Page 189 of Wild Like Us
I pocket my phone. “Can you stand?”
Banks relaxes seeing the threat of an ambulance gone. “Yeah.” He weakly picks himself up with Sulli’s and my help. And once he’s able to stand on his own, we grab the bags. He tries to pick one up, and I shove his chest.
“What is it you always say?” I ask him, then snap my finger. “No way in hell.”
Banks cracks a weak smile. “That saying doesn’t work for you, Akara. You’d find some way in hell. That’s why I follow you and not the other way around.”
I almost smile back, but I won’t fully breathe until we’re in Philly and he’s standing on two feet. “Promise me, when we get back home, you’ll go see someone about your migraines.”
He gives me a nod. Barely a promise.
But I accept what I can. Right now, we have a plane to catch.
47
BANKS MORETTI
My phone isheavy in my hand. I stand at the huge glass window, overlooking a half-a-dozen idled planes. The sun has gone down; lights blink around the tarmac, and rain batters the glass and the pavement and my fuckingsoul.
The airport is packed with restless and sleeping bodies. Electronic boards readdelayed, delayed, delayed.Sulli has been making calls to her family. Her sister steamed her pale-yellow dress and has been holding onto the garment bag. Every bridesmaid is going to wear a different pastel, cotton-candy color.
Every groom has a different pastel, cotton-candy-colored tie. My mom has my black tux, my mint-green tie, and Akara’s pastel pink. They’re helping us so when we arrive, we’ll just slip right in and carry on.
Except the storm that’s tearing through Minnesota isn’t letting up. Rain rolls down the glass I stare out of, and high winds thrash suitcases off carts, lying sideways on the tarmac.
This is going to be the hardest call I’ve ever made in my life.
And I don’t want to make it.
I wish to God I didn’t have to.
My finger presses his number, a thousand pounds of lead in my stomach. And I lift my phone to my ear.
He picks up on the first ring. “I’m looking at the flight tracker right now.” He’s been staring at it all night. I know my twin brother.
“What’s it say?” I ask, choked.
The line is loud with our pain.
“It might not be delayed for long,” he says, his voice just as tight. “It could pass through in enough time.”
“Thatcher.” My voice breaks. I pinch my eyes, my chest heaving.It’s too late.I can’t get the words out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I breathe out the apologies like a cathartic release, but it’s not enough to take away the iron fist around my vital organs.
Thatcher sniffs loudly, a sharp sound in his throat like he’s holding back tears.
I catch Jane’s soft, consoling voice in the background. “I’m here.”
I smear a hand down my face. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, shifting my weight. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Thatcher chokes out.
“What do you have to be sorry about?” I question, my nose flaring and eyes burning. “Huh? You’re not the one missing…” My face twists, chin quakes.This is happening.This is really fucking happening.
“It’s out of your control,” Thatcher says in a deep, shaking breath. “And I’m sorry if you think I’m pissed at you—I’m not. You know I can’t be, not for more than a second.”
I wipe the wet streaks off my face. “I want to be there.”
“I want you here.”
