Chapter 6
SIX
CAMERON
JFK - LHR
“Whoa—” I gasp, reaching for something, anything.
Before I can catch myself, I slam sideways into a seat, into someone. Gregg. His hands catch me instantly, one on my waist, the other closing around my forearm. Steady and warm. Firm without being restrictive. For a split second, the contact grounds me. And then it didn’t.
“I’ve got you,” he says with certainty.
Those words, they hit something raw and unprotected inside me. The cabin noise warps around me, thinning like it was slipping underwater as turbulence shakes the cabin around us. All I can hear is the pounding in my ears.
My stomach drops, and suddenly I’m not here.
I’m there. Inside the nightmare that I can’t outrun.
I’m not flying to London anymore, instead Tahiti.
The explosive decompression rips through the cabin, the deafening roar swallowing every scream.
Masks dangle and lights flicker, and the cabin pitches violently as if the sky was trying to throw me out.
Drew is beside me, his hand reaching desperately for me, his voice distorted under the chaos.
Then that awful silence.
My breath hitches, and my chest tightens so sharply it feels like something was crushing me from the inside. I can’t breathe. The aisle blurs around me, my own heartbeat pounds so fast and frantically. Shit, not here. Not now.
“Cameron.”
Gregg’s voice cuts through everything like a hand gripping the edge of a cliff. I blink hard, once, then twice, and the nightmare cracks. I’m back, and his eyes are right there, locked onto mine, filled with concern.
“Cameron? It’s okay,” he says quietly. “Just some turbulence. I’ve got you.”
His hands are still on me, anchoring me to this plane and this moment, not the one that lives in my nightmares. The hum of the cabin slowly comes back into focus, and I notice some passengers looking and murmuring. My lungs finally catch a full breath.
“I—sorry, I…” My words are shaky and thin as I scramble to think of something to say.
“Don’t apologize,” he replies immediately.
I straighten, gently pulling free from him, and brush down my sweater as if to smooth over the moment. Realizing the empty ceramic coffee cup is still firmly grasped in my hand, I option to say something lighter, something normal.
“We should stop meeting like this,” I whisper shakily.
Gregg smiles, but his eyes stayed on me, like he could see every fiber of my being and every frayed wire under my skin.
“It’s all good,” he says softly. A beat passes before he asks, “So… you’ll text me?”
The hesitation punches straight through me. Because yeah, between Drew’s shadow and whatever this strange spark was with Gregg, the idea of choosing anything new feels terrifying and impossible. It feels wrong, almost disloyal. But Riley’s voice rings in my ears.
Don't salvage yourself out of a chance at something good… life is too short.
I swallow, nod, and step back into the aisle, gripping a seatback until my balance catches up with me. “Yes. I’ll text you.”
As I walk back to the galley, I feel Gregg’s gaze linger on me, warm and gentle. The moment lasts seconds, maybe even less. But for me, it feels like something deep inside has shifted, like a fault line finally admitting it has cracks.
I discreetly break into a liquor cart and take a few bottles of gin.
I reseal the cart for arrival and head to the closet where my bag is secured.
Leaving the closet door open so no one can see, I toss back a mini, its burn grounding me the rest of the way.
I toss the remaining into my bag, pop a peppermint into my mouth, and take my jumpseat for landing.
Underneath it all… Drew.
Always him.
His shadow stretches across a space of what was and what could’ve been, making Gregg’s steadying presence feel incredibly comforting, and impossibly heavy.