Page 163 of Unruly

Zeke snorted. “I bet you do. So hey, when we get to Fredericton and come closer to the airport …”

“What about it?”

At least his chattering teeth had stopped.

“We kind of need you to get on the jet without going through the airport.”

Cross glared up at the car roof. “Couldn’t you just bring me another set of my false documents?”

“Listen, I can’t fucking think of everything.”

True enough.

“Keep going, Zeke.”

“Most of the runways are just surrounded by fields. I’m going to drop you off at the end of one. You’re going to need to keep going south until you come to the one with a six on it.”

“Six.”

“You’ll get in the jet just before we roll down the rest of the runway to take off.”

“Huh,” Cross said.

“We’ll land at the private airstrip in New York. The pilot is going to get back up in the air and land again where he’s supposed to … mostly on time, with no one any wiser.”

“Well, then.”

Zeke looked over his shoulder, but quickly went back to the road. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you for fucking up a couple months ago,” Cross admitted. “Really would have screwed me today, I think.”

Zeke cleared his throat. “Is that so?”

Friends like Zeke only came once in a lifetime. And some didn’t even get to find their once-in-a-lifetime friend.

Cross was never more grateful for his.

“Ride or die, Zeke.”

“Ride or die,” his friend echoed.

Then, Zeke threw a cell phone into the backseat. Cross picked it up.

“Call your mother and father first,” Zeke said.

“I think Catherine—”

“She’s been fielding their calls all day, man. Call your parents first. She’s okay with it.”

Cross dialed a familiar number. Not even a full two rings, and his father picked up.

“Zeke?”

“It’s me, Papa,” Cross said, his throat aching and his voice raspy.