Chapter 9
Chapter nine
EMMA EASTON
I leave Nova at Mrs. Kent’s just after sunrise. Her front door opens before I even knock. She’s still in her robe, gray hair pulled back, eyes warm and bright.
“Well,” she says gently, smiling at Nova. “Good morning, sweetheart.”
Nova darts past me and straight into her arms like she lives there already. Mrs. Kent laughs softly, crouching to hug her, scratching behind her ears. Nova melts instantly.
I swallow. “Thank you again,” I say. “I— I really appreciate you watching her.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Kent says, waving it off. Then her eyes flick up to my face, then to Heather standing a few feet behind me, arms folded tight across her chest. She sees the packed car and the tension we’re not even pretending to hide.
Her smile fades, just a little. “Are you all right, dear?” she asks.
I open my mouth. Close it. Try again. “There’s…someone I love,” I say finally. My voice wobbles, and I hate that it does. “And he’s struggling. So I’m going to try to help him for a while.”
Mrs. Kent doesn’t push. She just nods slowly, understanding blooming in her eyes as she pulls me into a hug. It’s unexpected enough that I almost break. Her arms are warm and solid, the kind of hug that feels like a loving grandmother. She smells faintly of lavender and coffee.
"That boy I've been seeing around your place?"
My back teeth gnash together when I nod. "Yeah."
She smiles softly. “Be careful,” she murmurs into my hair. “Both of you.”
She turns and pulls Heather in next, squeezing her just as tight. Heather exhales shakily against her shoulder.
“I’ll take very good care of her,” Mrs. Kent continues, pulling back to look at me again. “I’ll spoil her rotten. And I’ll send pictures. Lots of them. You take your time.”
I nod again, my throat too tight to speak.
Nova presses against my leg, sensing something’s wrong. I crouch down in front of her and look into her beautiful brown eyes.
“Hey,” I whisper, scratching behind her fluffy ear, right where she likes it best. She leans into my hand, eyes half-lidded, tail thumping softly against the porch. “I’ll be back,” I tell her. “Okay? I promise. I love you so much, girl.” I bury my face in her fur for a second, breathing her in.
My eyes burn. When I stand, Mrs. Kent is watching me with that same loving expression. “We’ll be right here,” she says. “Go.”
Micah is already in the driver’s seat of the Audi when we get back to the car.
He looks calmer than he did last night. Heather slides into the backseat.
I take the passenger side. As we pull away from the curb, I look back one last time.
Nova is in the window. Mrs. Kent lifts her hand and waves.
Nova presses her little nose to the glass.
Something inside me cracks just a little. I have such a beautiful and peaceful life. And here I am, risking it for Jude. But I love him. I’ve always loved him.
He’s worth it.
The airport is annoyingly loud and bright, like every time I’ve been here. I hate airports. I always associate them with sickness. It's probably why I never bother to travel anywhere. Well, that and the turbulence scares me.
Micah handles the tickets, boarding passes, and takes charge at security.
I let him. I don’t have the bandwidth to argue, and honestly…
I don’t want to. There’s something kind of comforting about following him through the terminal, about knowing someone else is tracking the details while my mind is stuck somewhere thousands of miles east. He got us all seats together, thankfully.
When we reach our row, my chest loosens a little bit.
I take the window automatically, Heather drops into the aisle, and Micah slides into the middle without a word.
Since he’s rich as hell, he at least got us spacious, comfortable seats.
As soon as we’re buckled in and the plane starts its slow crawl away from the gate, I dig into my bag and shake out one of the anxiety pills into my palm.
I hesitate for half a second, then swallow it dry.
Portland to New York is a long flight. Longer than I'm used to, anyway.
I tug my hoodie up, cinching it tighter around my face. The engine hum deepens, vibrating through my body. My heart is still racing, but I know the meds will take the edge off soon. They always do—turn the volume down without shutting me off completely.
I lean sideways, almost without thinking.
Micah’s shoulder is warm. He adjusts instantly, shifting just enough to give me more room.
My head settles there, and the relief that floods my chest is so intensely calming.
Heather reaches across him, her fingers finding his hand.
She laces them together, then leans in on his other side, her temple resting against his arm.
It hits me then, how close we are. Not just physically.
