61. Everett
61
EVERETT
O utside the wide, glass windows, workers flutter around our plane. A monster in its class. And in approximately thirty-nine minutes, it will take us across the Atlantic Ocean.
Goodbye, Belleflower, Kentucky.
Good. Bye.
Claire is at the desk when they announce they’re starting to board. Despite the many times I’ve told him not to get up without me, Ransom puts his weight on his suitcase and rises from the plastic seat.
He stops here. I watch his gaze travel out the wide glass windows.
I slip in beside him. “Are you alright?”
“Yep. Just…need to catch my breath a second.”
I repeat his words last night back at him. “Take all the time you need.”
He doesn’t seem to be listening, though. His gaze is distant, the clench of his jaw tight.
He doesn’t need to tell me for me to know what he’s thinking.
This is the first time he’s ever left Belleflower. And now, he’s leaving for good.
Today’s bandana is yellow , and he’s being very brave.
He grips the suitcase handle. “Okay. I’m ready.”
I extend my arm. “Cowboy up.”
He chuckles. It’s a pleasant, rumbling sound. “Cowboy up.”
He grips my arm, and slowly, we make our way to the gate. Claire’s eyes flash over to us, and she quickly slips over beside us. “They said we can board early,” she says.
“Yee-haw,” Ransom says, but his voice is strained.
He’s too stubborn for a wheelchair, but I don’t mind being his human walker. The three of us settle into our seats—Claire in the middle.
Ransom flips the window open, shuts it, and then opens it again.
“Hey.” There’s a small smile dancing on Claire’s lips. “You got on the plane.”
“I got on the plane,” he agrees. His color has come back now that he’s settled in. “Better late than never, right?”
She grips his hand and squeezes. “Just on time.”
“Is a cowboy still a cowboy even if he leaves the ranch?” I ask.
“A cowboy’s home is wherever his cowgirl takes him,” Ransom replies. He side-eyes me. “And his cow…partner…”
“I’d rather not be a cow anything , thank you.”
“You got it, slick.” Ransom tilts his head back. “How long’s the flight?”
“Nine hours to Paris,” Claire says. “And then…”
I slip my hand into hers. “And then.”
And then . The rest will come. Whatever it is. We’ll heal. We’ll fight. We’ll fuck. We’ll love. We’ll talk. We’ll listen. We’ll learn how to live with each other; more importantly, we’ll learn how to live with ourselves .
Whatever comes next, for the first time in my life, I don’t have to face it alone.
The three of us will find it. Together.
The story continues…