Chapter 26
The plane gives off a low, steady hush as the last of the passengers file in, the team quieter now. The rush of victory has faded into that half-dream state that comes after too much adrenaline—headphones in, voices low, bodies finally giving in to exhaustion.
I smile at the flight attendants as I board, nodding at the familiar navy uniforms, the faint scent of coffee and jet fuel already clinging to the air. My bag feels heavier than it should, probably because my heart’s been racing since I spotted him near the back.
He’s there, of course. Aisle seat, posture relaxed.
The moment his eyes find me, he stands. Without a word, he steps into the aisle, takes my bag before I can protest, and slides it into the overhead bin.
“Thanks,” I say.
He just nods, then waits until I sit before taking his usual seat.
Seatbelts click. The engines deepen to a low rumble.
I lean back, hands still in my lap—no camera, no laptop, nothing. For once, I don’t even try to distract myself.
“You’re not doing any editing today?” he asks, voice low enough it’s almost a vibration.
I glance at him, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’ve been plenty distracted today. Haven’t accomplished much, so I figured I’d take the rest of the day off. Go back to reality tomorrow.”
His expression softens, and he leans slightly closer, and before I take a breath, a single finger brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch is featherlight, but the goosebumps following are anything but subtle.
The captain’s voice crackles through the speakers, announcing departure. Flight attendants take their positions, performing the safety demo as the plane begins to taxi. The cabin fills with the faint hum of seatbelts tightening and whispered conversation. Between us, silence. Charged and electric.
When we’re finally in the air, a flight attendant approaches, tall and smiling.
“My name’s David. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Water,” I state, grateful for something to do.
Rogue looks up. “Did you receive my request?”
David’s face brightens. “Absolutely. Should I go ahead and bring it?”
“Please.”
I blink at him, confused, but Rogue only gives me a small smile. David disappears down the aisle.
“What did you …”
He stays silent, wearing that infuriating, knowing grin.
Minutes later, David’s back with a glass of water, two mini bottles of champagne, and a pair of flutes steadied on a tray.
“Here you go, Mr. Gallagher.”
“Thanks, lad.”
Rogue lowers the middle tray table, accepts the drinks, and with practiced ease, pops the foil. The soft hiss of champagne fills the air. He pours one, hands it to me.
I know better than to question it, so I just take the glass, fingers brushing his as I do.
He fills his own and raises it slightly. “Should we toast?”
I nod, words completely gone.
His eyes catch mine. “To promising beginnings.”
The sound of glass meeting glass is barely audible over the engines. The first sip is cool and bright, and it somehow steadies my racing pulse.
Before I can say anything, David returns again—this time with two small white boxes stamped in green cursive on the tray: Nathan’s.
He hands one to me, the other to Rogue, and vanishes as quickly as he came.
I stare at the box in my lap, stunned. “What is this?”
Rogue’s smile deepens. “Go ahead.”
I set my flute down and lift the lid.
Inside sits a hot dog, perfectly wrapped in paper, with mustard, ketchup, and a side of fries that somehow smell just as good as they did at Coney Island.
“Rogue—”
“I figured,” he says quietly, watching my reaction, “we could bring a bit of your happy place with us.”
My throat tightens. The cabin lights dim, and the steady drone of the plane fades into the background as the world tilts again like it did on the bridge when everything felt too good to be real.
He leans back, glass still in hand, eyes on me. There’s no smugness, no show. Just that simple, quiet thoughtfulness that keeps undoing me one piece at a time.
I can’t even find the words. All I do is smile, shaky and overwhelmed, before whispering, “Thank you for doing all of this for me.”
He tips his glass toward me, that faint, crooked grin tugging at his mouth.
“Anything for you, kitten.”
The flight felt like a dream.
Hot dogs, champagne, and laughter that came too easily.
David, the most-perfect flight attendant, showed up again halfway through with another tray, this one carrying pastel macarons and two more mini bottles of champagne.
Somewhere between the sugar and the bubbles, I forgot what it felt like to guard my heart.
Now we’re back on the ground, the spell breaking as the team spills into the private terminal. Everyone’s heading in different directions. Waving, calling goodbyes, dragging carry-ons.
I spot June near one of the pillars, phone pressed to her ear.
“You driving home?” I ask when she hangs up.
She shakes her head. “No. May’s picking me up.”
“Arrivals?”
“Yep.”
Before I can say anything else, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.
“Martínez!”
Thiago turns from where he’s walking with Malik, jogging a few steps back toward us.
“You’re going toward arrivals, right?” Rogue asks.
“Yeah.”
“Could you walk June? She’s heading that way too.”
June and I exchange a look, and before she can respond, Thiago grins. “For sure, man. Come on, June.”
June gives me a quick hug. “See you tomorrow.” Then she nods to Rogue. “Thanks, Rogue.”
He dips his head. “Aye, lass.”
They speed up, catching up to the rest of the group.
“Martínez,” Rogue calls again.
Thiago turns. “Yeah?”
“Make sure she’s with her sister before you leave.”
Thiago salutes with a laugh, throwing an arm around June’s shoulders in that easy, friendly way only he can pull off.
Just like that, everyone’s gone. The noise fades, and the electricity between us suddenly feels stronger.
