Page 12 of Blindsided
I glanced at my boarding pass. “22F. Windowseat. Nice.”
“That’s my seat,” Declan said. “You’re in 22D.”
“Am I?” I squinted at the pass again. “These letters are tiny. And possibly moving.”
Wren sighed and took the pass from my hand. “You’re in 22C, middle seat, between Declan and me.”
“Perfect,” Declan muttered. “Seven hours trapped next to the human distillery.”
Chapter 4
Kori
I’m not fine. I have never experienced a flight as rocky as this one. The plane bucks and dips through another pocket of turbulence somewhere over the Atlantic. Which isn’t helping me. In the dim cabin of this red-eye flight, I’ve become that passenger—the one with puffy eyes and a growing mound of damp tissues on the verge of hysteria.
It doesn’t help that there is a creepy, drunk guy across the aisle attempting to wink at me. At least the women travelling with him gave me an apologetic smile. I pull my coat tighter around me and sob quietly into my tissue, turning my face toward the window.
I’m almost asleep when a shout from that direction has me straightening in my seat to get a better look.
“Will you sit down?” a deep voice hisses from across the aisle. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
I turn my head slightly, peeking through swolleneyelids to see the commotion. The drunk man who’s been staring at me is now struggling to stand, swaying dangerously as the plane hits another pocket of turbulence. He’s tall, with dark hair on the longish side and tattooed, with the kind of rugged good looks that probably get him out of trouble as often as they get him into it.
“I just wanna say hello,” he slurs, gesturing toward me. “She’s been crying for hours. S’not right.”
Two dark-haired men are physically restraining him, their hands gripping his shoulders and pushing him back into his seat.
“Kane, for Christ’s sake,” one mutters. “Leave her alone. She clearly wants privacy.”
So, the drunk has a name. Kane. It suits him somehow, sharp and dangerous.
“Declan, lemme go,” Kane protests, struggling against their grip. “M’just being friendly.”
“Your version of friendly got you punched at the ceremony, remember?” the short dark-haired one— Declan—says, forcibly pushing Kane back into his seat.
I shrink further into my corner, mortified to be the center of this drama. The last thing I need right now is some intoxicated stranger’s misguided attempt at comfort. Mark always said I had a face that invited strangers to tell me their problems. Apparently, it also encourages drunk men oninternational flights to say hello.
“She’s sad,” Kane insists, his voice carrying through the quiet cabin. “I know sad when I see it. Trust me, I’m an expert.”
Two women sitting with their group exchange glances. One—plump and petite with striking features—rolls her eyes dramatically, while the other—athletic looking with auburn hair—looks apologetically in my direction.
“I’m so sorry,” the auburn-haired woman mouths to me.
I give a slight nod of acknowledgment, then turn back to the window, hoping they’ll all forget about me. The last twenty-four hours have been humiliating enough without becoming airplane entertainment.
“Kane, I swear to God,” Declan growls, “if you don’t shut up and stay in your seat, I’ll knock you out myself and tell the flight attendants you had a medical emergency.”
“You wouldn’t,” Kane challenges, though he stops struggling.
“Try me,” Declan responds, his voice deadly serious.
I risk another glance their way. Kane is slumped in his seat now, looking sullen but subdued. His companions remain tense, as if expecting him to make another attempt at standing. The two womenare whispering to each other, occasionally glancing in my direction.
Great. Five strangers are now fully invested in my emotional breakdown. I dab at my eyes with a fresh tissue, wishing I could disappear. Or at least that I’d taken Jen’s advice and gotten that pixie cut instead of my amateur hack job. My hand instinctively touches my choppy hair, making me wince. In the airplane bathroom mirror earlier, I’d looked like a woman on the edge. Which, to be fair, I am.
The flight attendant approaches with the beverage cart, momentarily distracting everyone. I request water, my throat raw from crying.
“Make it two,” a voice says from beside me, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
