The Grand Pact (The Grand Men #1)(24)

I laugh through another bout of tears and hug her tight to me.

“Luce, I want you to promise that you’ll go to New York and be you,” she says in a rush and out of breath, knowing the lady at the desk is looking at us. “Don’t feel like you need to leave to find yourself or to become anything more than you are right now because you don’t. Who you are is exactly who you should be, and the world will learn to love you regardless.”

“Excuse me, miss, we need to get you on board.”

“Okay,” I tell the lady. “Sorry.”

I look back at Nina, and she smiles. It’s what I needed to see before, and it gives me the strength I need right now. “Okay,” I tell her with a nod, pulling her into one last hug. “I love you!”

“I love you, too!”

I hand my boarding pass to the lady and give her an apologetic smile. She gives me a semblance of a smile back, but it doesn’t reach her eyes and feels forced. Like she’s being paid to provide me with this sympathetic look.

Taking my ticket, I walk to the tunnel and look back over my shoulder. Nina and Elliot are standing together, Elliot’s arm thrown over her shoulder and her arm around his waist.

I give them a wave and walk around the corner.

Once on the plane, I reach into my carry-on and find a tissue, wiping my face and taking a few calming breaths. I find my seat and put my bag in the overhead.

Elliot put me in business class—he wanted me to go first, but I refused. He told me it was a going away treat and that he would be offended if I said no. And right now, while I’m sitting here feeling like my throat is about to close in on me, I’m glad I’m in business and wish I had gone for first. At least I wouldn’t have as many eyes on me. It feels like everyone is looking at me, but I’m not spiralling enough to forget that they aren’t. It’s just me being me and worrying about things that aren’t real.

The seat to my left is empty, and I wonder how a plane that’s at full capacity has an empty seat.

“Can I get you a drink, miss?”

My nerves seem to settle, and I ask for a glass of fizz, hoping it will calm my nerves. I remember that Nina gave me the tablets, but I feel rooted in my seat and don’t want to get up and risk causing a scene. It makes my stomach ache. I should have taken them before. Crap. I breathe in through my nose and try to pull air into my lungs, but it seems impossible. I’m having visions of me having a panic attack and someone calling the cabin crew over and then my family having to come and get me. Being escorted back through the plane because I can’t breathe.

I bend the corners of my boarding pass, and the edges cut into my sweat-covered palms.

I don’t think I can breathe.

I look at the white envelope underneath my pass and frown.

Elliot’s fear.

Don’t open it now. It’s for when you need something to fixate on.

I inhale and manage to gather half a breath. I peel back the corner of the envelope.

“Are you okay?”

“Me?” I rush out, looking up at the man in the next row.

He nods, then drops his gaze to my hands. “You seem nervous.”

I swallow. “I am.”

“Here.” He riffles around in his laptop bag and pulls out a box of medication. “It’s Xanax.” He hands me the box and nods as if to say, “check it.”

I do, and I find it’s similar to what Nina had given me. My eyes lift again to the kind man, a feeling of gratitude washes over me that he noticed my panic and reached out to me. “Thank you. Thank you so much; that’s really kind of you.”

He nods, his eyes lingering for a second before he looks away again. He’s a good-looking guy with a buzz cut, a five o’clock shadow covering his jaw, and from what I can see, an athletic physique. I’m still caught off guard that he noticed my distress and tried to ease that.

I’m always looking for signs in life, something to tell me I’m on track and where I should be. Why does him being here with a similar medication as Nina’s and knowing I need it feel like one?

“You’re American?” I ask although it’s evident by his accent.

“I am. You’re British.” He grins, and I can’t help smiling back.

“I am. Have you been here on holiday?”

“Business.” He nods to his laptop open in front of him. “You?”

“I live in England.” I smile, laughing internally at my one-eighty. I feel comfortable with him. “I’m moving to New York for work.”

“Wow, that’s pretty cool. What is it you do?”

“I’m a fashion designer. You?”

“I’m in tech. Security and servers and all the fun stuff. I was a Navy SEAL for eight years, left last year.”

“Cool.” I grimace at my use of the word cool.

His face transforms into a smirk, and he tries to hide it, tries to go along with this terrible conversation.

“So… you don’t like to fly?”

I drop my eyes and decide I want to be honest with him. “I don’t like anything outside of routine, if I’m being truthful. I once had a panic attack on a plane to Paris. I was with my boss at the time.”

“Ahh, I can understand that. Not many people enjoy flying. In fact, before you boarded the plane, a young girl barfed back in economy.”