On a Flight to Sydney (Love Along the Way #1)

1. CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Wes

M y head snaps forward off the headrest, jolting me from the memory of that flight— that plane—to the one I’m in now. Sleep tugs at the edges of my mind as I feel the pull of the wheels on the tarmac. I’ve never landed a Boeing 787, but I have landed enough planes in my life to know the wind is giving the pilot hell right now.

My heart beats a frantic rhythm in my chest, my surroundings sharpening into focus. The quiet voices of the flight attendants, the frayed pages of an inflight magazine in the seatback pocket, the cold metal of the armrest pressing against my skin. Just a dream… It was just a dream. Deep down, I know it’s a nightmare, but naming it as such would give it more power than it already holds. My hands shake as my lungs feverishly seek more air, the impact of this landing reminding me far too much of another. One that’ll haunt me as long as I live.

I tilt my head back, eyes falling closed as I force my breathing to slow. I press the heels of my hands into my eye sockets in a futile attempt to push the memories away. This isn’t my first flight since the events of that day, not even close, but after sitting here for fifteen and a half hours, it’s been hellish enough. Flying nonstop from Los Angeles to Sydney, Australia, is no joke. Especially after the eight-hour drive to the airport.

I’ve been in travel mode for well over a day with minimal sleep, and even my bones ache with the weariness. Add in my anxious feelings about this move, my new job, and whether I’m making the right decision… Yeah, it’s no wonder I’m experiencing flashbacks.

I scrub a hand across my face, the stubble that scratches against my palm a physical reminder of the disconnect between who I was then and who I am now. Reaching for my phone, I switch it off airplane mode. Thankful I had the forethought to set up an international plan, it picks up on Australia’s Telstra network and immediately begins to ping with notifications. I fumble with the buttons, trying to silence the sounds, but by the time I do there’s more than a few heads turned my way.

I sink into my seat, avoiding their eyes, and see that the first message is from my baby sister. The tension releases from my shoulders at the sight, and I feel a smile start to spread across my face. I know it drives her crazy that I think of her as my baby sister considering she’s twenty-six years old, but with eight years separating us, I’m afraid that’s how I’ll always see her. Even with the age difference, Rory’s one of my favorite people on the planet. She was the one who drove me eight hours from our hometown of Lake Tahoe to LA so I could fly halfway around the world. She’s tried to hide how much she hates the idea of this move, but I can read her well enough.

She’s worried about me.

Hell, I’m worried about me if I’m being honest.

Rory has always been the stable constant in my life. Meanwhile, I’ve been the fly by the seat of my pants guy. And I mean that literally—I spent the last twelve years as a fighter pilot for the United States Navy. I may have gone everywhere on their orders, their timeline, but when I was in that jet it was just me—my instincts, my gut, my grit and determination. I would’ve kept doing it too, if I could have. There’s never been anything I wanted more.

My throat bobs around a stiff swallow as panic threatens to rise again. That’s all gone now. That last deployment took it all from me, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get it back.

Despite the concern my move seems to have garnered, this time away is exactly what I need. Space to breathe. Space to get my head on straight. Space to not be surrounded by the worst memories of my life.

I inhale deeply and return my attention to my phone.

Rory

How’s the future?

Her question makes me laugh out loud, snapping me out of my morose thoughts and earning me more covert looks from my fellow passengers. With the time change and the length of this flight, I skipped over a whole day of my life. It’s not the first time I’ve lost or gained a day during travel, but it’s always a weird realization. Rory is still living in that day, the one I’ll never get back.

The ding of the fasten seatbelt light turning off is followed by the inevitable rustling of over two hundred people attempting to move at once. I, on the other hand, stay seated. Sitting toward the back of the plane, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, so I may as well take my time.

Me

Wouldn’t you like to know. Just landed in Sydney. Did you make it home ok?

