I turn away from her and walk to one of several mini-fridges in the plane, grab two waters, and when the plane begins to shudder, I’m reminded of a smooth flight turned bumpy years back. The flight attendant ended up smacking the ceiling and being slammed to the ground. I’d stabilized her broken leg and handed her four bottles of whiskey to get her to the ground. There’s a lesson in that memory, and that lesson is to never, ever forget that the calm is always before the storm. Pri is the calm. Waters is the storm. And this doesn’t end until he’s dead. And the bastard’s father lived to a hundred and one.
I head back to my seat and settle in next to Pri, placing the waters in the drink holders. She hands me a sandwich. “Don’t worry,” she says. “There’s more where that came from. They gave us four. I’m only eating one.”
I don’t argue. I’m still all about replacing the whiskey in my body with something else and making sure I’m whole again when we set down in New York. I open my wrapper and for a few moments that stretch into about two minutes, we both eat. It’s a comfortable silence despite the heat and conflict between us. There are things I could say to Pri, and things she could say to me, no doubt, questions she could ask, and probably burns to ask, but I think we both know that we need to be alone for that conversation, and not on a clock.
Which is a real thing.
Judging from the downward trajectory of the plane, we’ll be on the ground in twenty minutes, and it will be time for me to make a decision: Let Pri go to the Walker building, where the Walker family will keep her safe. Or take her home with me. I want her to go home with me, but it feels like a turning point. Once she’s there, once she’s in my home, there’s no turning back.
I finish off my sandwich and Pri hands me another. When we’re done eating, and our altitude is quickly decreasing, Pri turns to face me. “Thank you for being worried about me tonight.”
“Thank you?” I challenge softly. “I don’t need a thank you, Pri.”
“I know,” she says quickly. “I get that. You did it because you were worried.”
“Losing my fucking mind worried,” I amend.
“Then you know how I felt when you went over that fence and I feared it was a trap.”
It was, I think, but I don’t tell her that now. Not when she clearly has a point to make. Not when we’re so close to an abrupt ending to any conversation that starts now. “You don’t have to be with me, Adrian. There’s no obligation here because of who I am and who you are.”
“There was never an obligation to us, Pri.”
“As you said—”
“That was—”
“Complicated,” she says. “I know.” And then to my surprise, she says nothing else. She settles back in her seat and grips the arms, her fingers digging deep into the leather. Whatever she’d been about to say, she’s decided against.
And I’m not sure what to think about that.
Chapter Fifteen
PRI
Once Adrian and I are on the ground, reality slams into me. We’re here because we’re hiding from a madman who is alive and well and will stay that way. When does this end? How does that end? And of course, I’d sworn off Adrian one minute, and I’m pretty sure he’d done the same with me, but the next moment, we were kissing, and then falling asleep in each other’s arms. He could have died tonight protecting me. We are not good for each other and yet it’s as if we’re both drugged when we’re together.
We’re a mess.
Waters wins when we’re a mess.
Once we’ve deplaned into the bitter cold of New York City, I’m instantly wishing for a winter coat. Adrian shrugs out of his light leather jacket and folds it around my shoulders. “We’ll get you a coat tomorrow,” he promises, a promise that assumes we’ll be together tomorrow. He also carries my bag that was packed in advance and his hand, warm despite the cold night, rests possessively under the jacket on my lower back as I climb in the back of an SUV. We’re not doing a good job of being professional, but then I guess he never said we needed to be professional. That was my thought. He simply said we’re not in love, or something close enough, to have me down a bottle of whiskey. A mini bottle, but to me, that’s plenty big enough for an impact.
I’m not sure where any of that leaves us or leads us for that matter.
Once we’re sealed in the vehicle, with the heat cranked nice and warm, the driver turns to greet me. Even before he says, “Hi, Pri. I’m Luke Walker. It’s nice to meet you,” I’ve recognized his familiar dark good looks.