Chapter 28 Hilary
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hilary
Adrianna’s bedroom smells like peppermint tea and laundry detergent.
Soft.
Safe.
Normal.
Which is exactly why I needed to be here.
Because David is coming home tonight and I know that means we’re about to take this thing to a new level.
And part of me is really nervous because if I’m wrong about him—well, there goes my heart.
Ad’s propped up on a mountain of pillows, one hand resting over the slight swell of her belly, the other flipping through the paperback I just handed her.
“You bought me three?” she says, eyebrows lifting.
“You’re on bedrest,” I remind her. “That’s basically a legally sanctioned reading vacation.”
Nathan walks in with a tray, careful as always, like the world might crack if he moves too fast.
“Tea for my girls,” he says gently.
He sets the mugs down on the nightstand and presses a kiss to Adrianna’s temple.
I swallow. That kind of quiet devotion still surprises me.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her.
“Restless,” she sighs. “Annoyed. Hungry. Emotional. So pregnant.”
We laugh.
And it feels good.
Grounding. Familiar.
I hand her one of the titles I’ve brought.
“This one’s morally gray but secretly obsessed,” I tell her. “You’ll love it. Seriously, Andres and Ellie’s story just hits you, right here.”
I tap my chest.
She smirks knowingly. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
Nathan chuckles and shakes his head. “You two and your book boyfriends.”
“You’re just jealous,” Adrianna says sweetly.
He kisses her again and leaves us to it.
We settle into the rhythm of easy conversation.
She asks about the shop.
About Bella.
About—him.
“So,” she says carefully, watching me over the rim of her mug. “How’s things with the global DJ sensation?”
I try to play it cool.
“Good. He’s busy. L.A. is nuts. He’s got these press junkets. Big launch. You know. International fame.”
“And?”
“And, well, he calls me,” I admit quietly.
Her eyes soften.
“Every night?”
“Every night.”
She studies me for a second.
“That’s not nothing, Larry.”
I nod.
“I know.”
But my stomach feels tight.
Like a thread pulled too hard.
“I just—” I hesitate. “I feel like I’m waiting.”
“For what?”
“For it to fall apart.”
Adrianna frowns.
“Why?”
“Because things like this don’t just work,” I say. “Not for me. Not like this. It’s too—”
I stop.
Because suddenly—I can’t breathe right.
It’s subtle.
Not pain.
Not panic.
Just—wrong.
Like the air shifted.
Like something just tilted off axis.
“You okay?” Adrianna asks immediately.
I blink.
“Yeah. I just—”
My phone buzzes.
We both look at it.
Unknown number.
I ignore it.
Probably spam.
The house is quiet.
Too quiet.
And then—footsteps.
Fast.
Heavy.
Bella bursts into the room.
She’s crying.
Not sniffling.
Not teary.
Crying.
Full panic in her eyes.
“Bella?” I shoot up from the chair. “What happened?”
She can’t speak at first.
Just shakes her head, clutching her phone.
Nathan rushes in behind her.
“What’s going on?”
“There’s—” she chokes. “There’s a news alert.”
My heart stops.
Actually, stops.
“What news alert?” I ask, but my voice sounds far away.
Bella turns her phone toward me.
The screen is lit up with a breaking banner.
brEAKING: Private Jet Down Near Atlantic City International Airport
My brain rejects it.
Flat out refuses.
“No, it can’t be,” I say automatically.
Bella swipes.
The next line loads.
Sources confirm aircraft registered to DJ Mars involved in emergency crash landing.
The room tilts.
No.
No, no, no, no!
“He was flying home,” Bella whispers, tears spilling harder. “They said he was flying home.”
I feel like I’m underwater.
Like sound is muffled.
Like my body isn’t fully attached to me.
Adrianna gasps behind me.
Nathan grabs Bella’s shoulders, steadying her.
“Is he—” Adrianna can’t even finish.
No updates.
No confirmation.
No fatalities listed.
Just—plane down.
Plane down.
I reach for my phone.
Hands shaking so badly I almost drop it.
Call.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
Nothing.
NOTHING.
That feeling from earlier?
The wrongness?
It explodes into full-blown dread.
This is what I was waiting for.
The other shoe.
The bubble bursting.
But not like this.
Not like this.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t think.
I can only hear one thing in my head—he said he was coming home.
And I almost told him how I feel—but I chickened out.
The thought hits like a physical blow.
“I have to go,” I say, already moving.
“Larry—” Nathan starts.
“I have to go,” I repeat.
“I’ll drive you.”
I nod.
Atlantic City is less than an hour away.
And if there’s even a chance—any chance at all—that he’s alive?
I’m not waiting for another update to tell me.