9. Julian
NINE
JULIAN
Ajolt wakes me up without warning.
When did I fall asleep?
The plane shudders hard enough to rattle the overhead luggage, and a sharp dip makes my stomach lurch up into my throat. My breath catches painfully.
The seatbelt sign dings on, and it takes me a moment to process what’s happening through the fog of sleep. Outside the sky has turned a deep unsettling gray. The clouds look thick and angry, crowding the plane like a serpent squeezing the life from it.
Okay, I’m being very dramatic, but it doesn’t look good. Another violent jolt forces a tiny scream from my lungs. “Ian,” I say, my hands shaking, one of them still locked onto his.
He hasn’t let go?
“Turbulence. I was hoping you’d be able to sleep through it.” He turns to me, and I see him trying to ease my mind, but he looks a little nervous too. “Just look at me, Jules.
The plane drops a little, sending a ripple of gasps through the cabin. My chest tightens, anxiety crashing against my lungs. I faintly hear the captain reassure his passengers, but I barely hear it over my own rising panic.
“I can’t—” I take a breath, but my thoughts feel too loud. This is it. We’re falling out of the sky. This is it. This is how I go out.
Ian’s fingers squeeze mine hard, and his other hand closes over our joined fingers. Warm and solid. “Breathe, Jules,” he says steadily. “It’s just turbulence. We’re okay. You’re okay.”
Another bump. Harder this time.
I nod even though my vision blurs. “Good. That’s good.” He presses his forehead against mine as my eyes slam shut. “Press your feet on the floor. Feel it. Do you feel that? Focus on the carpet beneath your feet.”
I breathe through my nose, exhaling through my mouth, and nod. I focus on the rough carpet beneath my shoes. “Now breathe with me,” he continues, forehead pressed close, hand solid in mine. “That’s it. In . . .” We inhale together. The air trembles, but my chest rises steadily. “Hold for two . . .”
My lungs ache, but I hold it.
“Out for six.”
I exhale shakily, my shoulders relaxing a fraction.
The plane rocks again, a long uneven sway that makes a woman near us swear under her breath.
How is this thing still in the air?! I flinch, but Ian holds my hands steadily in his.
“I’ve got you, Jules,” he murmurs. I feel his thumb stroke the back of my hand, slow and repetitive.
A soft hum that lulls and eases the pressure in my lungs.
“You’re here. You’re safe. I’m right here. ”
The storm hammers the plane. Rain pelts the window. Thunder is muffled but unmistakable. Each jolt sends a spike of fear through me, but Ian stays calm. Unshakeable.
“Tell me five things you can see.”
I open my eyes and focus on him. “What?”
“Focus. Five things, Jules.”
I swallow, pulling back a little. “I um, I see your cellphone in your lap. Your tank top.” He nods.
“The packet of shitty crackers you took.” He laughs.
His thumb keeps smoothing across my hand.
“Um, I see, I see the bag the woman next to us is trying to hide under her seat.” He laughs. “And I, I see your eyes. I see you.”
“Great.” His thumb smooths over my hand. “Now four things you can feel.”
“Your hand.” I say immediately, because even through the sharp fear I can feel how good it feels. “Your hand is warm.” I swallow, heat rising on my cheeks. “I feel the seat beneath me. It’s uncomfortable.”
“It is. Anna got us the cheapest seats she could find.” He laughs.
“I feel, I feel the floor beneath my feet.” Ian shocks me, leaning forward and pressing a firm kiss to my forehead. I swallow hard. “I feel your lips.” I lick my own in response. “Warm and soft.”
He pulls back a little with a small smile. “That’s good. Now three things you can hear.”
His soft words hum through my core. “I hear, I hear, I hear—”
“Hey, just focus, okay. Close your eyes.”
I nod, shutting them. “I hear the rain, it’s loud. I hear people talking, the announcements.” I open my eyes. “I hear your voice.”
Another dip makes my hand tighten in his.
Ian leans closer, his knees nearly touching mine.
He’s grounding me in a way that feels protective.
As if he can shield me if we do plummet from the sky.
“I’m very proud of you, Jules.” He kisses me again.
My cheek. “I know this is hard.” His forehead dips to mine.
“You don’t have to be brave right now. I’ll be brave for us both. ”
Something knocks loose in my chest. The panic doesn’t fade, but it mutes. Manageable now with his body close and his hands in mine.
When the turbulence finally eases, my breath evens out, slow and controlled.
His fingers still locked in mine for the rest of the flight, Ian doesn’t pull away.
And neither do I.
“How long?”
