by Whitney G.
“I’m aware. I always noticed. Is that it?”
“I also used to sleep naked on your living room couch.”
He laughed. “And in my bedroom?”
I nodded and he playfully slapped my ass.
“I know that Nathaniel Pearson is your real father, Jake,” I said softly, letting the words rush out of my mouth.
“That makes two of us.”
“I looked up old family pictures and you’re not in any of them...Why did they erase you like that? And, I mean, why haven’t you said anything? You’re the son of a billionaire CEO. Is that where your money comes from?”
“No.” He didn’t elaborate any further. He simply rubbed his hands up and down my back, massaging me in a firm way that said, “Stop this.”
“Just say you’ll tell me one day,” I murmured. “If we last longer.”
“I’ll think about telling you one day.”
“Well, whenever that ‘one day’ is, I would like it to be the same day you take me out on a date.”
His hand immediately stopped their pleasurable rhythm. “What?”
“A real date with flowers, dinner, and—”
“Everything we originally agreed not to do.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Gillian...” He sighed. “I’d prefer if we didn’t break any more rules.”
“And I’d prefer if you actually talked to me, but I’m clearly not going to get that, so this is a compromise.”
He didn’t say anything for a long while, but his hands eventually returned to my back, and we didn’t speak until the sun began to rise.
When our ride returned, he tossed me over his shoulder and carried me downstairs and placed me into the backseat. He positioned my head in his lap, and I slept as the car slowly trudged through early morning L.A. traffic.
When we arrived back to my hotel, he walked me into my room and tucked me under the covers—holding back a laugh as I attempted to fight my exhaustion and convince him to stay.
I thought that he would stay another day, since he had two more nights before he had to fly out from Hawaii, but when I woke up, he was gone.
The only remnant of his presence was his watch box on my nightstand. I flipped it open, coming face to face with yet another Audemars Piguet. I ran my fingers across its sparkling crystals and sighed. I pulled out my phone to text him and tell him he’d left it, but it fell to floor once I saw the massive white and red flower bouquet sitting by the door.
Shocked, I walked over and opened the small silver envelope that was attached and read the note.
This never happened.
And the watch is yours.
—Jake.
GATE B23
JAKE
Hawaii (HNL)—> Dallas (DAL)—> New York (JFK)
I NEED A DRINK...
My head was throbbing in pain after piloting two turbulent flights back to back, Gillian was starting to call and text me whenever she felt like it, and I was seconds away from walking out of this simulator session. To make matters worse, the Elite Airways circus was back in full swing—gaining front page stories on all the major papers and placing promotional interviews on damn near every news station.
My father, ever the attention whore, was now the first airline CEO to host a “flying media tour.” He was allowing journalists from every paper to board his new Dreamliner—to write glowing reviews of the plane as he flew along with them and plied them with lies. He was reported as saying things like, “Yes, this is the plane I’m the proudest of,” “My family still hasn’t flown in it yet,” and “Yes. Yes, I think Sarah would’ve loved this one.”
It wasn’t until I read that last quote that I realized that he pulled this media frenzy shit at the exact same time every year. It was probably how he dealt with the guilt of getting away with his numerous lies, how he dealt with being destined for Hell.
I stopped myself from reading the remainder of the articles and put my phone in my pocket. I pulled out a new crossword puzzle, but before I could start it, the simulator session ended with a jerk that almost knocked me out of my chair, damn near slamming me against the windscreen.
Annoyed, I looked ahead at the results screen.
“Congratulations again, Ryan,” I said. “You’ve killed everyone again, but at least this time you crashed on the ground, so all of us will get to have our body parts in our caskets.”
“You’re not helping me learn, sir,” he said, teary eyed just like last time. “Would it kill you to actually give me some advice?”
I unbuckled my seatbelt. “Fly better next time.”
“With all due respect, could you tell me something that will actually help?”
“How about learn how to read?” I stood up and tossed the operations manual for the Airbus 321 at him. “You’re making the same emergency protocol mistakes because you’re treating this like a damn CR-9. Try memorizing chapters seven through thirty. Is that helpful enough?”
He nodded and I rolled my eyes, stepping out of the tube. I walked through the hangar—past the other simulators, ignoring the supervisor who was shaking his head at me.
I made it to the parking lot and opened my car door, but I heard a familiar, ugly voice calling my name.
“Jake! Jake!” Evan stopped a few feet short of me, forcing me to turn around. “Jake, I—I missed the chance to speak to you at the gala. Would you please let me talk to you?”
I didn’t answer.
“I just need five minutes of your time, so—”
“Get the fuck away from my car.”
“Jake.” His face fell. “Jake, don’t do this...”
“Don’t you have some erasing to do?” I glared at him. “More childhood photos you need to crop me out of?”
“Jake, please.”
“I like ‘Pearson’ as a last name. That was a really good choice the two of you made. How many of your legal friends did you have to go through to cover everything up?”
“We’re not covering up anything.”
