3. Henley
Henley
After the attendant scans my ticket, I trudge down the jet bridge.
The little bit of money I’ve been saving paid off this morning.
Somehow, I managed to get myself a nonstop flight, so I splurged and upgraded to first class.
This girl needs a drink after the shitty events of the past few hours—I don’t care what time of the morning it is.
Just a few inches from the door, my carry-on decides to give out and one of the wheels breaks off.
It rolls down the jet bridge behind me. There are far too many people to go chase after it, and I’m already getting several disgruntled looks for holding everyone up.
Snarling inwardly, I lift the heavy abomination into my arms. It may be a carry-on, but it is stuffed to the brim with as many of my prized possessions that I could shove into it. There’s no way I’m leaving it behind.
Sweat beads down the back of my neck as I give the flight attendant a tight-lipped smile as I pass. Wide eyes linger over me for what feels like a minute before she finally welcomes me aboard with a pearly fake smile.
“6B. . . 6B,” I chant silently to myself as I walk down the aisle. All I need to do is make it to my seat, then I can breathe.
The closer I edge to my seat, the less constricted my chest feels.
Movement catches my eye in front of me, and my gaze slowly glides to the man occupying the seat beside mine.
The black hood of his thick sweatshirt conceals most of his face as he bends over to rummage through his backpack on the floor.
That didn’t stop my wandering eyes finding the hint of a chiseled jaw and a short-trimmed beard shadowing against the bronzed skin of its owner.
Suddenly, my body feels a hundred degrees warmer, and the tingling sensations that glide through my body startle me. Apparently, it’s been a while since I’ve truly been attracted to someone else.
Desperate for a distraction, I lift my tank of a carry-on with a grunt into the overhead storage. However, it stops short. Growling loudly, I keep sliding and pushing it to make it fit inside.
“Ma’am . . .” The attendant’s stern voice echoes down the aisle as she storms toward me.
Shove.
“Ma’am, we are going to need to check that bag—”
“No!” I shove harder with another grunt. “I’ll—”
Shove.
“Make it—”
Shove. Slap. Shove.
“Fit!” I growl, giving it one more triumphant push. When it doesn’t budge, I smirk back at the flight attendant. She dismisses me with a roll of her eyes, returning to the front of the plane to welcome guests.
“Henley?”
A familiar voice sends a shiver down my spine. The deep timbre draws my vision back to the seats in front of me. The hood no longer covers the man’s face. My breath hitches. Sky blue eyes stare back at me, as plush, pink lips—that I once had a chance to taste—gape wide open.
“Emers—” is all I’m able to say to my brother’s best friend before the demon spawn of a suitcase collides into my head.
Embarrassment burns my cheeks. Quite the juxtaposition to the sub-zero ice pack that I’m holding against my throbbing forehead. Damn suitcase.
Hundreds of eyes glare at me as I sit on the jump seat at the front of the plane. A doctor looks me over, making sure I don’t have a concussion . . . or a broken nose. My little incident caused our departure to be delayed. I’m not exactly everyone’s favorite person at the moment.
“No concussion, miss.” The doctor smiles gently, the wrinkles on his face crinkling around his kind eyes. “However, this bump and deep bruise are going to hang around for a little while. It seems a black eye is beginning to make an entrance as well.”
As I release a small groan, the doctor chuckles beside me. After I thank him for looking me over, we make our way back to our seats. Conveniently, his seat ended up being behind mine.
Emerson’s lips pull into a smirk as I slide past him and fall into my seat. His shoulders shake with mirth as he covers his mouth with his hand, providing me with even more reasons why I should slap him.
“Welcome back, Trouble.” Emerson snorts.
I freeze. The nickname he gave me that night rolls off his tongue with ease. Like it didn’t flood his memories with the same painful emotions that it does for me. A reminder of a time when things between us could have been different. Rolling my eyes, I shift my glare to the window.
The safety flight instructions blare around us, then they do their final safety checks as we taxi onto the runway. After a few moments, we are in the air. I do my best to avoid looking at the reminder of my past mistakes sitting beside me.
“Can I get either of you a drink?” The flight attendant’s cheerful voice pipes through my brooding.
Emerson opens his mouth to speak, but I jump in first. “Yes!” I blurt. A deep chuckle rumbles beside me. “I’ll take a mimosa, please.”
The flight attendant’s mouth gapes wide, her gaze shifting to the bump on forehead then back to my eyes. “Ma’am, I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
Emerson raised his hand, halting her words. “She’ll be fine. I’ll take Jack and Coke, please.”
Her lips purse, still debating whether giving me alcohol is a good idea. I watch her eyes flutter to the doctor behind me. He must give her a nod of approval because she sighs then marches back to the galley to make our drinks.
“Thank you for that,” I murmur to Emerson. “Both of you.”
Peeking through the crack in the seat, I smile at the doctor. When I turn back around, Emerson’s gaze intercepts mine.
“You’re welcome,” he winks. The rising sun peeks through the window, making his blue eyes impossibly brighter. The same ones I’d lost myself in all those years ago.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to refocus. Rein it in, Hen.
