Page 2 of Fear of Flying

“Good, good. You’ll be on the Davidson versus Davidson case. I think it’s about time you took one of these for the team, right?” He laughed.

Sick to his stomach, Drew laughed too. “Yessir. It’s been a while for me.”

The “queer case rotation”—the words they so rarely said aloud, which was almost hilarious given the crap they’d all just said.

“Alright, y’all, let’s have a good Monday!” Vanderwall Junior said cheerfully.

Drew tapped the red button on his phone and just sat and stared at his phone screen for a minute. Part of him wished he could hang up the phone more forcefully. Slam it down on the hanger like he could back when he was a kid. That hadn’t really helped, though maybe it had always made him feel just a tiny bit better. But jabbing his finger hard into the end call button on his smartphone didn’t really have the same effect.

Drew closed his eyes and gave himself a shake mentally, then rolled his shoulders back and stretched his neck side to side, trying to rid himself of the tension and that uncomfortable feeling of... whatever it was, that feeling that made his spine crawl a bit. Like anxiety mixed with guilt.

His phone screen went dark, and he tapped it with a finger to see what time it was. There on his home screen was a picture of him and Milo, a slightly older mutt from the shelter where he volunteered. The volunteers weren’t supposed to have favorites, but they all did, and his favorite was Milo. Some odd mix between a Catahoula and a pit bull, but with a slight scruffiness to his coat, Milo was adorable and always happy to see Drew.

Dammit. His heart clenched. Maybe he should just quit his job and adopt Milo.

He huffed out a short breath. That would work for all of two months because that was about as long as he could support himself with his limited savings. At least he’d be able to go see Milo tomorrow. Wednesday too. Another reason to look forward to his weekday comp days—the shelter was less busy, and he’d be able to spend more time with the dogs.

Drew startled when the alarm on his phone went off. Right. Time to finish packing and get to JFK. In a little less than eight hours, he’d be home, and he could just head back to his tiny apartment and crash. Sleep until tomorrow if he wanted to. And definitely, definitely ignore all work-related shit.

Chapter Two

Zach

Zach hated flying. It would be fine, though. Fine.

As the rest of the flight was boarding, he reached up to check for the fourth time in as many minutes that the tiny little blower was working—twisting it one way and then the other to ensure it was open fully. Yep. Just like the last three times. He put his palm up to the vent. Yeah, okay, it was indeed blowing, though labeling the temperature of the air coming out of it “cool” seemed far too generous.

Zach swallowed thickly and tugged lightly at the collar of his T-shirt as though it would actually help anything. It wasn’t like he was wearing a suit and tie for work. His clothes weren’t making him feel overly warm. It was nerves. He knew damn well it was nerves, and lying to himself was clearly not working anyway.

Just like the air vent above him.

Nervously tapping his fingers on his knee, he peeked through the crack in the seats to the row in front of him. An older gentleman sat in the aisle seat, and he was already sleeping, his head tilted back and his mouth open. How anyone could sleep on a flight was beyond Zach. At least the man’s snoring was hardly audible over the dull hum of the plane’s engines. Zach glanced up at the man’s air vent, very tempted to try and redirect its flow even though he wasn’t sitting in the same row and he knew it wasn’t designed to swivel that far. The man was sleeping, after all. He wouldn’t really miss it, would he? Just a tiny trickle of tepid air. But no, it would be weird to even try. He’d have to unbuckle and stand up and...

Zach shook his head. He was fine. Really. He had his own air, blowing from his own vent, and when the plane started to move, it would blow a little harder. Maybe keep him from feeling more nauseous. And besides, the aisle seat to his right was open still, though the flight attendant perkily chatting away on the intercom had mentioned it was a full flight. He blew out a long breath. It wasn’t like it mattered, right? Then again, if 11B wasn’t going to be occupied, he could scoot over and have a little more room. Less claustrophobic would be better, right? Fewer bodies meant less body heat, and that meant he’d...

It didn’t matter. It wasn’t the temperature of the plane’s cabin that was the problem. It never was.

His phone buzzed in the side pocket of his cargo pants, making him jump. Right. He was supposed to have texted Jen and let her know he’d actually made it onto the plane. It wasn’t like he was that afraid of flying—he’d always made it onto the plane. Well, almost always. It was just the takeoff that bothered him, really. And the landing. And when there was turbulence. And when—

Another buzz. Right, Jen.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. Yep—two texts from Jen, same as always.

Jen: Hey, you! It’s go time. Tell me your butt is in a seat!

Jen: ON THE PLANE, not in the airport or in a rental car.

Zach: Butt in seat. On the plane. Mission accomplished.

Jen: Good job!! Now stop freaking out.

Zach: I’m not freaking out!

Jen: How many times have you checked the air vent?

Zach: Shut up

Jen: Everything is going to be fine, dude. Promise!

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