“No?” I crossed my arms. “Have I somehow missed the scandalous tell-all in the press somewhere? I’d love to read it, if so.”
“We’re still your family, Jake.” He changed the subject. “No matter what you think we did, or no matter what we’ve done, we’re still your flesh and blood and we both need to talk to you.”
“Leave me a voicemail.” I opened my car door, but he stepped in my way.
“We’ve left you hundreds of voicemails, Jake. Hundreds. You keep changing your phone number, treating us like we don’t exist.”
“How ironic is that?” I pushed him. “Get the hell out of my way.”
“Today would’ve been mom’s birthday, you know. She would’ve wanted us to—”
“How do you sleep at night?” I felt the veins in my neck swelling. “How the fuck do either of you sleep at night?”
He shoved his hands into his pocket, regret creeping over his face. “We don’t...We honestly don’t.”
“Good.” I clenched my fists. “You don’t deserve to.”
“I know, and I think it’s time for you to listen to us, Jake. If you heard us out, you’d see that it’s time for you to forgive us.”
“The people who inflict pain can’t decide when it’s time for it to go away.” I slid into the driver’s seat, tempted to roll my car in reverse and then run over him. “Now, get the fuck away from me, and stay the fuck away from me. You, Nathaniel—”
“Dad, Jake. His name is Dad to you.”
“Funny.” I shrugged. “That’s not what I’ve read in the papers all these years.”
Looking saddened, he raised his hands in surrender and backed away from the car. I cranked the engine and pulled off, speeding onto the highway. I now knew I wasn’t going to last at Elite for more than a few more months—huge salary or not, and I needed to figure out a way to leave.
Turning on the radio, I searched for a decent station—something that could distract me, but there was nothing. All static or son
gs I didn’t feel like listening to.
I groaned and pulled over on the side of the road, parking and putting on my hazard lights. The fact that my brother and father could act so fucking normal, or like they’d ever be forgiven, still got under my skin and grated my nerves.
As a light snow began to fall outside my windows, I leaned back in my chair and shut my eyes—trying to calm myself before driving on the road.
By the time I opened my eyes again, an hour had passed and I had two missed calls from Evan, an unknown number, and a handful of emails from Gillian.
SUBJECT: CAN’T SLEEP.
Are you awake?
—Gillian
SUBJECT: YES, I KNOW this email is not about fucking...
I know you’re awake, Jake...
—Gillian
SUBJECT: MY PUSSY IS wet...
So. Soaking. Wet.
—Gillian
I CLICKED ON HER NAME and hit send via FaceTime.
“Seriously?” She answered on the first ring, her pretty face appearing on my screen immediately. “That’s what it takes?”
“That’s always what it takes.” I noticed she was only wearing a tank top, that her hair was wet and dripping onto her bare shoulders.
She narrowed her eyes at me and sucked in a breath, but I spoke before she could batter me with another long rant.
“I just left a simulator session,” I said. “I saw all of your messages at the same time.”
“So, you would’ve responded to the first one if you’d seen it earlier?”
“Probably not.” I smiled. “You’re in Newark right now, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Which hotel?”
“The Doubletree.” She squinted at the screen.” Are you in your car?”
“Yes.” I turned on my windshield wipers as the snow fell a little harder. “I needed a minute to think.”
The look on her face said she was waiting for an explanation, but I didn’t give it.
“Why can’t you sleep?” I asked instead. “That’s a pretty relaxing hotel.”
“Because I’m so wet.” She shook her wet hair. “So soaking wet...Oh, god, the ache in my pussy is so unbearable right now.”
I rolled my eyes. “Be serious, Gillian.”
“Well, for one, there’s a couple next door to me having sex.”
“Put on some headphones.”
“Two, my supervisor wrote me up for serving the wine and cheese too slow.” She frowned. “She embarrassed me in front of the entire crew, so I’m still trying to get over that. And three...”
“Yes?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“I have a feeling you’d talk to anyone right now if they’d let you.” I shook my head, but decided I could use a little conversation right now. “How many boyfriends have you had?”
“What?”
“How many boyfriends have you had?” I repeated.
“I heard you the first time,” she said. “I’m just shocked you’re asking me something that’s not about sex.”
“This is temporary. I’ll ask you to show me how wet your pussy is later.”
She laughed. “I’ve had one serious boyfriend and three casual ones. Are you going to ask me if I still think about them?”
“You’re fucking me, so you have no reason to. Why did you break up with the serious one?”
“He cheated on me.” She lay back on the bed, holding the phone above her face. “With like ten other women.”
“I take it that’s where your ‘only one’ demand came from?”
She nodded, blushing. “Since you don’t do girlfriends, how many women have you slept with?”
“I’ve never kept count.” I admitted. “None of them ever meant anything.”
“Right.” She forced a smile. “Makes sense. Have you ever dated anyone seriously?”
“Not since my ex-wife,” I said. “Piloting doesn’t allow for any serious relationships.”
She nodded again, giving me that fake smile. “In your non-serious relationships, not including me, have you always had incessant sex in airports and on planes?”
