Chapter 22
Evie
Tension radiates through me, my muscles pulled so tight they hum like a cord wound past its limit.
It’s my nature to be at the airport early, not counting on factors to fall in my favor, such as a short security line and a close gate.
Meanwhile, Gabe’s expression has remained annoyingly neutral all morning—unruffled, unreadable, like time bends for him differently than it does for the rest of us.
Ready to go in five minutes while I ran around frantic.
You’d think his calm would rub off on me, but instead, I want to shake him.
If we miss this flight because neither of us thought to set an alarm, we’ll be rerouted through at least two airports, time bleeding away in terminals and security lines until home feels theoretical.
Gabe lifts my suitcase onto the conveyor belt with absolute ease. It’s not that he does it slowly, it’s that he looks like he has all the time in the world—and that is patently false. It remains conceivable we will miss our flight.
I place my laptop into the tray. My phone lights up with my father’s name right as I set it down.
“I’ll call him back,” I say to Gabe’s one lifted eyebrow.
His hand settles at my lower back—proprietary, and if I’m honest, comforting—and he guides me through security, close enough that I feel his presence even when I step away.
“Do you think we’ll make it?”
“Yes.”
I glance over my shoulder at him and catch a slight grin. “What? Are you laughing at me?”
“I’ve just never seen this side of you.”
The implication—that there are sides of me he hasn’t seen—snags. We grew up parallel to each other. I’d prefer to think he knows all my edges. That grin stays. He’s amused. “What?”
I’m waved forward by security before he can answer.
Gabe follows behind me and we gather our belongings. I watch as he slides his belt back on, the leather zipping through the loops on his slacks, and the brief flash of his trim waist—muscled, familiar now in a way that still feels unreal—heats my already flushed skin.
He leans forward, lips so close to my ear his breath warms my skin. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.” I press a hand against him to shove him away, when he adds, “We’ve got plenty of time.”
Not really. We’re taking an international flight. The customs line could have required an hour. We got lucky.
He doesn’t wait for my argument. No, he’s off in the direction of our flight with both our suitcases.
We stop in the American Express Centurion Lounge for a quick bite and coffee, because, as it turns out, Gabe is right, and we do have time before boarding. But I’m also right—we got lucky.
I’m about to ask him how he stays so calm—he’s always been like this, the quietest of my brother’s friends—but I notice he’s not looking at me.
His gaze roams the room, looking everywhere.
It almost looks like he’s scanning the place for someone better to talk to—but I know better.
This isn’t boredom. It’s vigilance. He’s assessing the semi-packed room, likely noting the faces, just in case they reappear.
I settle on reading the screen listing flights and status and notice the word BOARDING flashes by our flight. It’s not until we’re in line to board that I feel calmer and take the time to more fully observe Gabe.
He’s composed. My first assessment was absolutely correct.
And he is most definitely observant of our environment.
But he also keeps me close, and he beats me to my suitcase more times than not, insisting on taking it even though I’m more than capable.
But there’s something else threaded through his expression—or maybe through his silence. Something held back.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He caresses my shoulder, and the corner of his lips curve ever so slightly. “Yep.” Then, as we hand our tickets and passports to the gate agent, he says, “Don’t forget to reach out to your dad.”
“Has he been in touch with you?”
“No.” His lower lip protrudes slightly as he shakes his head in the negative. “But he’ll worry if you don’t get back to him.”
As Gabe lifts my suitcase into the overhead bin, I remember his mention of his father.
He’s not just following in his footsteps—he wants to learn more about his father’s death.
Reading between the lines, he suspects he wasn’t ever told the truth.
And it’s completely possible he was given a cleaned version of events—one meant to ensure national security. His father was CIA, after all.
Given his loyalty to his father, I suppose it makes sense that he’d want me to be in touch with mine. Gabe’s aware of my fights with my father. Of his controlling nature, and worse, how he gave Scott endless freedom but fought me at every turn. But those fights were years ago.
I won my independence. I’m not following the path my father wanted, but he’s still present in my life. He still loves me.
As we buckle into our seats and passengers file past to board, I take out my phone and message my father. Once we take off, I plan on taking out my laptop. I’ll review the IG complaint draft, review the documents we possess, and note the documents we need.
