Chapter 20
JFK is packed to the brim with travellers going to all different places. Sounds of the airport fill my ears, and I can already feel the panic setting in. So many voices talking at once, the sound of luggage being wheeled across the floor, the loudspeaker announcing flights.
I can’t seem to focus on anything. It feels like I’m in a trance, and I’m not in control of my body. I’m just blindly following Mason, Logan, and the girls to check our luggage.
I’ve been out of it since we pulled up to the airport and the Uber dropped us off. I don’t know if anyone’s tried to talk to me. All I know is that my heart is racing, and my skin feels like a bunch of tiny ants are crawling under it.
Not even the jeans that look like they’re painted on to Lainey’s skin are distracting me from the impending panic attack. I’m pretty positive I’ve looked normal so far, and I don’t think anyone can tell I’m freaking the fuck out.
After we’ve checked our bags and went through TSA, which was literal hell, we finally sit down at our gate. We got here two hours early, so now we just have to wait to board.
Falling into a chair, I set my carry-on bag down and lean back, pulling the baseball cap I decided to wear this morning over my eyes and crossing my arms over my chest.
Just as I think I’m beginning to doze off, a body flops down in the seat beside me. I don’t move, in hopes that whoever it is will leave me alone. No such luck.
Lifting my hat off my eyes, Lainey looks at me with a small smile. The blue in her greyish blue eyes stands out against her long, dark hair that has fallen in her face. She looks fucking gorgeous, even in her big baggy sweatshirt and jeans without a trace of makeup on her face.
I always thought she was naturally beautiful. I may not have let myself admit it, but I knew she was a pretty girl. She never even had to try.
“Are you sleeping?” she asks softly. I close my eyes again.
“I was,” I lie.
“You’ve been really quiet ever since we got in the Uber. Are you alright?” Lainey asks, her brows furrowing. She’s never really shown concern for me, or even asked me how I was, so this feels odd.
Without opening my eyes, I say, “I’m fine.”
“You sure? You look kind of pale,” she states, putting her hand on my forehead. What the hell is she doing? Why is she acting like she cares about how I’m feeling? Does she? Maybe she’s finally giving in to her urges.
“I’m fine, Barkley. Give it a rest,” I snap. I don’t mean to be a dick, but when my anxiety gets bad, I get irritable. My eyes open, and I see the confused look on Lainey’s face. She doesn’t look hurt or upset that I snapped at her. She just looks suspicious, like she doesn’t believe me.
The girl has a good reading on me I guess, because I’m not even close to being fine. I feel like I could vomit all over the floor right now or pass the fuck out. As the time gets closer to boarding, I can feel the panic rising.
“You’re afraid of flying,” she says matter-of-factly. My head snaps to her, and I can see the triumph in her eyes at the fact that she knows she’s right. I scoff, trying to play it off.
“I’m not. Just impatient,” I lie. She sees right through the bullshit. Lainey always knows when someone’s lying, it’s like her superpower. I’ve always hated it, the way she would always know when I was lying to her.
It made it extremely hard to play games as a kid or cheat a little when we played Monopoly.
She inches a bit closer, and her arm brushes mine, making me forget about the nausea in my stomach and direct my attention to my dick, willing it not to get hard from the simplest touch.
A brush of her arm against mine shouldn’t make me want to fuck Lainey’s brains out, but for some reason, it does.
As if she can hear her thoughts, she moves back just a little so that she’s no longer touching me. The loss of touch sends a shiver down my spine. Fuck, I didn’t want her to move.
Lainey’s eyes wander over my face, searching for an honest answer that I’m refusing to give her. I don’t want her to think I’m a bitch for being afraid to get on the damn plane. She’s one hundred percent make fun of me for it.
That’s what we do. We poke fun at each other and our fears and insecurities. It’s wild that we’re even still friends, if you can really call it that. I guess I could say she’s friends with my sister, and I’ve just always been around.
I don’t know if Lainey would have chosen to have me in her life if it weren’t for Ellie. I don’t know if I would have sought her out either. Knowing her reputation in high school, if I hadn’t already known her, I would have steered clear.
I’ve never been one for drama, and Lainey Barkley is drama personified. At least, she was. She’s definitely calmed down a lot since her wild teenage years, but she’s still dealing with the same shit which is her shitty parents.
“I know there’s something wrong. It’s written all over your face. You’re afraid of flying, aren’t you?” she probes. Fucking hell.
“Go bother someone else with your incessant questions, Bug,” I say lowly, sounding much more rude than I anticipated, but the questioning is making my anxiety worse.
My nerves are on fire and my entire body feels like it’s in flight or fight mode. I’m trying my best to stay calm, using all the techniques I’ve used in the past. Breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth. Pinching my leg to feel something physical.
Refusing to sit here any longer and be berated with questions, I stand, grabbing my bag off of the floor and walk toward the bathrooms.
“Where are you going, man? Boarding’s about to start,” Logan tells me as I stroll past.
“Taking a piss. I’ll be right back.”
I don’t turn around to see if anyone’s following me. I head straight into the men’s bathroom and set my back down so I can grip the sink in front of me.
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I watch my complexion turn paler by the second.
Get it together, Holland. You’re better than this. You can get on this plane and sleep until we’re there. So what if people know you’re a bit of a nervous flyer. Hundreds of people are terrified of flying.
Grow a pair, get on the damn plane, and go to your best friend’s wedding in fucking Italy. Anyone else would be ecstatic. Take a breath, stand tall, and get on that fucking plane.
Splashing some water on my clammy face, I look at myself one more time before grabbing my bag and walking back to my friends.
Mason walks right up to me, placing both of his hands on each of my shoulders. He looks dead serious, which is weird for him because the dude’s never been serious a day in his life.
“We’re going to be fine. The chances of the plane crashing are slim to none, cousin. Chill,” he tells me. His words of encouragement don’t help even a little bit, but I nod. He’s probably right. Everything’s going to be just fine.
There is a noise over the loudspeaker before a sweet female voice comes through.
“We are now boarding flight 672, all passengers should make their way to the gate immediately.”
Fuck, here we go. I can do this. I can do this.