You promised you wouldn’t think about it.
For the hundredth time, I gritted my teeth and pushed away thoughts that only pissed me off and hurt. Clenching my fists, I followed the herd down the air-bridge and onto the plane.
I was sad to leave.
But eager to put a stamp on my new career. My new life. A life I was eternally thankful for after everything I’d done to screw it up.
I didn’t deserve it, but my father had agreed to help fund me. Acting as guarantor for the business loan I’d applied for: Opulent Oak Construction. Not to mention, he’d been fundamental for me securing the work permit for entry into the USA. Without him...well, my second chance wouldn’t have mattered.
He’d given me my world back. He trusted I wouldn’t let him down.
I had no intention of doing that. Ever again.
He’d granted endless support and fatherly devotion, even after everything I’d done. However, he had a condition—completely adamant with no concessions.
So, I did the only thing I could.
I gave in.
I agreed to fly to Fiji (the one place I’d always wanted to visit as a kid) and live a little before burying myself in my new company in England. He wanted me to sample freedom before I shackled myself to a long-term commitment.
He wanted me to have fun.
Ha!
After everything that’d happened, he thought I knew what that word meant.
I have no bloody clue.
How could he expect me to be an average twenty-seven-year old bloke after the history I’d already clocked up? Even now, he still looked at me like the golden son...not the black stain I’d become. I didn’t deserve fun. Not after what I’d done; especially at a time he needed me the most.
Fun.
I hated the word.
And even if I did remember how to indulge, I wouldn’t waste my time on girls and booze because I had a driving need to create something from nothing after I’d destroyed everything. I had a lot of sins to make up for, and if my father wouldn’t let me start atoning at home, well, I would have to find another way.
I’m a bastard, pure and simple.
I hated that I’d lied when conceding to his terms. I’d looked him in the eye and agreed to go to Fiji under the proviso of sunbaking, drinking, and having a one-night stand or ten. However, instead of reserving a bed in a gross backpackers with other self-centred idiots, I volunteered my skills to a local firm who built homes for under privileged locals.
I needed to find redemption before I drove myself insane with sickening memories and overflowing self-hatred.
Only thing was, the company expected me to start work first thing tomorrow. Otherwise, they’d give the contract to another applicant. No tardiness. No excuses. Be there or miss out.
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 asshole.
Me, too. We were both grieving assholes, 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 w
ouldn’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.
I didn’t know it but the opposite was true.
Getting on that plane inexplicably tied our fates together.
.............................
The ending credits scrolled over my screen.
Stretching, I switched off the movie, removed my glasses, and rubbed my eyes. I didn’t know exactly how much time had passed, but I’d eaten (extremely crappy airplane food), I’d watched two movies (nothing to gush about) and I’d stolen a few more looks at Unknown Girl across the plane (okay, more than just a few).
I hadn’t forgotten my pledge to forget about her, but the tiredness of a long journey, coupled with the dark gloom of the cabin, didn’t put me in the best of moods. The darkness reminded me too much of the place I’d lived in before escaping to America. The loud hum of engines irritated me to the point of violence.
I didn’t want anything to do with the girl across the aisle.
So why do you keep looking at her?
I was happier on my own. Being on my own meant I didn’t have to answer to anyone, share my past, or worry about their reaction to who I truly was.
Dad had told me time and time again that one day my need for space would be trumped by the perfect woman.
He didn’t have a damn clue.
I didn’t want to find love. I wasn’t worthy of finding love.
I’d seen what Mum’s death did to him. He’d become hollow. A father with no spark. A man with no happiness.
I could handle being on my own.
Why would I ruin that by weakening myself and handing over my heart to a woman who could crush me?
I stole another look at Unknown Girl. She’d scooped her hair into a ponytail and slicked pink lipstick on her very kissable mouth.
Tearing my eyes away, I yanked on my headphones.
Goddammit, what was it about her that interested me?
Who is she?
Pity fate couldn’t talk. If it could, I would’ve heard the reply:
She’s your beginning.
Your end.
Your salvation.
Chapter Three
...............................................
E S T E L L E
......
There is such a thing as loneliness. Loneliness is the stalker you’ve been running from, the parent you’ve been hiding from, the disappointment you’ve been escaping from.
It’s a sticky entity crouching in your heart, filling your soul with echoes, carving out your hope with ten thousand spades of hollowness.
Empty, so, so empty.
Empty as silence. Empty as an argument.
Lyrics: ‘So Empty’ Taken from the notepad of E.E.
...
TEN HOURS INTO the flight.
See? I worried for nothing.
Dinner had been delivered and cleaned away. I’d watched three movies, and the near-empty cabin was fast asleep—minus a few annoying kids a few rows away and a squalling baby in her mother’s arms by the toilets.
Only forty-five minutes to go, then I would be one flight closer to home.
Heavenly home.
I can’t wait.
My transfer in Fiji was a quick two-hour turnaround and the flight onward would only take a few more hours before I could sleep in my own bed, wear fresh clothes than the ones in my suitcase, and decompress for a few days with takeout and pyjamas.
Luckily, the flight wasn’t full, which meant I had a window, middle, and aisle to myself. Unfortunately, I was also the last row of the cabin.
