I obey, staring with wide eyes at the glittering lights of a city below us. It’s beautiful. I made it. I’m in New York. Sort of. Almost.
“Would you like to hold my hand during the landing?” he offers.
“I might break it.”
“I doubt it.” He holds his hand out.
I extract myself from the blanket and grasp his hand.
Landing is as terrifying as taking off. The roar of the engines fills my ears. I’m pressed against my seat. As we touch down, the plane jolts, chattering my teeth together. The tires screech on the landing strip, the plane rumbles. For a few, heart pounding moments, I’m convinced we’re never going to stop. Then we’re slowing down, and the plane feels like it’s under control oncemore. I guess it was never out of control, no matter how it seemed. Through it all, Emmet held my hand. His fingers are still tangled through mine.
“You did it,” he says, once we’ve stopped at the terminal and the sky bridge is attached.
“Only because you were here.”
He squeezes my hand. “I’m glad I could help.” He lets go and takes a business card out of his pocket. “In case you need anything while you’re in my area.”
I blink slowly. “Need anything?”
“A tour guide. Company. Anything.”
My head spins, but this time it isn’t due to fear.
He gives me the business card. “It was nice meeting you, Ty.”
“And you. Emmet.”
“Who knows? Maybe we’ll see each other at the Pride march.” He raises his hand and skims his fingers against the tips of my hair. “Or maybe you’ll call me.”
Emmet stays with me until we reach the passport control lines. He squeezes my hand one last time.
“Take care,” he says, softly.
“You too.”
Then he heads to the line for US citizens, which is much shorter than the queue for foreign nationals. It’s okay. I’m on the ground. I’m no longer on the verge of a panic attack and, thanks to Emmet, I’m rested. That might not have been the most sensible plan, as I’m likely to be awake all night, but it made the flight go faster. I’m still smiling about the way he gently restrained me to help me relax. The blanket was a restraint. There’s no other way to describe it. He put me in sensorydeprivation, so the thing I was most aware of was his calming touch, and it was wonderful. If he’s not a Dom, I’ll eat my non-existent hat. If he’s not a Dom, he damn well should be.
Eventually, I get through passport control and retrieve my baggage. As I head into arrivals, I spy Rett, Zeke, and a good-looking blond guy holding a sign with my name and ‘Welcome to NY’ on it in bright bubble writing. Rett and Zeke have changed since I last saw them. To be fair, that was years ago, when we were all in secondary school. I was thirteen when they went to Sixth Form. By the time I was old enough to go, they’d left. I saw them from time to time on base until they went traveling around the world, but it’s been eleven years since I’ve spent any real time in their orbit. They didn’t need to put me up. I’m practically a stranger.
“Nice hair,” Zeke says. He’s American, but his dad was posted in the UK while he was growing up. His accent is different to Emmet’s, but I don’t know enough about US accents to be able to place it.
“Good flight?” Rett has a gentle, lilting Oxfordshire accent, similar to mine.
“Uh…” I glance around, hoping to catch sight of Emmet, even though he’s probably long gone. “Yeah, in the end. I was pretty nervous, but this guy took care of me.”
“Took care of you?” Zeke asks. “Well, aren’t you the lucky one?”
I rub the back of my neck. “It wasn’t like that.” Was it? Emmet’s business card is burning a hole in my pocket.
“Tyler, this is our Daddy, Micah,” Zeke says, his voice low enough that no one will be able to overhear.
“Pleased to meet you,” Micah says in a posh English accent, the kind you tend to hear in movies. The one everyone outside of the UK thinks is how we all speak, even though that couldn’t be further from the truth.
“And you,” I reply, shaking his hand.
“We’ll get a cab home,” Zeke says, pointing toward the exit.
I follow them outside, where we get into a taxi pretty quickly.