Rogue turns to me. “You ready, lass?”
I nod.
He grabs my carry-on and rolls it beside him as we head toward the elevators. The air feels heavier here, quiet, almost private. Once inside it, he presses the Basement button. The doors close with a soft chime.
For a second, neither of us speak. The hum of the elevator fills the small space, and I feel the charge between us like static. He’s watching me, the careful way his brows pull together telling me he’s studying every shift in my expression before he makes a move.
I smile; if he only knew the list running through my head—the things I want to do, the way I want to touch him, the ache of wanting to feel his heartbeat under my hand again—he might act a little differently.
The elevator dings and the moment breaks.
Waiting just outside is a sleek black town car, polished to a mirror shine. A man in a dark suit leans casually against it, straightening as soon as he sees us.
“Mr. Gallagher,” he greets, stepping forward to take the bags. “Miss.”
Rogue nods. “Aye, Smith. This is Catalina.”
Smith sets the bags beside the trunk and turns to me with a courteous smile. “Miss Catalina,” he says, offering his hand.
I shake it, and he opens the door. “Thank you,” I murmur, sliding into the back seat.
Rogue loads my backpack into the trunk before Smith shuts it with a soft click. Rogue says something low to him that I can’t hear, then the door opens and he’s beside me again, close enough his shoulder brushes mine.
Smith climbs into the driver’s seat. “Where to, boss?”
Rogue glances at me, a silent question.
“One-twenty-two Ocean Avenue, please,” I say.
“Yes, ma’am.” Smith puts the car in drive. The city slips by outside the windows—blurry streetlights and distant neon, the faint reflection of us in the glass.
I smile softly and rest my hand on his knee. A quiet reassurance. A silent I want this.
His hand finds my hip, firm and certain, guiding me closer until there’s no space left between us.
I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me, half surprise, half surrender. My head fits perfectly against his chest, and his heartbeat is fast and wild beneath the calm surface he wears so well.
When I look up, his eyes are already on me—gray and bright and full of that glint that undoes every defense I’ve ever built.
I don’t even think. I just smile.
He closes the distance, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that starts soft—careful, reverent—but deepens in seconds. It’s slow and deliberate, every movement charged and aching. His hand traces my jaw, thumb sweeping across my cheek as if he’s memorizing me.
My fingers slide up to his chest, relishing the warmth of him through his shirt, the steady drum of his pulse beneath my palm. His other hand moves lower, settling at my waist, drawing me closer still.
The kiss feels endless. Sweet and unhurried, but heavy with everything we haven’t said yet.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless, lips tingling, every nerve alive.
And I think—life couldn’t feel more perfect than it does right now.
The thirty-minute drive to my apartment feels like seconds. I stay curled against him the entire way, my head resting on his chest, his touch leaving a trail of heat. Neither of us speak as the world outside blurs in gold and shadow, and we drift somewhere between real life and something softer.
When the car finally slows to a stop, Smith steps out and walks around to Rogue’s side, his back turned as he waits for instruction.
I look up at Rogue. He’s already watching me, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
“I don’t want to let you go, kitten,” he murmurs.
I smile, heart twisting. “I think I could sleep right here.”
“But it’s late,” I add, brushing a finger along the line of his jaw. “And you have practice in the morning.”
“I know,” he says, low enough it barely counts as sound. His fingers graze my jaw, then trail down the curve of my neck. Every place he touches seems to awaken beneath his hand.
He leans in and kisses me, a gentle press that steals my breath.
The sound of the engine fades, replaced by the pulse in my ears, the dizzy rhythm of him and me and nothing else.
When he pulls back enough to rest his forehead against mine, his voice is barely a whisper.
“Please tell me I’ll get to do this again, lass. Please tell me my new reality includes you.”
For a second, I can’t breathe. I search his eyes, wondering how we got here—how something that started as tension and teasing has turned into this impossible tenderness.
“I care about my job. Just like you care about your privacy. We can make it work, but we’ll have to plan. Seeing each other every day, with people and cameras around, it could get complicated fast.”
He sighs, the sound low and resigned, then nods. “We’ll make it work.”
I smile. “We will.”
I press a final kiss to his lips, quick and certain. “Now, I better go. My sister and Bri are waiting upstairs.”
He nods again but doesn’t move right away. Instead, he hauls me into one last hug—strong arms wrapping around me, his hands splayed across my back like he’s trying to memorize every inch.
Then he knocks lightly on the window, and Smith opens his door.
Rogue steps out, circles the car, and opens my door, offering his hand. He helps me out, fingers lingering around mine for a heartbeat too long.
Smith places my backpack and carry-on beside the entrance of my building.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell Rogue.
He nods, clearly fighting the same urge I am—to reach out again, to stay.
“Thank you, Smith,” I say, and he dips his head.
I sling my backpack over one shoulder, grab my carry-on, and walk toward the doors. I feel Rogue’s gaze on me the whole way, heavy and unspoken.
Every step away from him feels like defiance. Like trying to unlearn the warmth of his hands.
And even after I step inside, even as the door shuts behind me, I still feel it. The weight of him, the warmth, the quiet ache of knowing that leaving was the hardest thing I’ve done all night.