“We’ve got another hour,” Ian says, chewing slowly as we sit in the food court. The rest of the flight was hell on earth. Well, I guess hell in the sky, but it was clear the entire rest of the trip that the storm wasn’t letting up. “Did you check the weather?”
“No, I was really stupid and assumed our assistant would do her job and mention any storms coming our way.”
“Yeah, you’re right, that was dumb.” I laugh softly.
“Hey, no big deal, right? Just a storm.” I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself. My guts only just started to settle. Turns out landing is somehow worse than taking off. Too fast. Too sudden.
But we’re here. In one piece.
Ian and I watched a movie on the flight after my panic attack, and his fingers stayed in mine the entire rest of the way. He’d fallen asleep halfway through the movie, his head tipped toward my shoulder, and I couldn’t shut my brain off long enough to even pretend I didn’t love it.
A sharp crack splits the air.
Everyone in the food court looks up at the ceiling. Lights flicker. Outside the massive glass window, the sky darkens around us fast. Thick clouds roll in like a curtain snapping closed and shutting out the light.
“This is bad.”
“It’s just a storm.” Ian pauses mid-bite then his brow furrows at the crackle of an intercom.
“Attention passengers. Due to severe weather conditions affecting the southeastern region, all departing and arriving flights are currently delayed. This includes all outbound flights to the Caribbean. We are monitoring the situation closely and will provide updates as soon as they become available. Please remain in the terminal and check your airline’s app or gate screens for the latest information. ”
Whispers ripple through the terminal.
Ian twists around in his seat, checking the large screen. Our flight number comes up. Cancelled. “No,” Ian mutters. “Fuck no.” He drops his burger back on the tray. “No, no, this isn’t happening.”
“Hey, it’s okay. They’ll just reschedule our flight.”
“Yeah, but when?” He rubs his hands over his face. “We’re supposed to check in today. We can’t just—”
“I mean, storms pass quickly, right?” I try to sound reasonable. “It can’t take that long, right?”
Ian’s already standing. “Let’s go ask. I need my bag.”
The airline service desk is packed. People are arguing, crying, or scrolling frantically on their phones. A great mixture for levelheaded calmness. A tired looking agent finally waves us forward.
“Hi, um, our flight looks like it was cancelled. I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do now,” Ian says calmly, but I can feel his nerves.
“Where are you flying, sir?”
“Puerto Rico,” Ian says instantly.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she replies, typing something. “There’s a severe hurricane warning in effect. All flights to Puerto Rico and surrounding islands are suspended until further notice.”
She turns the screen slightly toward us, and red alerts stack on top of each other. “Oh, I’m going to kill Anna.” The service worker cocks a brow. “Um, figuratively, of course.” He looks at me. “Why didn’t Anna say anything?”
“I mean, I think we both know she went, ‘Book flights for Puerto Rico . . . done,’ and didn’t check shit.”
Ian nods. “We need a new assistant.”
“Are you brave enough to fire her?” I wait, and Ian closes his eyes, shaking his head. “Didn’t think so.”
“If you’d like,” she continues gently. “We can put you on a return flight home tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow?” Ian stares at her.
“Yes sir.”
“I don’t want to stay in an airport overnight.”
“Ian.” I touch his arm. “It’s okay, we’ll get a refund for the hotel and try again—”
“Tomorrow?” He repeats like he’s not hearing me.
The agent hesitates then leans forward. “I’m going to be honest. This storm is severe and we have another rolling in right behind it in a few days.
I don’t think you’re getting a flight out for at least a few days, and that’s if seats are even available.
This storm came suddenly. Everything’s a bit chaotic right now. I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.”
I pull Ian’s attention back to me. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”
His jaw pops, then he finally nods.
“I need my bag. It wasn’t on the belt,” he says to her. “How do we find our luggage?”
The agent types again. “Checked bags are currently being held. Once flights are cancelled, bags are either rerouted or sent to the baggage office for claim—”
“No, you don’t understand,” Ian snaps. “I need that bag.”
“Sir—”
“Wait,” I say gently, stepping between them. “Go walk it off. Take a breath. I’ve got this.”
Ian hesitates, then nods and turns away, pacing with his hands tangled in his hair. “I’m sorry,” I say to her. “I know he’s being a lot.”
“I understand.” She lowers her voice. “This is incredibly frustrating.”
“It’s not just that.” I admit, glancing back at Ian. “His boyfriend’s ashes are in that bag.”
Her eyes widen and I watch in real time how they shift from customer service mode to human. “This trip, we were supposed to spread them in Puerto Rico. I’m not saying that to make you feel bad, I just want you to know he’s not usually like this. If that bag is missing—”