Page 117 of Deliverance

We’re still in the air and I’m a bit disoriented from the novelty and absurdity of this trip, and when I check my phone, the time confuses me even more. I feel as if I lost an entire day and it’s bright and sunny outside the window.

“How long have I been sleeping?” I rub my face and straighten up in my seat.

Zander’s taken off his cap and jacket. “A couple of hours.” He reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together on his lap.

I let him.

“We’re almost there.” He smiles coyly and holds my gaze.

“You’re not going to tell me where we’re going.” I laugh softly and grab my coffee from the cup holder, but it’s not even lukewarm. It’s cold. Which only confirms that we’ve been in the air for a while.

“I know you don’t like surprises,” Zander says quietly, leaning in. “But you’ll like this one.” His scent—wood, salt, and ocean—reaches my nose and I inhale slowly and savor him. He continues to look at me and the intensity of his stare turns my belly to mush.

“You guarantee it?” I whisper, the noise of the aircraft devouring my words.

“I do.”

“That’s quite the statement.”

“I’ve done my research.” He laughs, his body still close to mine, our shoulders touching.

I can’t help but smile back. No, I grin. Like a high-schooler. It’s something I haven’t done in years. Since high school, actually.

We’re silent for a few minutes, holding hands.

“How did your mother even let you leave the house?” I joke eventually, remembering how much Zander complained in his texts about Mrs. Shaw taking over his house and his life.

“It’s not the first time I’ve gotten myself into a pickle,” he explains. “She’ll get over it.”

Fear sweeps through my chest. “But you’re okay, right?”

“I’m fine.”

A few online publications said otherwise, and when, a week after his accident, I came across an article stating he had six broken ribs, I panicked. I called him and blackmailed him into telling me the truth.

I can’t agree to this trip if you’re not well.

I’m not lying, Drew. It’s not even a fracture. I’ll be good as new in a couple of weeks.

Worrying about someone other than myself and my mother feels strange. In a nice way.

“What about the gig?”

Zander’s hand squeezes mine briefly. “I don’t want to half-ass it on the record. We’re going to get back to the studio and record the last two songs during the holidays, I think.” He averts his gaze and stares at the empty space in front of him.

Something swells in the air between us, and a few heartbeats later, he turns to look at me. His face shifts as if he’s debating whether to tell me what’s on his mind. “Can I ask you about Zero Ecstasy?”

The question renders me speechless at first. It’s like an invisible punch in the gut, but I recover quickly. People die every day. Cash’s premature departure shouldn’t affect me this much anymore, but for some reason, it does, and I’m starting to hate it. I’m starting to hate the fact that I can’t seem to let go of the pain that still keeps me hostage. Despite having learned how to let go of other pains and other emotions. Anger. Resentment. Doubts.

“Sure.” I nod.

Zander’s hand never releases mine. “When Leo was over a couple of weeks ago, we ended up listening to the vinyl you gave me.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Leo. Is he the singer?” I’m transported back to my high school years. Something tugs at my memory.

“Propaganda. Yeah. He's the lead singer for Bleeding Faith, the band I’m working with. He loved the album and he wants to meet with the girl who owns the masters.”

I don’t know what to say. Mainly because I don’t know why exactly Leo—the same Leo half of my friends went crazy for—cares to connect with Sienna. Things are suddenly taking an odd turn. “What for?” I blurt out.

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