Page 32 of Born Free

And I know he’s right, so I turn and head straight into the bathroom.

When I’m done scrubbing the grime and blood off me, I hear the door to the main room open and close. The door to the bathroom cracks slightly, and I hear a shopping bag being set on the counter, and then the door shuts once more.

I find my cell phone on the counter, which I dropped when Chelsea staked me, as well as a small supply of necessities. A brush, and some minimal toiletries. A new pair of sunglasses. And I pull an outfit out that is as perfect as I could ever pick myself. Jeans, a black button up shirt that hugs me just perfect, a black coat, and some sturdy, fuzzy boots.

Damn Sebastian. He knows me way too well.

I step out of the bathroom, steam billowing into the room. I find Roman and Sebastian both on their phones, furiously tapping away, talking calmly and quietly.

“We need to get out if you’re ready,” Roman says, tapping his phone one last time before putting it away. “Jay has a contact who is going to meet us at the airport with a fake passport for you so you can get on a plane.”

“Our ride should be pulling up in two minutes,” Sebastian says, finishing up his own travel arrangements.

“That easy?” I ask. “Surely, after being killed twelve times and a few days’ journey to get here, it can’t be as easy as calling for a taxi and booking a flight?”

“I’ll believe it’s that easy when it’s over,” Roman says, his tone a low growl. He steps forward, taking my hand. He puts the keycard on the TV stand and opens the door, pulling me through behind him after he’s scanned the hall. Sebastian follows silently, his eyes boring holes into our intertwined fingers—I can just feel it.

It feels really weird to be traveling internationally but having no bags. Not even a purse. The driver seems surprised and confused as well when he pulls up for us. The three of us stuff into the backseat. Roman very pointedly puts himself in the middle, seating himself between Sebastian and me.

They’re both protective when it comes to me, but in entirely different ways.

Our fingers interlace once again, and the driver pulls away from the curb, no clue about the complicated love triangle of vampires in his back seat.

An hour later, we’re pulling up to a small but beautiful airport. Sebastian pays the driver, and all three of us head toward the doors. Just inside, it’s nearly impossible to miss the man with solid white hair, yet can’t be any older than thirty, just like Jay Casper. No money is exchanged. No words are said. Roman simply plucks a passport from his slightly extended hand as we walk right by, not even a moment’s hesitation.

Maybe it really is that easy. We don’t even get a second glance from anyone as we get through security, though I feel wildly blinded for sixty seconds when I have to take my sunshades off to be scanned. But forty minutes later, I’m seated in a comfortable first-class seat, and the attendants are making a fuss of getting everyone settled.

I cling to Roman’s hand as the plane pulls away from the terminal. My heart starts pounding harder. I’ve still flown less than a dozen times in my life. The fear hasn’t ebbed. Across the aisle and back three rows, I feel Sebastian’s eyes on me. I feel his anxiousness. Once upon a time, it would have been him sitting beside me, whispering dirty thoughts into my ear to distract me.

But he ruined that.

Roman pulls our intertwined hands to him and presses his lips to the back of my hand. I lean into him, pressing my forehead to his, taking a deep breath in and out.

“It’ll be over in just a few minutes,” he reassures me.

I nod, knowing it’s true.

And then it’s done. The plane is in the air, and we rapidly climb before leveling out.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding and tell each of my muscles to relax, one at a time. But it only kind of works, because then I remember what we’re returning home to.

“What are we going to do about the mess we’ll be facing when we get home?” I ask as I lean my head on Roman’s shoulder. “What are you going to tell Orlando?”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky, and he’ll be gone,” he says, though his tone tells me he’s obviously not counting on it.

“Not a chance,” I state.

Roman takes a deep breath. “I think I’ll tell him I needed some time to process, to think. And it won’t be a lie. This all is… a lot. He’s going to be livid, but I know I can handle him.”

“I hope he just accepts it,” I say. “He’s freaking scary, but I can tell, he does love you.”

“Which feels like a cruel joke when I don’t remember him, or any of it, whatsoever.”

I squeeze his hand. “Nothing has come back?”

Roman shakes his head. “Not yet. There’s been nothing so far. No hints, no dreams, no… feelings. Which is fine by me.”

He told me this months ago, when he first confessed that he didn’t remember anything from before his Resurrection. He doesn’t think he was a very good person before. He’d been stabbed in the back and left in a landfill. He doesn’t want to remember who he was before, even if he now knows the simple checklist of facts.

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