“Gillian, the reason we fuck in airports is because you’re the only woman I’ve been incapable of waiting to have sex with. I’ve never fucked anyone else in an airport—doubt I ever will, and I haven’t fucked you on a plane yet, but I’ll keep that in mind as that’s something I’d definitely want to do with you. So, that would be a no. Happy?”
“No.” Her real smile gave way, and I turned off the car’s hazard lights.
“Glad we could clear that up.”
“Me, too...Oh, and Jake?” Her cheeks reddened, as if she was about to laugh. “You called me tonight.”
“I’m aware.”
“Well, this counts as a late night phone call.”
“And?” I dared her to hang up on me.
“And I actually wouldn’t mind if you did it again...”
“I won’t.” I took her off video chat and switched the call to my phone’s speakers. “You have to be at the airport in twelve hours, correct?”
“No, nine hours.”
“Did the flight time just change?”
“No.” She let out a breath. “My supervisor makes me show up to everything two to three hours early whenever possible.”
“That’s pointless.” I switched lanes, heading back toward New York. “What do you do with all the free time?”
“Book hop. I start reading a book in one bookstore and then I walk to the next bookstore to read the next few until it’s time to go. Or if you’re in town...Well, I meet you.”
“Interesting.” I turned up the volume on her soft and sexy voice, unable to end this call for some reason. “What’s the last book you read?”
Her tone changed and she became completely animated. For two hours she and I talked about favorite novels as I drove through traffic, and before I knew it, I was crossing the bridge into Newark, not New York.
Jesus...
I turned off my car after parking in front of the Doubletree, with her still talking in my ear.
“Are you at home yet?” she asked, yawning.
“No, I’m outside your hotel...What’s your room number?
GATE B24
GILLIAN
New Orleans (MSY)—> San Francisco (SFO)—> New York (JFK)
I HIT “POST” ON MY thirtieth blog post of the week, logging off before I could see a comment from my personal troll. I was sitting on the fire escape by my window, letting New York’s familiar soft rains pelt against my skin.
With two days off, I’d planned to finally address my mail, to finally open the numerous envelopes that littered the corners in my apartment, but I couldn’t do it. For one, I still thought that if I avoided them, they would eventually go away, and two, I was getting slightly paranoid about the fact that Jake had yet to respond to my latest email, even though I knew he was here in New York.
I scrolled through my emails again, double checking to be sure my “Hey...You got a minute?” text had gone through yesterday. I tapped the screen as the word “sent” appeared and tapped my fingers against the window sill.
I didn’t want to make too much of this, but there was definitely a pattern. Every third week of the month, like he’d said from the beginning, he was practically unreachable. No texts, no emails, no phone calls. But the second the weekend ended, he would pick up right where we left off, as if the messages I’d sent prior had never happened.
Not only that, but the few occasions that I spent the night with him, I would catch him whispering in his sleep. It was always the same phrases over and over, “He lied to you, Jake, he lied to all of us,” “How do you sleep at night?” or, “Who are you here for?”
And every time that I attempted to ask him about it, he would look at me as if he had no idea what I was talking about. He would then, as always, distract me from the topic with his incomparable sex—rendering me completely useless for hours.
Sighing, I sw
ung my feet across the ledge and shut the window. I walked over to the corner by my desk and picked up a handful of envelopes, prepared to force myself to at least face five of them, but a familiar sound suddenly came through the walls.
“Ohhhh goddd! Ohhh god! Yesss!!!” Meredith’s voice rang out loud and clear. “Yessss!” The walls shook harder and harder, and before I could grab my earbuds, my phone vibrated against my pocket. A text message from Jake.
JAKE: COME OVER. (USE the luxury cab. I’ll pay for it.)
I TOSSED THE ENVELOPES to the floor and grabbed my coat.
GATE B25
JAKE
JFK (New York)
AS THE EVENING CLOUDS gave way to an ashen grey sky, I stood on my balcony, watching Gillian sleep in my bedroom.
Whenever she spent the night with me, I noticed a pattern: No restless nights or stress if she was around. Even today, when my memories seemed hell bent on following me around, her very presence seemed to keep them at bay. Not only that, but anytime I was around her, there were remnants of feelings that came to life whenever she gave me a certain look.
When we kissed, I felt hints of emotions I once possessed. And after several meet-ups in cities all across the country, I wanted to deny that my attraction to her was more than skin deep. I wanted to deny that even though she was the exact type I should stay away from, I couldn’t seem to get close enough. She was getting under my skin, slipping into my marrow, and that was a problem.
Picking up my phone, I logged into my condo’s call log, stopping when I saw a new voicemail from an unfamiliar number. Helplessly hoping it was the one I’d waited years for, I typed the password into my system and let it play.
“One new message...” The system said before the familiar soft beep.
“Jake, it’s me...” It was the last person I wanted to hear again, Evan. “Jake, I really hate that you insist on rerouting all of our phone calls. It really hurts, and you never—”
