He let his eyes close and held up the packet. Currently, he wasn’t sick. This was simply the anticipation. His body’s instinctive reaction to knowing what was going to happen next.
“Oh. Sorry. Water, small sips, something dry without a lot of flavoring to keep in your stomach. It’s counterintuitive but keeping something in there makes you retch less than an empty stomach.”
“God, you’re actually going to throw up? I thought you just got a headache or something.” Greg looked panicked at Brad. “Trade me seats.”
“Fuck no.” Staring straight ahead with a smirk, Brad shrugged. “You wanted a window seat.”
“I want one that will smell less like barf.”
“I’m not going to throw up,” Graham said through clenched teeth. “Unless you annoy me so much I decide to make myself, just for spite.”
“Keep your head back, and—oh, thank God. Levi, you made it. We’re all the way in the back.”
He slitted his eyes and saw the lanky male intern walking—more like stomping—up the aisle as if he were storming the castle. He waited for Marianne to move aside—which she did by scooting in front of Brad and sitting on his lap for a moment, then kept walking back.
“This will be a fun plane ride,” she muttered, then rubbed Graham’s upper arm. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
He waved without talking. Make the plane move so I can take the pills.
“Why don’t you take them now?” Greg wondered.
“Because if something happens at the last minute and we have to deplane and wait—like mechanical problems or weather—I’m passed out cold and can’t do it. If I wait until takeoff then we’re set and it’s safe.”
“Makes sense. Just . . . here.” He dug through his front seat pocket and handed Graham the air sick bag. “Have a second one in case. And make sure you aim that way.”
Brad simply flipped him off.
*
THREE days. Three days without seeing or hearing from Graham, and she was ready to scream. She sat in her lawyer’s conference room, drumming her nails and staring at her silent, dark phone.
Okay, fine, so she’d heard him, but only in text. He’d called once, but she’d been teaching a class, so it had gone to voice mail. Plenty of chances to return the call later in the evening, but she hadn’t. Even when Zach had begged her to call Graham to wish him luck “just one more time.” He was busy, she rationalized, and a distraction could hurt his chances. He needed his space.
She needed hers.
She still couldn’t escape the idea that he’d gone behind her back and approached Henry without telling her. Oh, sure, he’d told her soon afterward. And he’d done it with the best intentions. But he’d still tried to save the day, when she didn’t need saving. This had been her battle to fight. Her battle to wage. She’d wanted support, not a shield.
Now she’d never know if she could have won without him. She’d never know if she were strong enough, powerful enough. It was as if he’d taken that feeling of power she’d carried with her into his home in a tight dress and pricked it with a needle. Pop.
Tasha entered, a black pencil skirt hugging her curves and a wine red shell tank showing off her dark, toned arms. When she settled down in the seat beside Kara, she crossed her legs, leaned back, and just shook her head.
“What?” Oh God . . . had his visit to Henry made things worse? “Tell me.”
“It’s almost too easy. Anticlimactic, when I was looking forward to skewering that little prick.” Tasha shrugged and scooted a file folder over to her. “This is the paperwork to get started. I reached out to his lawyers, and they say he’s willing to go through the processes, as long as you pick up the tab for the court fees and any other potential financial issues that come along. Filing fees and such.”
“That’s . . .” She stared at the file, dumbfounded. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. I didn’t want to push our good fortune because, well, I’m no fool. But I have a feeling there might be more to it than just a man who came to his senses and had a moment of clarity. Don’t you?” With a small smile, Tasha leaned forward. “You deserve this happiness, Kara.”
“I wanted to make the move,” she murmured, flipping through the paperwork without seeing any of it. “I had plans, strategies . . . I’d started looking for more private clients to make extra money for the attorney fees.”
“Don’t tell the partners, but I’m perfectly happy you won’t be requiring our services much longer, at least not for this. Girl, you can’t be upset about this, can you?”
“No, not at all. It’s just a little . . . I don’t know. Am I wrong? Is this stupid?”
Tasha leaned her chin on her hand. “Stupid, no. Wrong, no. What you feel is what you feel, and feelings are never wrong. But maybe . . . maybe a little prideful. That’s up to you to figure out if that is a benefit or a curse.”
Prideful. The word bounced around her mind as she listened to Tasha explain the process of terminating Henry’s parental rights. Could her pride be the thing standing in the way of her happiness? Zach’s happiness?
It ate at her, and she knew she wouldn’t sleep until she figured it out.
*