The traipsing passengers and constant flushes of the facilities meant I couldn’t sleep or relax. Elbows and knees constantly hit mine as weary travellers marched the tiny space, doing their best to keep their circulation flowing and muscles from seizing.
Rubbing my eyes, I pulled up the airplane journey on my in-seat screen. The small aircraft flying over the flattened atlas showed we were somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. Far below me existed atolls and paradisiacal archipelagos.
Fiji wasn’t too much further. I’d made it this far, including the last nine hours without another nerve-wracking incident. The turbulence at the beginning of the flight freaked me out, but it had been smooth since.
I could make it home before succumbing to sleep deprivation.
A kid with grubby hands brushed my forearm as he charged back to his parents, leaving the bathroom door hanging open.
I groaned under my breath, reaching behind me to secure it.
Never again.
I would never sit at the back of the airplane.
You should’ve upgraded to business class.
Plopping my headphones over my ears, I rolled my eyes. Just because business class would’ve offered more comfort, I refused to start being that person. The one who expected better service just because they’d had a windfall. The asshole who felt more deserving than others just because money had changed their financial situation.
No, I wouldn’t be that person.
Changing the atlas for the latest movie channels, I laughed at myself for being so nervous. I’d spent the entire flight wound up and petrified of the simplest noise.
I’d burned through enough calories to sustain me for a week. I was wired on adrenaline and desperate to put as much space between me and flying as possible.
But there’d been nothing to worry about, after all.
There was no such thing as messages or premonition.
I was living proof.
My fingers itched for my notepad to add more lyrics to my half-cooked idea. There was a song lurking in my unwarranted fear. It could become a metaphor for other terrifying things in life.
That was where my true passion lay. Not in performing or seeing my name on billboards or screamed by strangers. My passion was fresh paper, sharpened pencil, and the joy of taking innocent words and stringing them into a necklace of rhythm.
My foot tapped a non-existent beat, gathering depth the more I composed.
My stress levels faded. I stopped flicking through the movie selection to focus inward, letting the melody cast me away from the plane, sink me deep into my art, and allow me to conjure music all while sitting in a tiny seat thousands of feet above the earth.
Love doesn’t live in first glances.
Life doesn’t dwell in second chances.
Our path exists in unseen messages.
Power to transform from unknown wreckages.
No, that last line wouldn’t work.
I pursed my lips, mulling over words that could replace it.
For a few wondrous seconds, I lived in my calling and allowed a new song to form.
But then...a reminder.
A hint that I hadn't been stupid to listen. I’d been stupid to ignore.
Another message.
The plane rocked with a buffet of air, sloshing the half-finished water on my tray table.
The lyrics in my head screeched to a halt.
I froze...waiting.
A minute t..i..c..k..e..d past.
All was well.
Another minute as I stared at the bright screen enticing me to click on a romantic comedy.
Then...my screen went blank.
The plane suddenly hopscotched across clouds.
The sparse cabin cracked as the hopscotch turned into a rodeo.
Passengers woke up. Headphones were wrenched off. Slumber turned to screams.
My fingers clutched the arm-rests; my lap drenched in water as the plastic cup toppled over.
However, as quickly as the turbulence hit, it was over.
My heart raced and strangers made eye contact, searching for answ
ers.
The seat belt sign pinged; the captain came over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, we apologise for the slight discomfort. We’d hoped to avoid the storm but it’s inevitable if we wish to land in Fiji. We’re descending and confident we can avoid the majority of turbulence. Please keep your seat belts fastened and refrain from using the facilities at this time. We’ll have you on the ground at 6:45 p.m. local time.”
His words were soothing.
His voice was not.
He’s afraid.
I’d been in the industry. I knew the inner lingo.
I hoped I was wrong, but nerves fledged into fully spread wings, careening around my ribcage like a startled crow.
My eyes remained glued to the seat belt sign. If it flickered again, the pilot wanted the head stewardess to call him.
Don’t flicker.
Don’t flicker.
Bing Bong.
It flickered.
The purser hightailed it up the aisle, her hands gripping the headrests for balance, disappearing past the dividing curtain.
Whatever existed outside the metal walls of the aircraft was enough for fear to pollute the cabin.
I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
The messages.
The signs.
I should’ve listened.
I didn’t care if it was stupid. I didn’t care if paranoia rotted my brain. I couldn’t switch off the instinct howling inside.
Something’s wrong.
My previous training on how to survive a ditching came back. I’d done the drills on how to escape wrecked fuselage. I’d completed exams on how best to protect passengers. What I hadn’t done was experience a true crash.
We’re over the ocean. I’m in the tail of the plane.
Contrary to what people said, the safest possible place in a ditching was over the wing. Yes, the fuel tanks were below, but if the pilot was good, the plane would skim like a skipping stone before diving and flipping. The nose would snap, the tail would break, and water would gush—
Stop it!
Needing to do something, anything, I shoved up my tray table and reached between my legs for my handbag. Yanking it onto my lap, my hands trembled.
If something happened, I wouldn’t be allowed to take anything. The only thing we could take would be what was on our person.
Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing’s going to happen.