Unseen Messages(7)

I won’t miss out.

Trudging onto the plane, my mind skipped to the last time I’d seen my father. Over six months had passed since our last embrace. He’d slapped my back and whispered in my ear. “Learn, study, and behave. But once your training is up, fly to Fiji, get lost in warm seas, and remember how to live. Then come home refreshed and I’ll do whatever you want to make your business a success.”

He’d even pulled the cheap shot guaranteed to make me crumple like a little kid. He’d argued that if Mum were still alive, she would’ve said that work didn’t equal a life, even if it was a passion. There were other important things and having unplanned experiences was one of them.

Asshole.

Poor, grieving *.

Me, too. We were both grieving *s, missing the one person who gave our souls purpose only to ruin us when she died.

What happened wasn’t her fault.

My nostrils flared, pushing her out of my mind.

I pulled the crumpled boarding pass from my back pocket, trying to find my seat.

Goddammit.

Fifty-nine D. Right down the back of the plane.

The thought of having to squish around people pissed me off. But the sooner I was seated, the sooner I could pull out my headphones and lose myself in a movie.

Waiting for a family to shove their luggage into the overhead compartment, I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder and pulled out my phone. I’d promised my father I’d text him before we took off. Ever since losing Mum, he’d been neurotic at the thought of losing me.

Tapping a generic ‘I love you and talk to you soon’ message, I pressed send.

Huh, that’s strange.

I tapped the screen, waiting for confirmation that it’d sent. However, the sending icon just swirled around and around, never connecting.

The family finally slid into their row, granting me the freedom to carry on down the aisle.

Giving up on the message, I shoved the phone back into my jeans and hurried to my seat. An air-hostess stood blocking it. She backed away when I raised an eyebrow.

“You’re lucky last, huh?” Her red hair caught the glare of false illumination.

“Yup. That’s me. Always lucky.”

Luck had nothing to do with it. I was the opposite of luck. I was misfortune.

The air-hostess disappeared to help another with their seating.

I stowed my luggage, slammed into my chair, and looked out the window.

The memory of my mother’s struggle and what happened afterward clenched my heart as passengers settled and the cabin prepared for flight.

A flash of blonde caught my eye as I scanned my fellow travellers. The flight wasn’t full, providing a good view across to the other side of the plane.

That girl again.

Her carry-on, as she wedged it above her head, looked fit to explode like a shrapnel grenade.

She was pretty—very pretty.

There was something about her. Something intrinsic—something that singled her out and made me notice.

Long blonde hair, translucent skin...large hazel eyes.

She deserved to be investigated and appraised. I was interested.

When our gazes met at the boarding gate, I’d felt the first hint of normalcy in over five years. I liked that she’d affected me, but I also wouldn’t let it happen again.

Women like her were dangerous, especially for men like me.

The girl had barely sat down and fastened her seat belt before the fuselage creaked as the captain pushed off from the gate and the terminal grew smaller as we lined up to defy gravity.

Tearing my eyes away from her, I stared out the window at the blurry world and the last glimpse of Los Angeles.

After waiting our turn, the engines screamed and we shot down the runway, hurtling from stationery to rocket.

My ears popped as we traded concrete for open air.

The eleven-hour flight had commenced.

“Welcome on board this service to Nadi.” The captain’s drone dripped from the overhead speakers. “The current temperature at our destination is a humid twenty-seven degrees centigrade with a chance of rain closer to arrival. The flight today will take approximately ten hours and forty-five minutes. We encourage you to sit back, relax, and allow us to fly you to your destination in style.”

Style has nothing to do with it.

Reclining in my shitty economy class seat, I peered through the row and eyed the blonde. My glasses fogged a little, obscuring her until she glowed with a halo. I didn’t mean to glance her way. I should forget all about her.

But I couldn’t shake my interest.

Her side profile, as she bent over a tatty notebook, was as beautiful as front on. She was stunning, if not a little strange—the perfect paragon of sharp and shy.

I want to talk to her.

My legs bunched to stand. I swallowed with disbelief. What the hell?

The aircraft skipped with minor turbulence, wrenching the girl’s head up.

An air-hostess nudged my elbow as she darted up the aisle, dragging the trolley with scents of food. That solved my dilemma. I couldn’t go talk to her because I had to remain seated for the service and I wouldn’t go talk to her because I had no intention of spreading the bad luck I brought onto others.

I was better off alone.

It was the way it had to be.

End of bloody story.

Pressing the button to recline my chair, I gripped the hand-rails and closed my eyes. For the next eleven hours, I would forget about her, then disembark and never see her again.