Chapter Twenty
Julian
The ride to the airport was quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that used to fill the space between me and Miles—the tense, awkward kind laced with forced distance. No. This was different.
This was quiet because my head wouldn’t shut up.
Every moment from this trip ran in loops behind my eyes. The shoot. The late night talks. The hotel room. The stupid walk under the stars where I almost—God, I almost kissed him.
I rested my forehead against the cool glass of the car window, jaw tight, stomach twisting. This week was supposed to be hell. I was supposed to be counting the minutes until I could leave.
But now, here I was...wishing for just a little more time.
Pathetic.
The car slowed as the airport came into view, and my eyes automatically scanned the entrance. I stiffened.
Paparazzi. Waiting like vultures. Cameras already up.
I swore under my breath. “They’re here.”
Next to me, Miles shifted. “Already?”
“Of course.” I shoved the door open, stepping out into the chaos before he could even react.
The flashing started immediately—bright, blinding bursts—like they couldn’t wait to tear pieces off me before the plane even left the ground.
And then I glanced back.
Miles was frozen beside the car, staring wide-eyed at the crowd like the sweet, naive golden retriever he was. For all his sunshine and charm...he wasn’t used to this. Not like me.
Not to the cameras. Not to the noise. Not to people trying to devour you with every snap of a lens.
Something in my chest tightened. Without thinking—before my brain could tell me not to—I reached back and grabbed his hand.
His fingers twitched in surprise, but I gripped tighter, pulling him toward me. “Stay close,” I muttered. “Head down. Don’t talk. Let me get us through this.”
I felt him glance at me. Shocked. Maybe confused. Maybe...something else. But he obeyed.
I pulled him through the crush of bodies and noise, the cameras flashing like lightning all around us. My hand locked around his because if I let go, they’d eat him alive. I knew it. I could feel their hunger in every blinding burst.
“Julian—” Miles started softly, but I cut him off with a sharp glance.
“Don’t talk. Eyes on me. You’ll be fine.”
God. What am I doing? Why do I care if he is fine?
I didn’t let go.
The crowd pressed close, but I kept dragging him through—my grip firm, grounding him like I’d done this a thousand times. Because I had. But never for someone else.
Never for him.
My chest burned. My heart kicked up.
What the hell is wrong with me?
A few photographers called my name, others called his, shouting things we couldn’t make out, trying to make us flinch, make us react—but I didn’t look at them. I kept him moving. Kept him safe.
Finally we broke through, out of reach, the glass doors of the terminal swallowing the noise behind us.
I let go of his hand like it burned.
God. Why did I do that?
I shoved both hands into my pockets like it meant nothing. Like my palm didn’t still feel the heat of his.
Miles looked at me, chest rising and falling, lips parted like he wanted to say something.
But I didn’t let him.
“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” I muttered, heading for the check-in counter. “I just didn’t feel like scraping you off the sidewalk.”
Liar. Liar.
Because the truth was worse.
I cared.
And I hated that I did.
We walked to the gate in silence—well, I did. Miles... not so much.
“This airport’s nice, right? I mean, I thought the one back home was bigger, but this one’s got charm.
Like, old-world charm or something. Did you see that little bookstore near security?
Almost stopped to grab something but—oh, look, they’ve got a café over there too.
Wonder if they have those tiny Italian cookies. What are they called? Biscot—”
“Miles.” I sighed, dragging my suitcase behind me, half-daring myself to snap like I usually would.
But I didn’t.
Not this time.
He grinned, wide and bright, completely unbothered. Like dragging him through a paparazzi pit hadn’t just happened. Like we hadn’t almost—
Don’t think about that.
I rubbed at my temple and kept walking. The gate came into view, people already lining up, waiting to board. “Guess this is it,” Miles said beside me, stretching his arms over his head. “Back to reality.”
I didn’t answer. I just kept my eyes on the boarding sign, pretending like the strange heaviness in my chest wasn’t real. Like I wasn’t already regretting this week being over.
“Boarding Group 2,” the attendant called.
Our group.
We moved with the rest of the herd, passports out, boarding passes scanned. The same song and dance I’d done a thousand times.
But when we got on the plane—when I glanced at our seat assignments—something tugged at my chest.
Seats together. Again.
Of course.
Fate really was a cruel, laughing bitch.
Miles dropped into the window seat without hesitation, glancing over at me with that same stupid sunshine smile. “Guess you’re stuck with me for one more flight.”
I sat down beside him without a word, buckling in, sinking back into the seat.
The silence stretched. My mind chewed on itself.
Then I glanced sideways.
I remembered the last flight. The way he gripped the armrest on takeoff. The way his eyes squeezed shut when the plane lurched. The way his leg bounced nervously like it was right now.
God help me.
I sighed and dug into my bag, pulling out my phone and untangling my earbuds.
Without looking at him, I held one out.
He blinked down at it.
“What’s this?”
“You were twitchy last time,” I muttered. “Figured this might shut you up for a while.”
He chuckled—but he took it. No hesitation this time. His fingers brushed mine—warm, gentle—and the flutter in my chest pissed me off. “You offered willingly,” he teased, sliding the bud into his ear. “Look at you. Almost human.”
“Don’t push it,” I muttered, setting the playlist and leaning back.
But when the plane rumbled to life beneath us, when it pulled from the gate and onto the runway, I felt him relax beside me.
His leg stilled. His breathing evened.
And for some damn reason... that made something in my chest loosen too.
I closed my eyes, pretending to sleep. Pretending not to care.
But I knew better.
Because for the first time in a long time... someone had made the anxiety of flying bearable. And I hated that it was him.
Miles.
The human golden retriever who wouldn’t stop smiling at me like I was worth something.
I shifted slightly, letting the music drown the noise out.
And when his shoulder brushed mine as he relaxed into the seat, I didn’t pull away.
I didn’t want to.
Not this time.