Page 33 of Midnight Ink

Ian blinks. “What?!”

I nod. Obviously I can’t tell him why. I want to open this door and fling myself out of it. “She’s sick.” I swallow. “Explosive diarrhea.” Serves her right. “She’s sending us the information for the hotel.”

Ian’s mouth twists. “Well, tell her I hope she feels better.”

Yeah, I won’t be doing that. The car ride is quiet, and I try to make sense of everything. Two weeks alone with Ian on a beautiful beach. There are worse things, I guess. My gaze swings to him as the buildings pass us by. There’s something a bit off about him, but I don’t know why. Nerves maybe.

Maybe . . . maybe Anna’s right.

Maybe I should make a move.

The thing is, Ian’s never even hinted at feeling anything. He’s been so wrapped up in missing Maddox, I don’t think he’s even capable of loving another person that way. And why would it be me? I’m an anxious fucking mess. He’s talked me through more panic attacks and anxious shutdowns than I can count.

I jolt at the fingers threading through mine. “You’ll be okay.” He smiles softly.

“What?”

“The plane ride. I can feel how nervous you are.” He gives me another reassuring squeeze. Not that I was even thinking that. Fuck, that’s right, the plane. I’ve put off fully sinking my thoughts into it. “Planes are pretty cool. I haven’t been on one in a while, though.”

Yeah. Plane ride. While yeah, that has me nervous, it’s Anna’s words that are squeezing my lungs and making it hard to breathe. Make a move. “Just nervous.”

For the plane ride. For this trip. For facing things that I’ve only dreamt of wanting.

After waiting in line we’re finally ready to check in. “How many bags?” the service agent asks.

“None, we’ll take them with us.” Ian looks at me.

I put my bag up and get a tag. He puts his up on the scale and she shakes her head. “This one will need to be checked. It’s too large.”

“You sure?”

She blinks at him.

“Look, I just, is there any way I can take this on the plane?

“Ian, just check the bag. It’ll be okay.”

“Maybe I should take the ashes out,” he says to me. “Is there room in yours?”

“Not really. I didn’t bring a big bag, I just packed mine full. Maybe we can take some of my stuff out and I can make room.” Although I think about the overhead and throwing the bag up there. Unlike Ian’s suitcase, my duffel bag doesn’t have padding. “I don’t want it to break, though. What if someone knocks into you or it falls and breaks?”

Ian thinks. “What if they lose it?”

“They won’t lose the bag.”

“Sir, we have a line, you need to make a decision,” she says with a tight smile.

I squeeze his bicep. “It’ll be okay.”

“Fine.” Ian pays for the bags to be checked and we head through security—with a very handsy TSA agent—then we make our way to the boarding line and wait. I’m shaking now. The smell of burnt coffee and greasy fries turns my stomach. My skin itches. This will be fine. It’ll be fine. I grip my boarding pass in my sweaty hands, opening and closing the folder and picking at the edges of the cardboard. My knee bounces harder with every second.

It’s fine. This is happening and it’ll be fine. It will be fine.

The announcement crackles overhead, making me jump.

“Hey,” Ian says. His voice is soft and careful like he’s approaching a feral kitten. I don’t look at him. Instead, I stare down at the blue and white carpet cut with vacuum lines. “Jules.”

“If you tell me some stupid bullshit like it’s safer to fly than drive, I’m going to walk out of this airport.”