Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Emmet
Traveling in economy class wasn’t on my bingo card for today, but here I am, gazing at Ty as we listen to the pilot’s greeting.
His face is pinched, his breathing still isn’t relaxed, and he’s tapping the arms of his seat like there’s no tomorrow.
There’s a clunk as the sky bridge is retracted, and then the door is shut and locked with a thud.
The plane pushes back. Ty gasps, and the color drains from his face.
“Relax,” I say in a soothing tone.
He doesn’t. His pupils have shrunk to pinpricks, and he’s staring straight ahead at the entertainment screen on the back of the seat in front. By default, it’s showing the tail camera.
Gently, I lay my hand over his and stroke his clammy skin. “It’s fine. We’re pushing back right now, then we’ll taxi to the runway while we’re given a safety briefing. Do you think you could listen to that?”
He licks his dry lips and nods.
It’s important he listens, though I hope it doesn’t freak him out further.
I keep stroking the back of his hand throughout the safety briefing.
When seatbelts are mentioned, he fumbles to put his on.
His breathing becomes worse when oxygen masks and the brace position come up.
He presses his head against the back of his seat, closes his eyes, and mutters something too quiet for me to hear.
“You were going to tell me about your hair,” I prompt, once the briefing is over.
He opens his eyes, but before he can speak, the plane accelerates sharply. Tears well in his eyes, and he grips the arms of the seat so hard that his knuckles turn white.
“Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god.” He squeezes his eyes shut, almost melding with the back of his seat as the plane takes off with a juddering roar.
“It’s fine,” I assure him.
There’s the familiar sensation of my stomach going out of sync with the rest of my body and my ears popping, and then we’re up, still climbing, but no longer shaking. Not that Ty looks any happier.
“You’ll be all right,” I say. “You’re being very brave.”
He cracks one eye open. “I’m not.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
He nods but still doesn’t seem convinced.
“Plus, you booked the flight in the first place.”
He grimaces. “Actually, I didn’t. My parents planned the whole trip for me. They even found somewhere for me to stay.”
“Oh? That was nice of them.”
He closes both his eyes again and speaks through gritted teeth, “They knew how much I wanted to go to the Pride march in New York, so they made it happen.”
“It sounds like you have wonderful parents.”
“They’re in the army, so they’re often away for long stretches of time. I think this is their way of making up for it.”
“You still live with them?”
“No. Not anymore. But I think they feel guilty for being in and out of my life. The son of one of their army buddies lives in New York with his partners, so they arranged for me to stay with them for a few days.”
“Partners?” Now I’m intrigued.
“Yeah. He has two: Zeke, who’s also an army brat, and Micah, who they met while they were travelling. He’s their Daddy.” His face flushes. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Maybe not, but I’m glad he did. He’s sweet when he’s rambling nervously.
“They’re friends of yours?” I ask.
“Kinda. Sorta. Rett, Zeke, and I went to the same school and lived on the same base, but they’re three years older than me.”
“It’s nice of them to let you stay with them.”
He manages a half smile. “Yeah. Do you live in New York?”
“Brooklyn.”
“So, you’re going home?”
“Yes.” I stroke his hand a little more firmly, trying to get him to relinquish his grip on the seat. “We’ll be leveling out soon.”
“Do you fly a lot?”
“A fair amount. For work. We have offices in Manhattan, London, and Sydney, so I end up traveling every couple of months.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of flying.”
I chuckle. “I don’t mind. I get to meet interesting people when I travel.”
He opens his eyes and peers at me. “More interesting than me, I bet.”
“No. You were definitely included in that statement.”
His smile returns, a little more solid and a lot less wobbly this time, big enough to reveal that he has dimples. Damn, they’re adorable. He’s still clinging to the chair, though. I have dimples too, but mine are hidden by my beard.
“You were going to tell me about your hair,” I prompt.
It’s about as long as you can get while still being classed as short, very dark brown, almost black, with every color of the rainbow shimmering in it. It reminds me of the colors you might see in an oil slick: beautiful and iridescent.
“It’s hair dye, that’s all. You could do it.”
“Hmm… I’m not sure my boss would be happy if I did. It looks great on you, though.”
He blushes. He’s even prettier when his cheeks are pink, rather than sheet white.
He’s got dark brown eyes, thick eyebrows, and a smile that lights up the plane.
He’s wearing a silver chain that’s tucked into his black t-shirt, and he has two black lines tattooed around his right forearm, about an inch below his elbow, the top one twice as thick as the other.
If he weren’t terrified, I’d be tempted to chat him up.
He doesn’t need someone hitting on him right now. He needs a Daddy to take care of him.
