Beautiful Redemption (The Maddox Brothers, #2)(51)

We settled in our seats, buckling in. I finally felt relaxed, but Thomas was on edge.

I put my hand on his. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not you,” he said.

His words stung. Although unintentional, they had a deeper meaning. He was about to watch the woman he loved agree to marry someone else. And he was right. The woman he loved wasn’t me.

“Try not to think about her,” I said. “Maybe we can step out before it happens. Get some air.”

He looked at me as if I should have known better. “You think I’m stressed about Trenton’s proposal?”

“Well…” I began but didn’t quite know how to finish.

“You should know the picture is gone,” he said matter-of-factly.

“The picture of Camille? Gone where?”

“In a boxful of memories—where it belongs.”

I looked at him for the longest time, a twinge forming in my chest.

“Are you happy?” he asked.

“I’m happy,” I said, half-ashamed, half-bewildered.

Holding back now would make me gratuitously stubborn. He had put her away. I had no excuse.

I reached over and laced my fingers in his, and he brought my hand up to his mouth. He closed his eyes and then kissed my palm. Such a simple gesture was so intimate, like tugging at someone’s clothes during a hug or the tiniest touch on the back of the neck. When he did things like that, it was easy to forget he’d ever thought of someone else.

After the passengers settled into their seats and the flight attendants informed us how to survive a possible plane crash, the plane taxied to the end of the runway and then surged forward, the speed climbing and the fuselage rattling, until we took off in a quiet smooth motion.

Thomas began to fidget. He turned around and then faced forward.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I can’t do this,” Thomas whispered. He looked over at me. “I can’t do this to him.”

I kept my voice low. “You’re not doing anything to him. You’re the messenger.”

He looked up at the vent above his head and reached up, turning the knob until air was blowing full blast in his face. He settled back into his seat, looking miserable.

“Thomas, think about it. What other option does he have?”

He clenched his teeth as he always did when he was annoyed. “You keep saying I’m protecting him, but if I hadn’t told my director about Travis and Abby, he wouldn’t have to choose.”

“That’s true. Prison would be his only choice.”

Thomas looked away from me and out the window. The sun reflected off the sea of white clouds, making him squint. He closed the shutter, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust.

“This is impossible,” I said. “We have a job to do, and if we have all this personal junk swimming around in our heads, we’re going to make a mistake, and this entire operation will go south. But its very nature is personal. This assignment involves your family. And we’re here, together, with our own…issues. If we don’t figure out a way, Thomas, we’re f*cked. Even if—when Travis says yes, if you’re not on your A game, Grove is going to sniff this out.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” I teased, touching my fingers to my ear.

The flight attendant leaned in. “Can I get you a beverage?”

“White wine, please,” I said.

“Jack and Coke,” Thomas said.

She nodded and stepped toward the row behind us, asking the same.

“I said you’re right,” Thomas said begrudgingly.

“Are you nervous about seeing Camille tonight?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “The last time I saw her, she was in the hospital, pretty banged up.” He noticed my surprised expression and continued, “She and Trenton were driving just outside of Eakins when they were hit by a drunk driver.”

“I can’t decide if your family is really lucky or really accident-prone.”

“Both.”

The flight attendant brought our drinks, setting down napkins first and then our glasses. I took a sip of wine as Thomas watched. He paid special attention to my lips, and I wondered if he had the same jealous thoughts as I did when his lips would touch things other than my mouth.

Thomas broke his stare and looked down. “I’m happy for Trent. He deserves it.”

“And you don’t?”

He laughed nervously and then looked up at me. “I don’t want to talk about Camille.”

“Okay. It’s a long flight. Talk, nap, or read?”

The flight attendant returned with a notepad and pen. “Miss…Lindy?”

“Yes?”

She smiled, dozens of gray strands shooting out like lightning bolts from her French braid. “Would you like the grilled chicken with sweet chili sauce or our grilled salmon with lemon caper butter?”

“Uh…the chicken, please.”

“Mr. Maddox?”

“The chicken as well.”

She scribbled on her notebook. “Everyone okay with beverages?”

We both looked at our nearly full glasses and nodded.

The attendant smiled. “Fantastic.”