Page 19 of Done with You

He needed to try to fix the wedge between him and Jordan. After all, he was the only family he had left. Jordan was his little brother, and he was getting married. Aiden needed to be there.

He was still attending anger management classes, and by grace and fucking God, the assistant for another therapist called last week to set up an appointment for him for the second week of January.

A little late for his liking, but he’d take it over months of having to wait.

In the meantime, though, he needed to try to repair some of the damage in his life before the therapist wielded her magic wand and fixed the rest.

Because that’s all therapists were, right? Wizards with PhDs.

He was supposed to fly out yesterday, but because of snow, ice, and probably fucking reindeer on the runway, his flight was canceled and he was tossed onto a new one today. No select seating this time, and he would only land in Vancouver, then be forced to catch a tin can with wings over to the island.

Whatever. He’d get there eventually.

He had his audiobook downloaded, his earbuds fully charged, and his brand-new travel pillow. He could just crash against the window—thank fuck he had a window seat—and wake up when the plane landed.

The airport was choked with winter vacation enthusiasts. Everyone wanted to escape the frigid weather and piles of snow for warmer temperatures. There were loads of direct flights down to the Caribbean, Florida, and the Gulf of Mexico. But like some idiot, he wasn’t heading south, he was heading west.

The temperatures out west weren’t as bad as they were here, but he knew he would still need his winter coat, boots, and gloves.

No Tommy Bahama shirts or linen shorts for him.

His gate was reduced to standing room only, which meant a full flight. Lots of kids, crying babies, and people with runny noses and persistent coughs.

Lovely. He’d probably have some kind of bug percolating in his system and baby vomit on him by the time he reached Vancouver.

He just needed a window seat. That was it. He could make do with the rest.

He could handle a crying baby beside him or a guy with a chronic cough who wanted to hog the arm rest. He just needed the window seat so he could lean against the wall, tune out the world, close his eyes, and pretend he wasn’t jammed into a tiny space with a shitload of mouth breathers thirty-thousand feet in the air.

Keeping the volume low enough that he could hear announcements, he put in his earbuds and started up his audiobook. It was a memoir from a man who’d sailed around the world in a small sailboat. He’d been alone and barely spoke to a soul for nearly three years. His tales were astounding, but the reviews also said that the guy also sounded a little nuts. Like all that time as a nautical hermit and out in the sun had wrecked his brain just a smidgen.

Either way, Aiden was excited to dive into it.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the small bit of empty wall space he had near his gate, letting the narrator’s deep timbre calm his nerves.

He’d done some traveling over the years, but flying never got easier or more relaxing.

Once he was in the sky, it was better, but the lead up to the take-off and being with so many people always made him jittery.

He wasn’t one for tight spaces in general, or crowds, but he’d learned how to cope over the years.

Tune out the world, close your eyes and just pretend you’re alone.

The announcement to board came sooner than he thought, and before he was even on chapter three, he was lining up with everyone else, then taking the jet bridge to the plane.

It was a Boeing 747, but an older version. He’d checked his main bag, but had a backpack as his carry on. Slowly, like a sheep being led to slaughter, he followed the bleating person in front of him down the aisle until he reached his designated seat—24A.

He stowed his backpack beneath the seat in front of him, then quickly buckled up, draped his coat over his body, pulled the hood of his hoodie over his head so nobody could see his face, adjusted his travel pillow, and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.

Even turning up the volume didn’t completely drown out the cacophony of passengers boarding, but he was determined not to open his eyes.

Someone sat next to him. He didn’t even lift a lid halfway.

He didn’t care.

The clunk of the overhead compartments being closed registered in his head, but he still didn’t open his eyes.

He’d pulled up his hood to obstruct his face and turned away from the masses as much as he could.

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