He’s Jude’s best friend and now Heather’s boyfriend.
He’s a special soul that I’m so grateful for right now.
Because he’s the only other person who knows Jude as much as I do… even better, really.
There’s no space for pretending here. No room for bravado or jokes or pretending we’re not all terrified. We’re three people clinging to each other because the alternative is freefall. The plane lifts off, the ground dropping away beneath us.
I keep my eyes on the window until the city dissolves into clouds. Micah’s chin rests lightly against the top of my head. I let myself rest because I need to be strong when we land.
The city greets us with noise, even this late. Horns blare in the distance, voices and laughter echoing through the street as the car pulls up in front of the hotel. The building rises above us in glass and warm light, elegant and impossibly tall. New York City is another world entirely.
Inside, everything smells clean and expensive. Marble floors, low lighting, gold accents. Micah handles the check-in without hesitation, the credit card sliding across the counter as if it's nothing to him.
The elevator ride is quiet. Heather leans against the mirrored wall, arms folded, eyes tired but alert.
“How do you like being in New York?” he asks her with a little nudge.
She smiles at him. “Normally, this would be a fun experience. But I’m a little nervous right now.”
“We’re doing what we can,” Micah sighs, kissing Heather’s cheek. “Let’s try our best to remain level-headed. We’re alive, safe, and working towards something.”
“And I’m supposed to be the therapist,” I joke, shaking my head, getting a laugh from both of them. I stare at the glowing numbers as they climb, my stomach fluttering with nerves I can’t shake.
The room is…beautiful. Floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the city, soft lamps, plush beds with crisp white blankets.
It’s a small comfort for my tired, anxious body.
Upon landing, I checked to see if Dr. Waters needed anything from me.
But she seems like she’s doing just fine.
That takes some of the pressure away from me, thankfully.
I've been going to work and helping sort through other people's tangled thoughts for years.
And now that I'm alone with my own…I don't know what to think about it.
Micah sets his bag down and turns to us. “Okay,” he says gently. “Tomorrow night is the gala. That’s where Rook will be. This only works if we’re calm and we follow the plan.”
Heather nods immediately. I do too, even though my heart is already jumping.
“I’ll approach him first,” Micah continues. “I’ll ask for a private moment. Emma—when you step in, you keep it simple. You tell him what Nolan and Alexei have on Jude. You tell him you want it erased.”
“And if he says no?” I ask quietly.
Micah holds my gaze. “Then we remind him that we’re prepared to make it worth his time.”
Four million dollars, unspoken but hanging between us.
I swallow. “Thank you,” I say, the words suddenly too small for what I feel. “For all of this. I know this isn’t…easy.”
Micah shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me. I love him, too.”
Heather reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “We’re in this together, babe. Remember that. Even though I’m tired as hell, and Micah has officially seen me without a lick of makeup, I’m still happy to be here.”
Micah snorts. “Blondie, you’re beautiful. Shut up.” He jabs his thumb toward her, tilting his head playfully. “This bitch.”
That gets a burst of laughter out of us.
They go ahead and take one bed, exhaustion knocking her out almost immediately. Her breathing evens out, and a soft snore escapes her lips. I lie in the other bed, staring at the ceiling.
I turn onto my side, pressing my face into the pillow, but it doesn’t stop it.
It just makes breathing harder. I feel okay when others are talking to me.
I’m distracted, then. But when I’m alone in my head?
It’s brutal. It’s true that my life has been easier than most, and I thank my amazing parents for giving me such a wonderful existence.
But even so, I’ve always felt for others more deeply than most. Mom always said it was a blessing…
but I sometimes believed it to be a curse.
And what a shitty therapist I am if I can't deal with myself. Like…seriously. A sob slips out before I can stop it. I clamp a hand over my mouth, but the tears come anyway. My shoulders shake, and suddenly I’m crying so hard my body can’t keep up with it.
Damn it, Emma.
The mattress shifts, and I feel Micah slide into the bed behind me under the blankets, one arm wrapping around my waist. He pulls me back against his warm body like it’s instinct, like he’s done this before. Likely for Jude.
And I break. I turn into him, burying my face in his shirt, fists clutching the fabric as I sob as quietly as possible so I don't wake Heather. And he holds me.