After a while, he asks gently, “So, are you heading back for a visit?”
I’ve known Emerson my entire life. His family lives on the land next to ours, and our families have been friends forever.
He’s also been my brother’s best friend since they could walk and talk, therefore eventually becoming my friend by proxy.
I could tell him now—spill how I’ve failed and must figure out what to do with my life—but the shame twisting my stomach in knots won’t allow me.
“Something like that.”
His head bobs slowly in agreement.
“And you?”
“Something like that.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes this time. Like me, it appears there’s something he’s hiding.
Even after everything that happened between us, I’ve kept tabs on Emerson.
Right now, he’s at his peak in his racing career.
In my phone calls with my brother, Ryleigh, he’s also mentioned that he hasn’t been home since his Mama, Autumn, passed.
It’s the end of June, and I’m pretty sure there are more races coming up. So why is he going home?
I open my mouth to ask just as our attendant arrives with a tray of drinks.
“Here you are, ma’am.” She smiles, taking the mimosa off the tray to meet my outstretched hand.
Emerson’s warm palm brushes against mine in an offer to help pass it my way. The contact sends an unexpected bolt of electricity through me, and my mimosa topples down. Straight into his lap.
“I’m so sorry!” I shout, pulling out all the napkins that dwell inside my cluttered bag. I start pressing and mopping up the fizzy orange juice mess that pools in his sweatpants before it can soak through.
“Hen—”
“Janice, we’re going to need the big towels!” The attendant shouts back to her partner. Janice trots down the aisle with a handful of towels, to which I swiftly grab and continue my efforts.
“Henley, I can do this—” he starts, reaching his hand down to help, but I swat it away while cutting off his words.
“N-no! I did this! I’m so sorry, I-I’ll fix it!”
“Hen—”
“I’ve got this!” I hiss.
“Hen, stop,” he whispers.
“Emerson, just let me—”
His palm wraps forcefully around my wrist, jolting me to a stop.
That’s when I notice his other palm gripping the armrest like his life depends on it, and the pained expression etched across his face.
Emerson’s eyes slowly roll down to my hands.
The ones that are currently pressing against the bulge between his thighs.
The very hard bulge.
My lips part as his retreat between his teeth. He’s desperately trying to focus on the roof of the plane rather than me.
“Oh.” The whisper leaves my lips, the pieces of the situation slowly clicking in place. “Oh . . . Oh my God! I’m so sorry!”
I immediately whip my hand back into my lap.
Emerson smooths a palm over his face with a breathy laugh. “Still causing trouble, I see?”
Mortified, I cocoon my head inside my hands. The play on the nickname he gave me all those years doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Here’s another mimosa, ma’am.”
I can’t look up or reach out my hand. Emerson collects my drink, lowers my tray, and slides the glass in front of me. Grasping it with both hands, I chug it down before he even takes a sip of his own.
“I think we are both going to need another.” He laughs.
The attendant shakes her head and goes back to pour our second round.
Somewhere between the third or fourth mimosa, I find some semblance of relaxation. I can’t bring myself to say anything to Emerson. What could I possibly say to the man after what I’ve just done?
It’s best to just pretend the whole thing never happened.
Kind of like I’ve been doing for the past seven years, after our last interaction.
I’ve always been good at pretending with Emerson.
Pretending I’m not attracted to him. Pretending my eyes aren’t always drawn toward him.
Pretending my heart didn’t shatter into a thousand pieces when he pushed me away after finally letting me in.
Why not add one more embarrassing moment to the pile I’ve buried away?
Glancing at him through my lashes, I watch Emerson quietly scroll through his phone.
My gaze rolls slowly over his body and I become entranced.
His thumb rests underneath his chin as his index finger slowly runs back and forth across his plump bottom lip.
I wet my lips, thinking about a time when those fingers brushed against my own.
Though we’ve only ever shared a kiss, I haven’t been able to erase it from my memory.
Our pasts are so woven together that even after all this time and all the hurt, my heart still flutters in his presence.
Emerson was the friend who always knew the right things to say.
The one who made me feel safe enough to always let my guard down.
Just some of the many reasons why I started to look at him in a different light when we were both older.
We spent so much time together over the years that we both knew each other inside out.
So even after not talking for seven years, there is still such a strong feeling of familiarity as I sit beside him.
After the recent events I’ve endured, he’s strangely giving me a small sense of comfort.
I’m afraid I’m not quite sure what to do with that emotion.
A shiver ripples through me, and I quickly redirect my attention to searching for my headphones. Once I feel them in my hand, I shove them over my ears and blast the music as loud as I can bear. Nothing like a little Sleep Token to calm the storm of emotions swirling within me.
Burrowing into the hood of my sweatshirt and staring out the window, I allow myself to fade off to sleep somewhere between getting lost in the lyrics and focusing on the clouds drifting over the wings of the plane. If I’m lucky, when I wake this will all be over. Just like the last time.