Chapter 46 New Orleans—Remy
New Orleans—Remy
Remy had finally drifted into a deep sleep when the sudden pressure of a hand on his shoulder shattered the calm. He gasped awake, eyes snapping open, his body instantly primed for a threat. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s just me, Heather,” a gentle voice whispered nearby. “We’re beginning our descent. I feel terrible. I completely forgot you hate being startled awake like that.”
“It’s a hypervigilance thing.”
“Could you wake your friend, Skye? She needs to adjust her seat for landing.”
“Sure, thanks.” He raked the heels of his palms over his eyes and scrubbed his face hard, trying to scrape away the cobwebs and mental fog.
Only when cognitive function returned did he glance over at Skye.
His heart leaped into his throat—God, he hated waking her from a peaceful sleep to face another round of terror.
He knew from experience that a sense of powerlessness often fed stress. But what was at the root of Skye’s anxiety? Her parents’ deaths? His parents’ deaths fueled his fanatical concern for his health. When sick, he’d easily go off the rails.
He carefully stowed his computer bag, clicked his chair into an upright position, and leaned in to plant a tender kiss on Skye’s forehead. “Wake up, sleeping beauty,” he whispered.
She yawned, a slow, stretching, catlike motion, and smiled. “Are we still hovering over Alabama?” she mumbled, her words slurred with sleepiness.
He chuckled. “Nope. We’re approaching New Orleans’ airspace now.”
Her eyes snapped open, and her face drained of all color. “No! No! I can’t do this!” she gasped, clutching the armrests.
He gave her a soft, reassuring smile and gently touched her arm. “Take a deep breath and tell me your favorite five songs.”
She buried her head in her hands. “I can’t.”
“Skye,” he said, his tone urgent but soft. “What’s the first song that pops into your head? Just one.”
She shook her head. “I can’t breathe,” she choked out, clawing at the collar of her shirt.
He had to try a different approach before she had a full-blown panic attack. “Tell me three distinct things you can hear right now.”
“Whirring, rumbling, bells… That’s all,” she whispered.
“Those are all normal, perfectly safe sounds associated with landing an airplane,” he soothed. “We’ll be on the ground in just a few minutes.”
“What will happen next?” she asked, a thread of desperation weaving through her voice.
She couldn’t have asked a better question. It offered the perfect distraction. “I’m going to strip you naked and make wild, passionate love to you,” he said playfully.
She sat up straight, the shock briefly cutting through the panic, and almost smiled. “What will happen before that?”
“You’ll hear some thumps and more whirring as the landing gear is extended and locks into place,” he explained, his voice steady. “Your ears might pop as the plane descends. These are all normal sounds and feelings of a smooth landing.”
She jerked as an unfamiliar noise rattled the cabin. “What’s that?”
“The plane is slowing its rate of descent before the final touchdown. It’s almost over.”
The firm jolt of the touchdown made Skye grip the armrests so tightly that her knuckles turned bloodless white. As the plane reversed thrust with a powerful roar he wrapped his arm securely around her shoulders and whispered into her ear, “I’m here. You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“It feels like we’re driving over a road with potholes,” she said, her voice trembling. The more she shivered, the tighter Remy held her. “Oh, finally it’s slowing down,” she sighed in a breathless tone.
“The pilot will taxi the plane off the runway to the private terminal,” he assured her. “It’s all over now.”
Her body visibly shrank, finally relaxing into his embrace.
He kissed her again. “We’re still in one piece, and your New Orleans adventure is about to begin.”
The plane came to a halt, its powerful turbines winding down with a final, shuddering sigh of relief.
“I’m sorry that was such an ordeal for you.” Marcelle popped up from her seat and pulled Skye into an embrace. “Next time, you’ll know what to expect.”
Skye, her face pale and damp, dabbed at her swollen, watery eyes with a crumpled tissue. “There will be no next time,” she declared with a shake in her voice. “I’m taking a train back to Virginia.”
Remy gently enveloped her trembling hand in his. “If that’s what you want, I’ll charter a private train to take us home. But for now, come on. Let’s go stand on solid ground. You’ll feel so much better.”
Elliott curved a protective arm around Skye’s shoulders as the plane door hissed open for deplaning. “How was yer first flight?”
“It was delightful. I can barely wait to do it again,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.
“It’ll be better next time, I promise, lass. Remy can give ye something strong enough to help ye relax and sleep through the entire flight.”
Skye rolled her eyes. “How’s that even possible when this contraption shakes and rattles so much?”
