearing down the tracks without us.
Jack comes to a halt beside me, panting. “Just fucking great,” he rasps. “Now what are we going to do?”
“I’m sure there’s another train coming,” I say, forcing some levity into my voice even though I have no idea whether there’s another train coming.
Jack walks to the ticket kiosk and punches something into the touch screen. As soon as he turns around, I know it’s bad news.
“There are no more trains to Glasgow today because of the strike,” he says. “Looks like we’re stuck here for the night.”
My stomach plunges. We’re stuck? Here? All night?
“There must be something else we can do,” I say, panic bleeding through my voice.
Jack’s scowl deepens. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” I look around, frantically hoping a solution will magically present itself. “Can’t we call an Uber or something? They have that here, right?”
Jack’s eyebrows lift toward his hairline. “You want to pay for a two-hour Uber from here to Glasgow?”
“I thought you were a rich lawyer?”
“Not that rich.”
I glance up and down the platform, hoping another train will come along. But when none do, we take our things and exit the station, back onto the street. Somehow in the few minutes since we were outside, darkness has descended, smothering everything in a thick curtain of black. I shiver against the evening breeze, all the more aware that not only are we in a totally foreign city with no place to stay, it’s getting darker and darker by the minute.
If I didn’t think I was plagued by bad luck before, now I know for sure.
I count out seven steps, stop, then take seven more. I read on the internet that doing things in groups of seven can amass good luck, and right now I’m willing to try anything.
“What are you doing?” Jack asks.
“I’m trying to change our luck.”
“We don’t need luck. We need somewhere to stay for the night.”
“Of course we need luck,” I insist. “Have you not noticed what’s happened to us in the past twenty-four hours? At this point we’re on track to be hit by a meteorite any minute!”
Jack releases a long, frustrated sigh. “That has nothing to do with bad luck, and everything to do with you making us miss our train.”
“Me?” I balk at him. “ You’re the one who wanted to eat at that place!”
Jack’s eyes flash. “Well, it would have been fine if you hadn’t locked yourself in the bathroom.”
“I needed to use the bathroom. What would you prefer? That I peed myself?”
“I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight,” he grumbles, shoving his hands in his pocket.
“You don’t let me do anything! I’m an adult, not your ward.”
“I thought you didn’t even want to go to this wedding.”
Seriously? Is he suggesting that I did this on purpose?
“That doesn’t mean I’m actively trying to sabotage getting there if that’s what you’re accusing me of,” I snap.
His eyes narrow, glowing red with indignation. “Yeah, well, this wouldn’t have happened if you’d listened to me.”
A hot flash of anger ripples inside me. I’d thought we were starting to get along, but I guess I was wrong.
“You know what? Maybe this whole thing isn’t working out,” I say.
He stops in his tracks, eyes sharpening. “What are you talking about?”
“Us!” I wave my hands between us. “Clearly us traveling together isn’t working out. Maybe we should split up and find our own way to the wedding.”
“You know that doesn’t make any sense, Ada.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Why not?”
“Well, for starters, you’re broke.”
“I’ll call my sister,” I say stiffly. “She’ll loan me the money.”
I grab my phone and look for Allison’s number. But as my fingers hover over the call icon, I imagine how the conversation will go:
Hey Allison. I know we haven’t been on the best terms, but I’m broke and my life is a certified hot mess. Can you spot me a couple hundred bucks to make it to the wedding so I don’t have to travel with your fiancé’s bestie?
My throat tightens at the thought. I’m the older sister. I’m supposed to be the one who has her life together. Not roaming from one catastrophe to another like the purveyor of misfortune I am.
Besides, it’s getting late, I don’t know where we are, and as much as I’d like to envision myself a strong, independent woman, I’d really rather not travel all the way to Ireland alone.
I stuff my phone back in my pocket and wait for Jack to call my bluff. Instead, he releases a long sigh, hot breath curling in the air like trails of smoke. Finally, he says, “Look, why don’t we find a place to sleep tonight, then we can figure this out in the morning. Okay?”
He still looks annoyed, but there’s a flicker of resignation hiding in the shadows of his expression, like he genuinely wants us to move past this.
“Fine,” I say.
We try two hotels and a bed-and-breakfast, but everything is either closed for the season, under construction, or booked. Because of course it is.
Jack doesn’t say anything, but I feel the heat of his eyes on me, judging me, like this is all my fault. Which only makes things worse. It would be nice if there was some sense of solidarity between us—after all, we’re in this mess together—but apparently that would be asking too much of him.