Last-minute booking means we’re across the aisle rather than side by side—close enough, and not.
Me
All ok?
Three dots immediately emerge—which isn’t normal for Dad. Half the time I suspect his assistant responds for him, so maybe she’s in possession of his phone at the moment.
Dad
Call me
Me
Dad, we’ve boarded. Is everything okay? Can I call when we land?
Dad
You rushed a return flight. What’s going on?
Me
Nothing. Just personal leave. Last minute plans.
Dad
Who approved this leave?
I stare at the screen. Of course he’d ask. As if I need permission beyond my supervisor.
Me
Rebecca Hanford.
Dad
I see. And you went to Switzerland?
My stomach sinks.
Me
Are you monitoring my location?
Dad
Your travel agent works for me, Evie. Of course I know.
Right. Of course he does. It’s not a big deal.
Me
I needed to clear my head.
Dad
Alone?
I glance across the aisle at Gabe. He’s still monitoring passengers, expression neutral.
Me
Not alone.
Three dots. They disappear. Reappear.
Dad
Who did you go with?
Me
A friend.
Dad
What friend?
Like his travel agent hasn’t already told him.
Me
Dad, I’m 30 years old. I don’t need to report my travel companions.
Dad
You do when you’re on leave from a federal position investigating dangerous criminals. You do when your car was just in an accident under suspicious circumstances. You do when I’m your father and I’m worried about you.
My jaw tightens. He’s not wrong—about the danger, at least. But that doesn’t mean I owe him an explanation. Although, it’s sounding like he doesn’t know who I’m with. Maybe Dad didn’t think to ask until now—or he didn’t ask because he assumed he wouldn’t be familiar with my companion.
Me
I’ll call you when I land. We’re about to take off.
Dad
Evie, if you’re in trouble, I can help.
Me
I’m not in trouble. I’ll call you soon.
I turn my phone into airplane mode before he can respond. I’m probably being too defensive. But I can’t help it. I’ve been battling my overbearing father for as long as I can remember.
We take off without issue, and Gabe and I both remove our laptops. He shifts away from the person seated on his far side, which gives me a partial view of his screen.
The flight attendant passes by with the drink cart. I order tea—oolong—and return to my laptop, reviewing the IG complaint draft for the third time.
Scott’s name on Gabe’s screen catches my eye.
I glance at Gabe. He’s awake, headphones on, but I can tell by the way his gaze shifts that even airborne he’s monitoring. His fingers tap away on the keys—engaged in a chat session via a message app.
Scott
U there?
Gabe
Y. Hey.
Scott
What the hell is going on? Dad called. Said Evie’s on leave and you went to Switzerland with her.
What the hell? Dad called Scott? Were his questions to me a test?
Gabe types out a response and I watch closely. He has to know I can read what’s on his screen.
Gabe
She’s good. She’s safe.
Scott
What’s going on?
Gabe
You need to ask her.
That’s actually a good response. I bet Scott is having trouble wrapping his head around that notion.
Scott
She wouldn’t tell Dad what’s going on. Are you fucking my sister?
My eyelids close, wishing I hadn’t seen that. Of course my brother would phrase it like that. Boys will be boys. I can hear Dad now.
Heat floods my face—not embarrassment, exactly. Something closer to violation. Like my private life has been dragged into fluorescent light.
Gabe
We’re here on business.
Scott
Dude. You’re not a lawyer. Try again.
Gabe’s jaw flexes. I almost reach across the aisle to tell him to give me the laptop and that I’ll jump in and respond, but his fingers click the keys.
Gabe
I work for a small outfit with an interest in a case Evie’s working.
Scott
Dad says she’s on personal leave.
Gabe
It’s business.
Scott
I’m not a fucking idiot. You’ve been asking about her for years. Dad already thinks you’re banging her. You might as well come clean.
Gabe
You asked me to look out for her. That’s what I’m doing. I’ll call when we land.
He closes out of the chat and glances over at me. “Your brother is a piece of work.”
“He’s your best friend.”
“You read the exchange?”
