Page 2 of Understanding Fate

Even the thought of him now has my heart clenching and a smile sneaking up on my lips. He’s been so patient with me. He’s given me space to come to terms with everything but has always been there, reminding me that he’s not giving up. He’s not going away.

But what if I leave?

Shaking my head to focus on the here and now, I move down the aisle to my window seat, groaning internally at the oversized older man I will have to climb over to get into it.

“Excuse me, that one’s me,” I say with as much pleasantry as I can muster while gesturing to the seat in his row. The man glances up, eying me appreciatively, before standing up to allow me room to sit. Or at least that's what I think is happening. Instead, he gets so close to me that his protruding stomachslides across my side, and he doesn’t make any attempt to move further.

“By all means,” he says, a twinkle in his eye that has my spine straightening and me attempting to draw back from him.

Cringing internally, I tiptoe to my seat, disgusted by the amount of my body that ended up pressed against his in the process. I mentally chastise myself for not choosing an aisle seat or splurging on early boarding.

Please let someone be sitting in the middle.

Once I’m adjusted, bag tucked securely under my feet, I throw in my wireless earbuds and plant my face into a book, purposely angling it to create a physical barrier between myself and the pervy forty-something bald man who hasn’t taken his eyes off me since I got to the row. My muscles are tense, and my jaw is locked tight as I feign indifference while counting the minutes until I can escape this flying tube.

A flight attendant walks the aisle, closing overhead boxes, which pulls the man's attention, and I relax a bit. After a safety briefing and a roll down the runway, we’re up in the air. A few minutes later, despite the music playing in my ears, the sound of deep, rumbled snoring hits me, and I glance over to see my row-sharing compatriot fast asleep.

Five hours and twenty-three minutes to go.

***

Exiting the plane is far less eventful and includes the added benefit of not having to touch the man in my row. I didn’t use the bathroom the entire flight, despite needing to, just so I didn’t have to repeat my boarding experience. The man had tried to engage me in conversation a handful of times throughout the flight between his snoozing, and each time, I solidly ignored him, pretending I couldn’t hear him over the earbuds.

I wait several minutes, allowing the plane to empty before standing and gathering my bag from beneath my feet and settling my items into their respective pockets and pouches. Head down and hands full, I step out of the row only to have my shoulder crash into a wall of solid muscle. A hand grabs my arm to steady me, keeping me from falling before releasing me almost as quickly. I apologize immediately without looking up and grab the phone that drops out of my hands.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention. I thought everyone had already passed,” I fumble through my explanation while fixing my belongings and retreating into the row.

“No problem,” the deep masculine voice responds, continuing down the aisle before I can even get a look at him. Exhaling, I scan the back of the plane before stepping out a second time and heading into the Boston airport terminal.

Ethan mentioned in his email that someone would be here to drive me to my hotel, so I grab my bag from the oscillating carousel and make my way to passenger pick-up. A familiar tingling climbs up my spine as I exit the bagging area. Someone is watching me—again.

No. Not here. Damnit.

This feeling has had me on edge since I got to the airport in Vegas. Initially, I shook it off as paranoia, but the longer I stand here, the more I can almost feel the eyes on me. Keeping my gait casual, I intentionally release my breath and casually move my phone to my back pocket to free up one of my hands. I weave myself around slower travelers and try to find a way to figure out who might be following me.

A restroom sign ahead gives me the idea, and I turn into the cut-out for it, deliberately glancing behind me a moment before I disappear into the Women’s door.

No one.

Not a single person appears to be watching me.

Fuck. I’m losing it.

I sigh and sink back onto the cold tile wall of the modern restroom, cursing my stupid brain. Ever since the kidnapping, this has been happening everywhere I go—the grocery store, work, and even school. I always feel like I’m moments away from being grabbed by someone from the Reno Pack.

Deacon Marlo appears consistently in my nightmares, his Italian words dancing in my ears, his breath fanning across my neck moments before he succeeds in Awakening me. I’ve woken up screaming more times than I can count. Each time, Liv appears at my door, worry lining her face, before she silently crawls into my bed for the rest of the night.

I’ve wanted to ask Dante if he has heard anything since the exchange, but I always talk myself out of it. He has a whole pack to run. He doesn’t need to be bothered by the Unawakened girl who just lost him a pack member.

Hudson.

Pain leaks into my overly active heart at the memory of him. His face is permanently etched in my mind from the porch of Ghost’s cabin. Pure determination. He just wanted to save them.

He did save them. He saved me, too.

I still don’t feel worthy of it, but I’m determined to live a full life. That’s why I agreed to come here in the first place: to have no regrets. His sacrifice needs to matter.

Though admittedly, I’m not sure that a ‘full life’ means hiding in the bathroom on the verge of a panic attack while my mind convinces me that imaginary boogeymen are following me.

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