A blooming bruise, right below her collarbone.
My pulse quickens, the roar of my heartbeat drowning everything out. My jaw locks before my brain even catches up.
She doesn’t notice me staring as she continues talking. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this airport so busy this late. You didn’t have to wait, you know. You really didn’t.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I did.”
Her voice falters. “You—you did?”
“Layla.” I soften it this time, letting her name hang in the space between us. “You hungry?”
Her head pops up, surprised by the shift. “Starving.”
“Good,” I murmur, grabbing her suitcase before she can, as it comes around on the belt. “Figured as much.”
“Oh my god, thank you, I swear it weighs less than it looks—actually, no, that’s a lie, it probably weighs a ton?—”
“Not heavy,” I say, because she looks like she needs me to say it.
I set it upright beside me, my hand brushing hers for half a second.
“Truck’s outside,” I tell her.
“I can’t believe you drove all the way here, that’s like an hour. You didn’t have to do that. I could’ve?—”
“Layla.”
“Right. You said you’d be here.” She smiles again, softer this time. “You really meant it.”
“Always do.”
A faint blush colors her cheeks in this pretty hue of scarlet as she looks at me, really looks, and, for the first time since she stepped off that plane, she stops talking.
The silence remains, full yet comfortable, before I nod toward the doors. “C’mon. Let’s get some food in you.”
She falls into step beside me, her sleeve brushing my arm as we head for the exit.
Her perfume curls through the air—cherry and vanilla notes—and it makes the whole damn airport feel smaller.
Outside, the air is cooler with the distant promise of rain. The parking lot lights cast a soft yellow glow over the pavement, catching in her hair as she tugs her hood tighter.
“You cold?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No, just… tired.”
“Yeah,” I mumble, unlocking the truck. “You and me both.”
I steal a quick look at that bruise barely visible under her hoodie. A quiet, yet intense anger builds inside me, tightly coiled in my chest.
Whoever put that mark on her is never touching her again.
We don’t talk as we walk. Her sneakers scuff against the concrete, and my boots clack.
The air carries that faint autumn bite that sneaks under your collar, sharp enough to make her tuck her chin into her hoodie.
Her suitcase rattles behind her, the wheels clicking unevenly over the cracks. I reach for the handle before I even realize it. She lets go without a word.
We keep moving as rain trickles in from the structure’s open edges.
