Page 69 of Last Destination

Christ, some weight-loss influencer would market tepid water and fruit as the Plane Crash Twenty, or something equally ludicrous, and people would rave about how great they felt while losing their will to live.

The tie around my neck was a tiny noose, the perfect metaphor for this stupid meeting.

“You’ll see in the first quarter …” Trevor Kim, my cousin, had been appointed to my position when I’d been presumed dead. He was currently bringing me and several other board members up to speed on the previous quarter’s reports. Next week, I was to resume as CEO, like the accident had never happened, just like my father had promised.

Too bad I couldn’t muster up one iota of interest.

The boardroom, once a space I spent way too much time in, felt only corporate and cold. White walls, long black table, gray carpet. Elegant, sure. Everything in here was the best money could buy, but it lacked any kind of joy. Even the windows overlooking the cityscape were drab. The sun shone in, but every blocky, concrete monstrosity absorbed it, casting the whole city in shadows.

Maybe I needed to get myself checked over. I kept catching myself missing the greenery of the jungle. And the heat. The air-conditioning in here chilled my skin to the point of pain.

As Trevor droned on, I feigned interest, turning the pages with mediocre enthusiasm as he ventured into another set of charts.

My father had welcomed me with open arms off the ship, then personally escorted me to the home I’d hated since Theresa left. She’d at least been a warm presence, even if our marriage lacked the love it needed to survive. Now, it was as empty a husk as I was.

Who the fuck was I to think about joy and emptiness? My father had given me everything I could have asked for on a silver platter, yet I was sitting here complaining in my head like a sullen teenager.

My phone vibrated in my pants pocket, and I slowly tipped it out to glance at the message. The only people who could get through when it was set to “Do Not Disturb” were Marley, Nikki, and the group chat.

I tried to take a quick peek, but the photo on the screen froze me in time. I stared at the three smiling faces, healthier than a month ago, but still so intimately familiar I knew every line as well as my own. Marley sat on an outdoor couch on a sunny porch, the green eyes I loved to stare into finally free of her ghosts. The tranquil ocean lay in the background. Nikki and Madman were on either side of her. It was a selfie, obviously taken by Nikki with how close his face was to the screen compared to the others, and each one of them radiated joy, even Madman, who wasn’t even damn smiling.

I’d received individual selfies from Nikki and Marley. We FaceTimed a few times a week, but never went to bed without saying goodnight, not once. Hell, Nikki and I had gotten off together over the phone last night, and I’d gotten a very up-close and personal view of the cum flowing out of his dick.

But they’d never sent me a picture of all of them together, like they were a unit. Without me.

“Wish you were here” was the text below. The same damn words I’d sent with a selfie that morning.

My neck flushed hot, and the noose around my neck pulled tighter. I shoved the phone back into my pocket and folded my arms across my chest in a pathetic attempt to quench my seething.

Did they? Did they actually wish I was there when they were all so cozy on their couch on their tropical island while I was sitting in this fucking freezing boardroom with Trevor’s nasally voice for company?

You chose this.

I wasn’t in the mood to negotiate with my inner voice right now, but I was stupid if I forgot how hard Nikki had kissed me and the tears we’d both blinked back when we stood awkwardly on the dock exchanging goodbyes. Marley had outright cried but kissed me sweetly, telling me she “hoped I found what I was looking for,” and Madman had given me a firm handshake, wishing me “luck.”

Christ, from him, that was practically a love letter.

My phone buzzed again, vibrating against my skin through the fabric and sending electric currents through my thigh. I ignored them for a solid minute, widening my eyes when Trevor brought up a pie chart I could give two shits about. I nodded my head along for good measure, but then curiosity won out and I snuck the phone into my lap.

This one was another photo, but sent directly from Marley. My brows furrowed as I stared at a crumpled paper poster spread out on a wooden table. I zoomed in on the lettering, but it was still too small and blurry under the table.

Losing patience at being discreet, I brought the phone right up in front of my face to read it.

It was a sales ad for an old, derelict ecotourism resort. What the fuck?

“We’re thinking of buying this” Marley had sent after the photo. “We’re going to look at it this week. Might not have all the cash, but we’ll get a loan if we need to.”

An ecotourism resort? Of all things, that wasn’t one I’d considered for their future, but I hadn’t spent much time thinking of their future, had I?

The dreaded three dots of another message started and stopped thirty times before the next message came through. I waited in eager anticipation, confused and a little bitter, not caring about the eyes staring through my skull as I rudely ignored Trevor and focused on the bubble that continued to disappear.

Finally, it came through. “There is always a home for you here. We miss you.”

There is always a home for you here.

Fuck. Slick sweat lined my palms and I dropped my phone onto the hard polished table with a resounding clatter.

My suit was now the noose, squeezing in on my cuffs, along my chest, and tightening around my thighs and ankles — a corporate straitjacket. My tongue swelled against the roof of my mouth, and short bursts of air shot through my nostrils as the overwhelming rolling heat of a panic attack threatened to choke me.