I made her promise she would get a hotel for the night, literally forcing the money to cover it into her hand while we stood on the drop-off curb at the airport. I didn’t want her turning around and driving through the night back to Tahoe. No need for her to be in the car for sixteen hours straight, especially when she’d be solo on the way back. I do the mental calculations and work out that she should’ve made it home by now.

Rory

Almost, I let myself sleep in a little and then grabbed the most amazing breakfast burrito. I bet they don’t have those in Australia. You probably should have stayed here.

She’s teasing me of course, but this cuts deep. She knows how much I love breakfast burritos. Plus, with nothing but airplane food and snacks to keep me going, I’m positively ravenous. As if trying to prove that fact, my stomach growls audibly, as if a yawning pit has opened inside me, ready to swallow a cow.

Me

You’re the worst, you know that? I’d kill for one right now.

I’ll give you a call once I get settled in, ok?

I know she’s going to want reassurances that I’m all set and don’t need rescuing. I swear, for a little sister, she’s more like a mom these days.

Rory

You know you love me. Yes, please call me. Anytime.

Her message lifts the corners of my mouth into a small smile, and I feel a pang in my chest. It’ll be a while before I see her again, which is especially hard since this time it’s my choice, not school or the military keeping us apart.

Another message from her pops up just as my thumb moves to lock the screen.

Rory

And Wes, I love you.

There’s a weird sting behind my eyes at her words. I must be more tired than I thought because I don’t cry. Not that I’m crying now, it must just be the stale air kicking up dust in here or something. I blink a couple of times to clear the dust and start gathering my belongings.

My forceful tug on the straps of my backpack is followed by the sound of ripping fabric. A groan slips out of me, shoulders slumping forward, and I rest my head against the plastic tray table. I take a gentler approach to finish pulling it free but can see there’s a decent tear down the side. Huffing out a breath, I move the bag with care, like it’s a bomb that could detonate at any moment.

The aisle ahead empties out so I stand to grab my larger carry-on from the overhead compartment. The wheels get stuck somewhere between a Hello Kitty suitcase and a diaper bag, and my patience wanes.

“Shit.” I mumble the curse under my breath, but a mother in the row behind me still gives me side-eye.

Seriously, I need off this damn plane. Is that really so much to ask? Stretching up higher, I give it a yank, only to lose my balance and go careening backward. My back collides with the person behind me, and when I turn to apologize the loosed bag slides down and hits my shoulder, pushing me further off-balance. My right knee, already pulsating with pain from sixteen hours of sitting, twists and buckles.

The moment stands still but also moves in high-definition, and I can do nothing but let it happen.

The thud of my bag hitting the ground is nothing compared to the loud oof that comes from the flight attendant I land directly on top of. Our faces are only inches apart, bodies pressed close, my throbbing knee bracketed between her thighs.

Shit. This is not just any flight attendant. This is the flight attendant. The one I’ve struggled to keep my eyes off the entire flight. The one who’s been resolutely avoiding said eyes for the entire flight . I have her full attention now and I am not prepared for what I see in her gaze. There’s fire in the stunning grey depths, like molten graphite, and she looks like she could burn through me with just a thought. I can’t exactly blame her. With my body pressed against hers, the difference in our stature is accentuated. At six-two, I’m pretty sure I’m crushing the woman beneath me, who must be at least a foot shorter.

Oh god, I’m crushing her.

I pull an arm free, but all I manage to do is grab her chest in my attempt to push myself up. She makes the most adorable squealing sound that in other circumstances would have me laughing, but the look that follows it replaces any humor with mortification.

“I’m so sorry, I was just… I wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t…” I’m a bumbling fool who can’t form words.

I manage to press the offending hand to the floor next to her and push up until I can leverage myself into a standing position. I suck in a breath through my teeth as I put weight on my knee. A sharp pain radiates out from where my scars pull the skin tight. I should have wrapped it like Rory told me to. Freaking know-it-all little sisters. The shooting pain in my knee, though, is no distraction from the sight in front of me.

