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I’m shaking my head as I stare between them, “I don’t want to drink anymore.” My voice breaks. But I repeat the sentiment over and over into their chests. Their arms. Shoulders. Into Philly as the wind whips against us.
I promise them, the city, and myself—I don’t want to drink anymore.
I won’t drink.
I’m going to be sober. For good.
39
BANKS MORETTI
NOW
In the cover of darkness, we leave Los Angeles.
Redeye on the private jet is a fucking blessing. I don’t care much about the bougie amenities. Only the luxury seats with the extra space to stretch my long-ass legs. Flying commercial, I feel like a praying mantis squeezed into a thimble. On the private plane, it’s easier to sleep. And sleep comes easy for most bodyguards. Seeing as how we might be confronting money shot-thirsty paparazzi when we land, it’s better to rack out now. What kind of hellfire awaits us? What kind of hellfire awaits Sulli?
That depends on whether anyone leaked our arrival into Philly.
So when I wake up, I first look to Akara.
He’d know if we’re headed for a shit storm.
And he’s already on his phone. Typical Kitsuwon.
“Any issues?” I ask quietly while Sulli is still asleep between us. She’s drooling on Akara’s arm, and he’s careful not to disturb her.
“None.” He smacks his phone to his palm, his brows cinched. “Press still thinks the families are in L.A.”
“Then why do you look like you dropped your phone in the toilet?”
He shakes his head, a smile inching up his lips. “Dang, Banks. Taking shots at my phone already.” After a quick glance to Sulli, he keeps his voice to a whisper. “It just feels too good to be true.”
“Too easy?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna take the easy when it comes.” I stretch out my stiff legs. “It might not be coming around again.”
Akara nods, looks out the plane window as sunshine streams onto our row. With the time change—it must be closer to the afternoon in Philly than the early morning. I can tell Akara is trying to relax, but he’ll only do a good job of that when Sulli wakes up.
She’d actually prefer to be up while we’re up, so I stretch my right leg over into her space. Knocking calves and ankles.
Sulli stirs. “Wah…” She squints at the sunlight.
Akara instantly smiles.
God, I rock. I lean further back, hands behind my head in a deeper stretch.
“Hey, drool monster,” Akara says.
Sulli flushes. “Oh…” She touches her slick lips, then rubs the wet spot on Akara’s sleeve. “Fuck, sorry, Kits.”
I stretch my arm over her shoulder. “He’s never washing that shirt.”
Akara smiles, “Yep, it’s going in a display box over the bed.”
“No it’s fucking not.” She knocks her knees into our knees. “It’s going in the wash.”
Akara tilts his head to me. “Should we get an engraved plaque? Sulli’s Twentieth Drool.”
Sulli’s jaw drops. “I haven’t drooled twenty times on you, Kits.” She slugs his arm.
We’re all laughing and joking and smiling when the plane does finally land. And here I am, thinking good things. Happy things. That maybe the biggest threats were left back in L.A. With the Olympics behind us, the worst of my fears are left in our wake.
No paparazzi are on the tarmac.
We’ve landed at Emerald Aviation, a fixed-base operator that serves the private jets here in Philly. It’s away from the hustle and bustle of the Philadelphia International Airport.
Airplane hangars fill up the area more than people.
No one to spot us. No videos and pics will end up online.
Still, we’re ahead of the media.
I’m feeling good.
But as we descend the short stairs to the tarmac, Akara receives a phone call. His face turns serious. Grave. “This is Akara Kitsuwon. Yeah…okay?” is all I hear him say.
I busy myself with our luggage.
Tossing Sulli’s suitcase and Akara’s duffel into the backseat of a security SUV. When I go to grab mine, Akara rounds the trunk to whisper, “It’s security from the apartment building.”
“Of the penthouse?”
He nods stiffly, still on the phone.
And then Akara forces a smile on Loren Hale, who peeks over at us. I give him a cordial wave. He’s been talking with Sulli near the mound of suitcases.
Lo is considered the pettiest person among the families, and I reasoned that’s why he was an arctic blast towards us and Sulli when he heard we were all together. That and he’s going to side with his brother Ryke on just about everything.
So when Ryke was feeling on edge around us, Lo was feeling more protective of him.
I have a brother. I get it.
But Lo means something to me. I’ve protected his youngest son for years. And I always thought he liked me and Thatcher.
Lo nods back to me with a less sharp-edged smile.
It’ll take it.
Hell, since Ryke is more accepting of our triad, Lo has been too—and I’m not gonna toss aside these small moments like they mean nothing. However brief and fleeting, they count for me. I never expect too much out of people. Especially men who I want to look up to.