This engineering marvel floated through the atmosphere with a smoothness and silence unparalleled in his flying experience. To Remy, it was a place of peace and control. To Skye, it was terrifying—every sound and minor bump a reason to panic.
“Just keep yer eyes glued to Heather,” Elliott continued. “If she looks the slightest bit anxious, then ye can worry.”
“Is that what you do?”
“No. I look at Heather’s legs,” Elliott said with a devilish twinkle in his eyes.
Skye let out a genuine laugh, and Elliott brushed a kiss against her cheek. “It works every time.”
They all finally deplaned, stepping onto the tarmac to find a sleek, black limousine and a uniformed driver waiting for them.
“That car is for Elliott. So, everybody else hang tight,” Remy announced. “David and I are going to pick up the rental cars.”
They trudged across the tarmac to the rental office. When David wrenched open the heavy glass door, he murmured, “Kaitlyn stayed put with Kenz and me the whole flight. If the altitude bothered her, she masked it perfectly. The girl has mastered the art of emotional concealment.”
“If we worked for ruthless mobsters, so would we,” Remy retorted.
“Ye’ve got a point there.”
“What’s Kenzie’s read on her?”
David leaned in, his voice a low rumble meant only for Remy’s ears, effectively excluding the idle chatter of others in line.
“She’s thoroughly impressed and thinks Kaitlyn has a razor-sharp mind, communicates with clarity, and absolutely refuses to tolerate anyone’s nonsense.
She and Bastien are an intriguing couple. ”
Remy crowded closer and whispered, “In what way?”
“They’re crazy about each other. That much is obvious, but they lack the raw, blazing chemistry I’ve seen between ye and Skye,” David explained.
A heavy silence stretched before Remy finally drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly.
“It’s not Kaitlyn,” he confessed. “It’s Bastien.
” Remy stared out the window. “He’s been wrestling with PTSD these last few months and had a few episodes while in New York.
Now, Kaitlyn is trying to navigate his moods.
And he’s trying to figure out how to love a woman who cherishes him, despite his disability. ”
A concerned frown creased David’s brow. “Why didn’t ye tell me before?”
“I didn’t want you and Elliott worrying about him,” Remy admitted.
“Ye should’ve trusted us,” David insisted, his voice softening with concern. “How can we help?”
“First, we have to get him back into counseling. It’s going to be touchy, though. He’s hopelessly in love with a woman from another century, and he can’t tell his current therapist. Maybe Kenzie can help him locate the right group or discreet therapist, or maybe Charlotte can talk to him.”
“Are ye worried?” David asked.
“Bastien did a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn the moment he stepped into the fog. His entire life has been reset. He still has to complete the other half of that rotation before he can stand right side up and feel whole again. He’ll be more communicative, more himself, once he gets back into his familiar environment and routine. ”
“So, ye’re not worried?”
Remy shook his head, a heavy silence hanging in the air.
“I walked through hell and back with him—through his rehabilitation and uncertain future. I was his first investor when he started his business. His drive to reclaim his life was ferocious, but not without setbacks. He could have chosen the easy way out at any time if that was what he wanted. But he had Marcelle and me. We were his anchors.” A genuine warmth softened Remy’s voice.
“Now, he’s added Kaitlyn to his support team. ”
“Ye don’t think it will be too much for her?”
“Not if she has Kenzie to talk to. But I think Elliott will give her the best advice.”
“Elliott almost lost his leg, and he didn’t make it easy to love him.” David put his hands on his hips, elbows jutting out. “I think I’d send her to Meredith first.”
“Really?”
“I told ye what Elliott was like when he was drinking, abusing pain medication, and wouldn’t take care of his leg.”
“Yeah. You wanted me to know in case Elliott fell back into old habits.”
“It got so bad, he almost lost Meredith and his son. If anyone can advise Kaitlyn on how to manage situations like that, it’s Meredith.”
“I’ll talk to her, but someone else needs to talk to Kaitlyn. I’d be uncomfortable talking about Bastien with her. He wouldn’t like it,” Remy said. “Will Kenzie talk to her?”
“Aye,” David said. “Kaitlyn didn’t want to exercise this morning, but she said to ask her again. That will give Kenz an opening.”
“Exercise will provide the best opportunity to talk to Bastien, too,” Remy said.
“Hearing about his PTSD concerns me. I’ve collaborated with him on security issues. If he was dealing with shit, I never noticed, and that’s on me.”