Chapter Twenty-Seven
David
The house doesn’t even feel like mine anymore.
Half the art is gone.
The awards are boxed.
The studio equipment is crated and labeled.
FRAGILE.
HAMMONTON, NJ.
But I don’t feel anxious about it.
Nah, I feel settled.
That’s my new address.
My new life.
With her.
I stand in the middle of what used to be my living room and watch movers wrap the last of it in plastic.
This is it.
Everything I built in L.A. Everything that made me who I am.
It’s going east.
To be closer to her. Not because she asked. Not because she demanded.
Because I decided.
Because I don’t want her bending her life around mine.
I want to step into hers.
And for the first time in my life?
That doesn’t feel like sacrifice.
It feels like destiny.
And the little blue box burning a hole in my pocket is all the proof I need to show her I mean it. I want this. Her. For good.
I grab my phone as I slide into the back of the car headed for the private airstrip.
No commercial flights.
No waiting.
I’m so done waiting.
She answers on the first ring.
“Sunshine,” I say immediately. “Tell me something good.”
“David! I miss you,” she blurts.
No hesitation.
No guarded tone.
Just her.
I grin despite myself. “Yeah? Good. I miss you too, but that’s done now. You can show me how much you missed me tonight—”
Silence.
Then—she squeals.
“You’re coming home?!” she gasps.
God. That word.
Home.
“Yep,” I say, stepping onto the tarmac. “About to get on a plane now, linda.”
“What airline?”
“Private jet from the studio,” I tell her.
We talk a few more minutes.
She tells me about the shop.
About Bella basking in her minor celebrity.
About Mrs. Delaney insisting she “knew that boy wasn’t single.”
I soak it in.
Her voice.
Her laugh.
The normalcy of it.
Then the flight attendant gestures.
Time.
“I gotta buckle in,” I tell her. “Call you when I land.”
“Be safe,” she says softly.
Always that.
Always be careful—like she’s worried about me. And it’s been a long time since someone was worried about me.
My chest feels tight. Warm.
“Always,” I answer, my voice gravelly.
“Alright, I lo—I mean, see you soon.”
She hangs up before I can ask her to repeat that and my heart is pounding because I know she was about to say it. She was gonna tell me she loves me.
And fuck, if that doesn’t make me the happiest man alive.
But she’s right to wait.
I’ll say it to her first. In person.
Because she deserves that from me.
The sky is heavy.
Low. Gray in a way I don’t love.
But the pilot said it’s clear on our path.
“We have rain systems east of us,” he’d said casually. “But we’ll skirt them.”
The cabin is sleek—leather seats, dark wood trim, low ambient lighting. Quiet luxury. The kind of space that feels detached from reality.
I buckle in.
The engines roar to life.
And as we climb, I feel it.
That pull.
That ache.
Missing her is physical.
Like a low hum in my chest that won’t quiet.
I pull my headphones on.
There’s equipment onboard—portable rig, production setup. I told myself I’d use the flight to tweak the bridge.
But that’s not what comes out.
Every time I start building a beat—it shifts.
Softens. Something warmer creeps in.
Not club ready.
Not stadium ready.
More like turn down the lights ready.
It’s her.
The rhythm feels like the cadence of her voice.
The rise and fall like the way she says my name.
I shake my head.
“Jesus,” I mutter to myself.
I’m writing love songs now?
For a bookstore girl in polka dots and Berenstain Bears panties?
Maybe I am.
And I don’t even hate it.
Hours pass, but I hardly notice, engrossed with my music and thoughts of her.
I glance at my watch. We should be there soon.
And I can’t wait.
The plane jolts.
Light turbulence.
Normal.
The captain’s voice crackles overhead.
“Nothing to worry about, sir. Some weather systems ahead, but we’ll adjust course.”
I barely register it.
I’m replaying her laugh in my head.
The way she said she missed me without thinking.
The way she looked at me in that bathroom.
The way she froze when I claimed her.
The plane jolts harder.
This time I look up.
The windows are dark now.
Clouds thick. Rain streaking sideways.
That’s not skirting.
That’s in it.
Another jolt. Sharper.
My headphones slide off one ear.
The captain again, voice tighter now.
“Uh, Mr. Mars, we’re encountering unexpected system movement. We’re adjusting altitude.”
The cabin lights flicker.
Warning chime.
Seatbelt sign glows brighter.
I sit up straighter.
Okay. Not ideal.
But fine.
Private jets hit weather all the time.
We’re good.
Another drop.
Not a shake.
A drop.
My stomach lurches.
Someone in the front cabin curses.
The plane banks sharply left.
That’s when I notice—the storm isn’t passing.
We’re dead center inside it.
Lightning flashes across the window.
Close. Too fucking close.
The warning lights blink on across the control panel up front.
Red.
Flashing.
My pulse kicks up.
This isn’t normal turbulence.
The pilot’s voice is no longer calm.
“Tower, this is Flight 9X-Delta, we’re requesting emergency routing. Repeat—emergency routing.”
Emergency.
The word slams into me.
My phone.
I grab it.
No signal.
Of course there’s no signal.
The plane drops again, harder this time.
Loose equipment slides.
The cabin tilts.
And suddenly all I can think about is her.
Hilary.
Back in Hammonton.
Probably sitting up.
Probably checking her phone.
Waiting for my call.
And I never said it.
I never fucking said it.
I told her I was coming back.
I told her I’d prove it.
But I never told her.
Fuck.
I never said the words.
The plane shudders violently.
A crack of thunder so loud it feels like it splits the cabin.
The pilot’s voice again, strained.
“We’re going to attempt emergency landing—”
Attempt.
My hands grip the armrests.
My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
I am not afraid of much.
I’ve stood on stages in front of a hundred thousand people.
I’ve walked away from deals that would’ve buried me.
But this—this helplessness?
It hits different.
The ground rushes up in my mind before I can see it.
And all I can think—all I can feel—is this crushing, unbearable realization.
I never told Hilary that I love her.
The plane dips.
The lights go out.
The ground rushes up—a collage of rain, asphalt, mud, flashing lights, and metal.
The sound is—loud. Unbearably loud.
And after one suspended, breathless second—everything goes black.