The flight attendant who coaxed him onto the plane comes and crouches at the end of our row. “How are you feeling now?” she asks with a smile.
“Scared.”
She passes him two plastic cups over me, one with water and the other with ice.
“I find it helps to hold an ice cube in each hand. I end up so cold I can’t think about my fear.
You’re doing great.” She gives me a friendly nod and then moves toward the back of the plane, where the refreshments are stored.
“You must think I’m pathetic,” Ty murmurs.
“Not at all. I’m fine with planes, but if there was a spider, I’d be squealing and begging someone to get rid of it for me.”
He laughs. “You’re not scared of spiders.”
“I am. Terrified. Full on arachnophobia. Even a tiny spider sends me into a screaming fit. At least your fear is less irrational.”
“I dunno. You go to Australia. Everything’s dangerous there.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Sydney’s a pretty safe place. My point is, everyone’s scared of something. It doesn’t make you pathetic.”
“Thanks.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“For taking care of me. You don’t have to.”
“I want to. Is talking helping?”
He nods.
I glance at his hands. His knuckles are still white and, now that his blush has faded, his face is painfully pale again.
“Is there anything else I can do to help you relax?”
He drops his gaze to my hand, which is still resting over his, my thumb brushing back and forth gently over his skin. “Keep doing that?” He phrases it as a question, rather than a request, his voice soft and fragile.
“With pleasure. Are you going to try holding the ice?” It’s not a calming technique I’ve ever come across before, but that doesn’t mean it won’t work.
“Water would be good.” He prizes his other hand away from the arm of the chair and picks up the cup of water. He’s shaking so much that it sloshes over his hand and onto the pull-down table tray. He puts the cup down and grips the arm of the chair again. “Later.”
“Let me.” I use my free hand to pick up the cup of water and bring it to his lips, tipping it enough that he can sip from it.
He stares at me the whole time, his dark eyes filled with amazement and gratitude. “Thank you. I— Why are you being so kind when I bashed into you?”
“Because you’re scared, and I want to help you.”
From the moment he collided with me, my Daddy instincts went into overdrive.
I could tell he needed looking after and got the impression he’d be receptive.
Which is why I arranged to change my seat.
Luckily, the person who was supposed to be sitting next to Ty was on their own.
I hope they’re enjoying their free upgrade to business class.
I fly at least once a month for work, often twice, so I rack up a lot of air miles, which I use to upgrade as often as I can.
“Thanks. Uh, what do you do?” he asks.
“I’m a business analyst.”
“A what now?”
I smile. “It’s not very interesting. I’m trying to distract you, not bore you.”
“You don’t enjoy your job?”
“I do, but it’s not exciting to describe to other people.”
He rakes his teeth over his lower lip. “You live in Brooklyn… with someone? A partner, or…?”
“Alone. You?”
“Also alone. I had housemates while I was at uni, but now I rent a small flat on my own.”
I frown. “A flat?”
“Uh, I think you’d call it an apartment? A unit in a big block. We only call them apartments when they’re a bit posher.”
I have no frame of reference, but I smile to show I’ve understood—as much as I need to, anyway. “I also live in an apartment. I don’t need anything bigger when it’s just me.”
“Would you tell me about Pride? Is it fun? It looks like it is from the pictures and videos I’ve seen online.”
“Lots of fun. It’s got a great atmosphere. Really joyous and uplifting.”
“Wow. I can’t wait.” He glances out the window and swallows audibly. “We’re so high, and it’s so noisy and—”
“Breathe.”
He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Ty. What would help you relax?”
“Sex?” He widens his eyes and slackens his jaw. “Oh, god, did I just say that out loud?”
I chuckle. “Yes.”
He covers his reddening face with the hand I’m not touching, and squeaks, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Sex helps me relax too. But not in a plane toilet.”
He grimaces. “Uh, no. And I didn’t mean— It just popped out.
I’m sorry. You must have the worst impression of me right now.
First, I bang into you. Then I have a panic attack on you, and now—” He sighs, slumps his shoulders, and hangs his head.
He drops his hand onto his lap, which is a definite improvement because now he’s only clinging on with one hand. “I’m not normally like this.”
“Extenuating circumstances?”
He nods miserably.
“I don’t have a bad impression of you. You’re sweet.”
He gives me the side eye.
I laugh. “You are.”
“And you’re patient and—” He bites his lower lip and stares at me. “Really nice,” he concludes eventually, his voice a little breathy.
“Thank you. What would help you relax? Aside from sex.”
He chokes out a laugh and replies, “Talking. Talking’s good. Thanks.”