Page 18 of At First Flight
“You are not wrong. It’s even worse with my brothers. They’d call just as I was about to step out the door with Prescott, not that he ever let me answer, knowing it would probably piss him off.”
“Speaking of Prescott…”
The name drops into the room like a grenade.
The pink cashmere sweater slips from my hands and pools at my feet, but I barely register it. My body stills, the breath in my lungs locking tight as if the syllables alone carry weight enough to crush me. It shouldn’t hurt. He shouldn’t have that kind of power anymore, but hearing his name from someone else’s lips slices deeper than when I say it myself. Like it makes him real again. Like it pulls him from the shadowy corners of my past and plants him squarely in my present.
I feel like I’ve been yanked backward, like I’m standing in the boutique again, drowning in lace and lies. My stomach twists, and the faintest tremor runs through my hands. I blink,forcing myself to stay grounded at this moment, not the one I left behind.
Dean’s name grounded me before. But Prescott’s name? It splinters.
And for the first time, I realize that healing doesn’t mean I’m immune. It just means I’m fighting to keep my footing every time the past tries to drag me under.
“Has he come by?” I ask in an unforgiving sense of panic.
Ashvi leans up onto her elbows and looks at me, assessing my change in demeanor. Without saying a word, she quickly rushes to my side and wraps me in her arms again.
“No, he hasn’t been by,” she whispers as she lovingly strokes her fingers through my mess of hair. “Is there something more I should know about, Lila? Something you’re not telling me?”
Ashvi knows all about Prescott’s actual family, but I’ve left out the part where I felt like a prisoner in my own life. I ran away from the confines of my small town, only to end up in a snow globe perched upon a shelf for my fiancé to toy with when he desired.
“No. I just…I don’t want him to bother anyone here.”
She leans back, reminding me so much of my mother at that moment that I also break down into the tears I’d been keeping at bay for the last two weeks.
“You’re lying to me, but I’ll play along this time.”
Ashvi steps back, notices the soft material pooled on the floor, and reaches for it. Some unyielding force inside me stops her in her tracks, and I grab it before she can. She cocks one perfectly arched eyebrow at me as I quickly slip the cardigan on a hanger and slide it onto the closet rod.
“Explain?”
“Sorry, it’s just something…special.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I hate lying to my best friend. At this point, I’m afraid I’m either going to spontaneously combust into a pile of ash and find my way to the deep, dark depths of hell or I’m going to tell her everything. I’m not sure which conclusion is worse. Dean was one of the few details I left out of our calls during my trip. Besides his credit card, which continues to burn a hole in my wallet, I didn’t think our meeting was anything more than happenstance. A delicious moment, but a chance meeting none-the-less. And something about him wanted to keep the meeting close to the chest. That doesn’t mean I didn’t spill a few breadcrumbs about the hot guy who calmed me during the flight, but that was all I mentioned.
“Well, how about I entertain you for a little bit while you unpack?” She moves toward the floor-length mirror in the corner of the room and begins braiding her waist-length hair. It weaves through her fingers like strips of dark satin, and the action momentarily hypnotizes me.
“Anyway,” she begins. “When I went into town over the weekend.” The town she’s referring to is Norfolk. One of the major cities that’s a hop, skip, and a jump across our small bay. I preferred our quiet, small town, but Ashvi thrives in the hustle and bustle. Her world flourishes in the noise and bright lights. “I met the most gorgeous Navy man.”
Giggling, I hang up the pink sweater and turned to face my friend. “Of course you did, Vi.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks with a hint of indignation in her voice.
“Oh, Ashvi. I just meant that any good-looking guy with half a brain cell would want your attention. You’re beautiful. A walking Bollywood star.”
Twisting her ever-present hair tie around the ends of her hair, she lets the plait fall against her back. “You’re right. But this one was different.”
“How so?” I ask, referencing all the armed forces men Ashvi has dated over the last few years. They go out with the tide as quickly as they come in. It was the unfortunate part about living so closely to some military bases.
“Well, for one, this guy didn’t even try to buy me a drink. He asked if I wanted to be on his team during the trivia game.”
My color-me-surprised look conjured up a bubble of laughter from my friend.
“I know, right?” she adds. “And the best part?”
“Is not that he’s in the military?” Ashvi had a very clear and distinct type.
