Page 3 of How You See Me
His face lights up with that proud-little-brother look that never fails to amaze me. “The Las Vegas show?”
I nod again, and this time, he jumps up, lifting me off my feet to spin me around. Setting me down, his hands weigh heavy on my shoulders. “Guess that sold-out New York exhibit was too successful to ignore.”
“They did tell Grant it tipped them toward taking a chance on me.”
“Well, they made the right call. You’re brilliant, and there’s no chance where you’re concerned. They’re the lucky ones.” He pulls me into another hug. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.”
We sit on the couch, the celebratory moment fading into reality.
“Back to the crisis. Know anyone who might want to take a spontaneous road trip?”
“I know it’s difficult and scary, but a flight—”
“No, Jordan.” The words come out sharper than I mean, and I pause to reign myself in.
I’ve survived one plane crash and that was one too many. Even though they called it “minor,” two people died—a mother and her daughter. I sat next to them at the gate, chatting while we waited. I even showed the little girl a few painting techniques on my tablet.
I still see them in the quiet moments and when the nightmares resurface.
“Sorry. I just . . . I can’t.”
“I understand.” And he doesn’t push. He’s seen me in full-blown panic mode before, and I’m teetering on that edge now.
But he’ll never fully get it. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be afraid. He’s faced unfathomable obstacles his entire adult life in the military and after his car accident. Every time, he emerges stronger. I should use that as inspiration. Confront the fears holding me back and stick them where the sun doesn’t shine, but I’m not him. I’m the furthest thing from a Marine as one can get.
“Why can’t Grant take you?”
I slump back against the plush cushion. “He and Eric eloped. He called last night from the airport.”
“Weren’t they planning to get married next month?”
“Yeah. But apparently his family has been difficult and started making demands. So, they decided to say screwdriver to everyone and have a destination wedding just for them.”
“Screwdriver?” He laughs. “That’s one I haven’t heard yet. Is that your version of screw you?”
I don’t know why he’s so amused. He’s not a stranger to my weird and clean vocabulary. I don’t curse. It’s old news.
“Anyway, good for them,” he says, getting back to the conversation. “But that’s crap timing for you.”
“Right?” Grant’s my go-to for all things like this. He’s not only my agent, driver, personal assistant, and stylist,he’s my best friend. I need him to not only keep me sane but to fix all my problems like he usually does. “I 'm out of sorts when he’s unreachable.”
“We’d offer, but finals are coming up. And Nora’s used up all her time off taking care of me.”
“I know.” I sigh. “I’ll figure something out.”
Somehow.
I watch the ceiling, hoping a solution might drop from the sky. Any time now would be helpful. Any. Time. Now.
Nothing? Not even a metaphorical pigeon?
Son of a biscuit.
I wish my fear of flying was the only problem. Since our parents died in a car crash my sophomore year of high school, I’ve collected a few other unshakeable fears: driving murderous vehicles, heights, public restrooms, abandonment, and a few others. At the time, the world, even in our little corner in Virginia, seemed too big. We were alone, and there were no manuals for navigating foster care and parenthood as an impressionable teenager.
It changes you.