Now that I’ve put space between us, I can really see her. I can also feel the stares of everyone still on the plane pressing in on me. They can relax—it might feel like a full hour since I collided with this woman, but I know it’s only been a minute or two at most. I avoid their gazes as I let mine roam over her, telling myself I’m just making sure she’s alright, but knowing it’s really because she’s stunning.

Her skirt has ridden up a couple inches and her blouse is askew, not tucked in neatly like it was the whole flight. Her chestnut brown hair is splayed out behind her and, in my own disheveled state, I’m having an even harder time not staring. How is she more appealing now than when she was all prim and proper? I catch her eye when I reach her face, and the blush across her cheeks at my perusal matches her perfect pink lips. She glances away again, clearly embarrassed. Is it bad that I really like that blush and the fact that I put it there?

Her eyes flick back to my face as I reach down, offering her my hand, but they drop again when she slips her smaller one into mine. It’s soft and warm against my calloused palm, and I can’t stop my thumb from grazing across the top just once. I decide to flex my muscles a little when I pull her up, and she has to stop herself with her free hand so she doesn’t slam into my chest. I suck in another breath at her touch and her grey eyes lock onto mine.

Well, this is new. I can’t remember the last time I felt such an immediate attraction to a woman. The connection between us breaks just as quick when she pushes away, releasing my hand to busy herself with straightening her uniform.

“Sorry, I—” I’m stopped from continuing when a throat clears and I come to the startling realization that we are still blocking the aisle. The passengers in the rows ahead are long gone, and I can sense the impatience from those remaining behind us. I sidestep into the nearest row of empty seats, grabbing my bags as I go, and she steps into the row opposite me. Now there’s nothing to do but watch each other.

My watching is blatant and bold, because that’s who I am. Hers is more covert, stealing glances from under her long, beautiful lashes that bring out the smoky color of her eyes. I should say something, but every time I’m about to, another person walks between us and breaks our eye contact. I was nearly at the back of the plane, yet now it feels like there’s an infinite number of passengers streaming up the aisle. With every passing moment, the tension builds and tightens like the string of a bow pulled taut.

When the last passengers have exited the plane and it’s only me and her remaining, we stand locked in a stare down across the aisle. She doesn’t seem to have any trouble making eye contact now, although I’m not sure the blazing look of irritation is what I was going for with my glances earlier.

“Are you planning to deplane?” Her Australian accent would make me weak in the knees if I wasn’t already. I imagine the way she’s crossing her arms over her chest is to close herself off from me, but its effect is outright sinful. Her shirt pulls tight across her chest, and I’m doing everything in my power to be a gentleman and keep my eyes on her face right now.

The other flight attendants are already moving about the cabin and getting their turnover checklists complete, yet here we stand.

“Oh, yeah. I just wanted to apologize again. Are you okay?” The words tumble out as I give her another once-over.

“I’m fine, thanks.” She bites out the words, but then her voice softens a little when she asks, “Are you?”

I'm pretty sure she’s only asking because it’s her job, but I delude myself into thinking it’s because she cares.

“I’m fine.” My brain tells me to stop there, but my mouth just keeps going. “I’m also sorry that I grabbed you… your… I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”

Have I never held a conversation before? I rarely stumble over my words, but the fresh blush staining her cheeks makes me lose the ability to form sentences altogether. Damn, she is beautiful .

She holds up a hand to stop me. Clearly, talking about how I grabbed her breast is not what she wants to do right now.

“It’s fine. Really.” Her reply is curt, a dismissal. It says she’s done talking. We’re done talking. She steps into the aisle and walks to the back of the plane without another word. Throwing my backpack over my shoulder, I grab my rolling bag and head for the exit. I allow myself one backward glance, but she’s determinedly looking the other way.

I feel the sting of pain in my knee with each step as I make my way off the plane and into the terminal, heading for baggage claim. My thoughts never stray from the beautiful brunette whose name I never even learned.