Rise - Part Two (Rise #2)(7)

"I remember the flight," I stop myself, unsure of how to move the conversation back to his dad.

He swallows hard as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I saw you sitting in a chair near the gate in the airport before boarding. I literally stopped walking, Tess."

The admission catches me off guard. I had been so engrossed in answering work emails that day that I hadn't glanced up after I'd settled into a seat right after I got to the gate. I didn't stop looking at my smartphone until I boarded. "You saw me before I even boarded the airplane?"

"It was when I was boarding with the rest of the crew." He closes his eyes briefly before he looks at my face. "You didn't even look up when I cleared my throat. I just wanted to see your face. I knew it had to be beautiful but I wanted to see it."

I really need to stop obsessing over my work. I had zoned out that day, like I do most days. Building my business has been what drives me since I graduated. It's all that's really mattered, beyond my family, until now. "I didn't know that. I had no idea."

"I had to board so I walked away." He moistens his bottom lip with his tongue. "When I turned away from you to head towards the gate, that's when I saw him."

I furrow my brow as I try to make sense out of what he just said. "Who did you see?"

"My father," he says gruffly. "I saw my father waiting to board that same flight."





Chapter 6


I wait for him to pick up the now stalled conversation. I hadn't responded after he told me that he saw his father in Milan, at the airport. I thought my silence would push him into another confession but it hadn't. All it did was make him reach forward to pull the wineglass back into his hand.

I breathe deeply as I watch him finish the last traces of the red wine. He licks his lips scooping up any remaining droplets. His hand scurries across his jaw and over his beard before it settles on his neck. "I didn't know it was him at the time. I thought he was just another man who resembled my dad."

"You've seen other men who resembled your dad before?" I spit the question out hurriedly and with little thought attached to it. It sounds insignificant and misplaced given the fact that he's trying to tell me about how his father came back into his life.

He rests the glass back on the table. "My mom took my brother and me to see a therapist about six months after the accident. We weren't adjusting and she thought it would help us both."

It's not a direct answer to my question but I know it's his way of working himself up to an actual response. "Did it help?"

He nods. "I told her that I was constantly looking for my dad in the faces of other men. She told me that was normal given the fact that his body was never recovered."

"That makes sense," I say under my breath. I've only attended a few funerals and memorial services in my life and each time, there was either a body on display in a coffin or an urn, which contained the remains of the person. I suspect having that grants those grieving a sense of finality that they wouldn't normally have.

"It would have made sense if I'd stopped doing it at some point." He rests his hand on mine. "I never stopped. I'd see a man the same height as my father and walk out of my way to catch a glimpse of his face. There were times when I'd even hop out of a taxi at a traffic light because I saw someone I thought remotely resembled him."

It's a confession grounded in vulnerability. I see the pain in his eyes and I hear it in the pitch of his voice. "That couldn't have been easy. It sounds as though it consumed you in a sense."

"I never wanted it to." His eyes travel from my face to a row of pictures of his father and brother. "Dane told me I had to let it go but I couldn't."

"Did you have a suspicion that he was still alive?" It's the most direct question I've asked him.

He sits back on the sofa before he scrubs his hand over his face. "No, I don't think that's what it was. I just missed him. I wanted him to be alive because I missed having a dad."

I want to reach forward to cup his face in my hands. I want to pull him into my arms and tell him that I understand. I can't go an entire day without talking to my father. I crave his approval and as I've matured, his friendship has grounded me in a way that no one else's can. I understand Landon's wish to have a dad. I have one and I wouldn't trade what I share with him for anything or anyone.

"That day in the airport in Milan when I turned away from where you were sitting and saw him," he begins before he looks up at the ceiling. "It was different. I felt something I hadn't before. I knew it was him. I just knew."

I rest my head against the back of the sofa so my eyes point to the ceiling too. "Is that why you came out of the cockpit? You wanted to see him?"

He shifts slightly beside me until his thigh is touching mine. "No. He was seated in economy. I wanted to see your face. I felt like I was drowning again and all I wanted was to look at you."

***

"Did you talk to him after the flight?"

It's been at least ten minutes since his phone rang in the middle of our conversation. He hadn't rushed out of the room to take the call. Instead, he had rested his hand over mine as he spoke gently to his mother, asking her to come to New York as soon as she could. He'd arrange a seat on a flight for her this evening if she could pack just a few things.