Tara fixes her posture, standing up straighter as she tries to study me. “Do the exit row briefing,” she commands, turning her back to us and heading up the aisle.
“Do you want me to do it?” Indy offers.
“No.” I push my shoulders back. “It’s my job. I can do it.”
Wearing my faux mask of confidence I haven’t had to fake in quite a while, I make the trek to the exit row. I sense eyes on me, but I try to ignore the stares. There’s no way in hell these guys haven’t seen the nasty comments online, and they all know I’m the girl from the picture.
It’s embarrassing, to be honest, but I’m just trying to get through the day.
Keeping my eyes on the ground, I address Maddison and Zanders. “Are you ready for me to brief you on the exit row?”
“Stevie,” Zanders says in a breath of relief, asking for my attention.
“Are you guys ready?” I ask again. This time, my eyes find Maddison, begging for him to answer so I can get this over with and hide in the galley once again.
He feels terrible. It’s evident in the way he’s looking at me, so finally, he nods his head to allow me to begin.
Zanders’ eyes burn into me the entire time as I repeat the exact same emergency briefing I’ve given them all season. I’m almost positive they both have this memorized, but Zanders watches, hanging on every word, begging for me to look at him. I can’t, though. It hurts too much.
This used to be fun. It used to be the perfect excuse to see him right before every takeoff, but this time I hate it.
“Are you willing and able to help in case of emergency?”
I look to Maddison first. “Yes,” he answers, his eyes bouncing to Zanders, clearly uncomfortable sitting in the tension between his best friend and me.
Refusing to glance at Zanders, I keep myself distracted by staring off to nothing, waiting for him to say yes.
He knows the rules. He has to say yes before I can leave, but he stays silent, so I repeat, “Are you willing and able to help in case of emergency?”
“Stevie.” His tone is laced with desperation.
“Are you willing and able to help in case of emergency?”
“Can you look at me?” he softly asks, sitting forward.
I don’t care that his tone is sad. I have to do my job right now, and he’s not letting me. He’s the one who broke up with me, and here he is, forcing me to stand in front of him. It’s a unique form of torture.
“Please look at me,” he begs.
“Can you answer the question?”
In my peripheral, I watch him slump back into his seat, defeated. “Yeah. I’m willing and able to help.”
That’s all I need to hear, so I take off, ready to get back to my space of safety. But today, there’s not a single place on this plane that feels like a refuge. It’s smaller and more cramped than it’s ever been.
I only make it two steps before Zanders grabs my forearm, willing me to stop. Unfortunately, I wasn’t prepared for the physical contact, and his touch burns my skin, reminding my body how much it misses his.
Looking down at his hand, the first thing I notice is my old, tattered ring on his pinky. Why is he still wearing it? I want him to take it off because there’s too much meaning behind it being on his hand, but at the same time, I hope he never does.
Another mistake I make is drifting my gaze north. His hazel eyes are glossed over yet hopeful for my attention. His brows are furrowed, begging for me to stay and talk to him. His Adam’s apple bobs in a thick swallow before he opens his mouth to speak, but I stop him before he can.
“Do you need something? A drink? A pillow? Something to eat? You know, since I’m just your flight attendant now.”
Maddison’s head falls back to his headrest as if my words affected him.
Zanders’ face shows the physical hurt my words cause, but most of me doesn’t care. He hurt me. It’s only fair for him to feel a tiny morsel of what I’m experiencing.
That’s a lie. I love him too much to wish him pain, but in self-preservation, I don’t know how to make myself feel okay at this moment. Or any moment, really.
“Sparkling water, I’m assuming?”
Exhaling a sharp breath, he rapidly blinks and shakes his head until finally, he releases my arm and allows me to leave.
Keeping my stare focused on the back galley, I will my feet to carry me there as quickly as possible, attempting to hold my poker face until I can hide.
“You’re a badass,” Indy compliments as soon as I step into our workspace. “But if you want to take a second to cry, I’ll cover you.”