Gabe unbuckles and crosses the aisle, crouching beside my seat.
“What did Scott want?” Of course, I obviously know, but I want to hear Gabe’s interpretation of that exchange.
“To know if there’s something going on between us. Seems your dad called him.”
I remain outwardly calm, although a degree of anger simmers. Anger mostly at my brother. “What did you tell him?” He glances back at his seat, maybe measuring the distance and attempting to guess if his words were legible. “I could only make out a few words.”
That’s a total lie, but I’m curious. It’s the lawyer in me. And heck, maybe it’s something I get from my dad.
“That I’ll call him when we land.”
“Good.”
He frowns. “You don’t sound good.”
“Gabe, he asked you a direct question.”
“So you read everything.”
“Yes. And my brother’s an ass.”
“I planned to tell him in person. He caught me off guard there. It’s not something I want to share via text.”
“So it’s all up to you—what you say and when?”
He stands. “We’ll talk to him when we’re ready. Together, if that’s what you want.”
He returns to his seat before I can respond.
I stare at the side of his head, frustration simmering.
When we’re ready.
What does that even mean?
Are we not ready now?
Or was he not ready for Scott to know?
Of course, then again, do I want Scott to know? It’s not his business who I fuck, to use his crass terminology. It’s definitely not my father’s.
Frustrated, I select a movie and give it half my attention.
The other half turns the conversation over.
Managed. That’s the word. The same way my father manages situations.
The same way men who care too much and trust too little always manage.
By the time the cabin lights dim, managed has become something uglier.
Hours later, the flight attendants begin their final cabin check. I close my laptop and stow it beneath the seat.
Gabe leans over his armrest.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
“Fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
I turn to face him. “Are you ashamed of this? Of us?”
His eyes widen slightly. “What? No. Why would you—”
“You didn’t want to tell Scott.”
“Evie—”
“Never mind. It’s fine.”
He reaches for my hand. I pull it away.
“Evie—”
“Don’t,” I say. “If the plan is to keep it all on the down low, we need to stick to the plan.”
“Evie, that’s not what this is,” he says, voice low and firm. “I’m protecting you.”
“From what?”
“From Scott making it weird before we know what this is. From your father interfering.”
“So you don’t know what this is.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what are you saying?”
He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Scott will have opinions—and he’s better managed in person. Your father…let’s be honest. He’s got ideas for what he wants for you, and I’m not it.”
I open my mouth. Close it. He’s probably right. That’s the infuriating part.
“So we lie,” I say flatly.
“We’re strategic,” he corrects gently. “There’s a difference.”
I look away, jaw tight. The gentleness is what hurts.
Because I know this. I’ve watched this exact maneuver my entire life—decisions made for my benefit, explained to me only after the fact, dressed up in language that makes resistance look unreasonable.
My father calls it looking out for me. Gabe’s calling it strategy.
I’m not sure the distance between those two words is as wide as he thinks it is.
“Evie.” He waits until I meet his eyes. “I’m not ashamed. But I won’t be cornered into sharing more than we’re ready to share. I won’t let Scott spin it into something lewd. I’m protecting you. Us.”
“By controlling the narrative.”
“If you want to tell your family, let’s tell them. We can call them in the car.”
He says it like a concession, not a choice—something he’ll do if pressed, not because he wants to.
That’s the part that actually stings. Not the timeline. Not Scott. The fact that I have to ask before I’m offered a say at all.
I know, somewhere underneath the anger, that this isn’t entirely fair to him.
He hasn’t done anything my father would do.
He’s trying to protect something new and fragile from two men who’d trample it without meaning to.
But I’ve never had this—never cared enough, this fast, for someone to have this kind of power to disappoint me—and I don’t know yet how to want something this much without also bracing for it to be taken out of my hands.
“No. That’s fine. Your plan’s a good one.”
He doesn’t look convinced. He shouldn’t be.
The woman seated in the row ahead of Gabe glances over her shoulder, as if she’s been listening and wanted to put a face to the exchange.
The plane’s wheels touch down.
We don’t speak again until we’ve deplaned, the space between us filled with unasked questions and the uneasy knowledge that silence, too, is a kind of decision.