After the third hotel turns us away, I sit on the curb and put my head in my hands.
Jack sits beside me, and I brace myself for the barrage of insults, for him to tell me I’ve fucked up. Hell, he might even just leave me here. And maybe that would be for the best. Maybe our brief moment of camaraderie on the train was just that, brief.
“If you’re just going to berate me again, I’m not in the mood for—”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I lift my head, frowning. Did I hear that correctly? Did Jack just apologize? To me?
“I’m sorry I blamed you for missing our train,” he says again, voice softer this time. “That was shitty of me.”
I meet his eyes, searching for the trace of irony, but either it’s too dark out here to see it, or he’s serious.
The hot-blooded part of me wants to agree, to tell him off for being a jerk, but the more prudent part, the part that’s all too aware of our current predicament, knows it’ll only make matters worse.
I release a heavy sigh. “Listen, I get that you don’t want to be here with me, and trust me, I’d rather not be stuck here with you, but let’s just try to get through the next few days. After that we never have to see each other again. Okay?”
“I’m sure we’ll have to see each other again,” he says.
My inner fuse crackles once more, annoyed that he’s clearly missing the point. “You know what, forget it.” I stand to go, but he calls after me.
“Ada, wait.”
I pause, then turn back around. “What?”
For a minute he doesn’t speak, then he takes a deep breath, gaze steadying on an unclear horizon.
“Can I confess something?” he asks after a beat.
I freeze.
Now he’s got me worried. What’s he going to confess? A series of fears flash through my mind. He actually is a serial killer. This is all an elaborate scheme to steal my identity. Or worse. He told Allison everything I said at the bar.
“This isn’t the part where you tell me you’re not really Jack Houghton and our final destination isn’t my sister’s wedding, is it?” I ask with a shaky laugh.
His mouth slides into an unconvincing smile, before fading away entirely. “I just wanted to say that I’m not exactly looking forward to this wedding either.”
“Pretty sure you already made that clear when you told Collin not to marry my sister.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not that.”
Allison’s words flash through my head. Frankly, I’m surprised he’s even showing up to the wedding . At the time I’d assumed she meant that he didn’t support their marriage, but now I can’t help but wonder if there’s something else, something he’s not telling me.
“You can tell me,” I try, my voice softer this time. “If you want.” I try to catch Jack’s eye, but he just stares ahead, gaze pinned on something I can’t see.
“Just personal stuff. But it’s not you.” He licks his lips, swallowing before he says, “I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry for being an ass.”
Maybe it’s the way the shadows from the streetlight hit his face, highlighting every fine line and wrinkle, but he looks tired. Like a dog that’s been kicked one too many times and no longer has the energy to bark back.
I consider pressing him on it, but the wilt of his expression makes it clear that whatever it is, he doesn’t want to talk about it. And as curious as I am to know why he doesn’t want to go to the wedding, I don’t want to upset our delicate equilibrium. So instead, I sit back down on the curb beside him and say, “It’s okay,” before letting my eyes dip into my lap.
A breeze tousles our hair, and we simultaneously shiver. I inhale the cool night air, eyes nudging upward to the diorama of impossibly bright stars overhead. It’s both comforting and overwhelming to think these are the same stars I see at home, six thousand miles away. It’s also a good reminder that the world is a lot bigger than my mom’s couch. Or a stack of bills. Or a text from Carter.
After a beat, I turn back to Jack. “I guess I should say thanks .”
Twin grooves form between his brows. “For what?”
“For knocking down the door and rescuing me… again .”
His features soften, mouth turning up. “Well, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell Allison I left you to die in a gross bathroom. She would kill me.”
“Oh, I see. You didn’t rescue me because you were worried about me? You did it to save your own neck?”
“Exactly.” He nods sagely. “It was purely selfish.”
My lips curl upward into a bitten-off smile. “I still can’t believe you broke down a literal door. Who even does that?”
“Someone who’s very desperate to make their train.”
I laugh and my body feels instantly lighter, like whatever tension was holding me captive drifts out with the sound of my voice.
“Speaking of missed trains, we should get going,” he says, standing and brushing off the back of his jeans. “We’re not going to find somewhere to stay sitting here on the sidewalk.”
He holds his hand out to me, a silent peace offering, and I take it, letting him help me to my feet.
We walk in silence, but this time the silence feels easier, more comfortable.
At the end of the street is a small white house with blue shutters and a neon sign that says Vacancy .
My heart surges with relief.
Everything is going to be fine. I can feel it.