Colton eventually returned his attention to his glass when nothing more seemed to be forthcoming. "And was it?" he asked finally, not looking up as he swirled what remained of the amber liquid in slow circles.
Sam managed a laugh and shook his head as he exhaled. "Nah. That it was not, brother," he said. "It was Taylor. Stood right there on my doorstep. Taylor.”
Colton slowly met his brother's conflicted eyes and Sam nodded, a humourless smile tugging the corner of his mouth upwards. “Yup. With a couple of bags at her feet and a baby in her arms. Blonde hair, blue eyes, just about a year old. She says he's mine."
And, lost for anything meaningful to say, Colton did the only thing he could - handed over the bottle.
Goddamn women. There wasn't enough whiskey in the world.
***
She’d have killed for a whiskey, but with the combination of the long-haul flight and the painkillers she was still having to take, it probably wasn’t the smart thing to do.
But the cabin pressure was making her throat dry and Callie knew she wouldn't be able to concentrate on even the most mindless of magazines, not with everything jamming up her brain. The thought of hours in this confined space was already making her beyond edgy. Hours of what was lost, what ifs and what could have beens. And through it all, the memory of that last kiss so raw and real she could still feel it.
Thinking that the pretence of reading would at least prevent the need for making polite conversation with any of her fellow Row 32H passengers, she reached for the bag stowed obediently under the seat in front. Unzipping it and reaching inside, trying to ignore the ache that made it feel distinctly like her heart had somehow lodged itself in her throat, her fingers brushed something she immediately knew hadn't been there when she’d packed.
Briefly wondering what it meant for her inadvertent lies to the mandatory did-you-pack-this-bag-yourself and did-you-leave-it-unattended inquisition, she pulled the envelope out and turned it over in her hands. Her curiosity was only further sparked when she noted her name scrawled on the front in familiar writing.
Sliding her finger under the flap, she carefully tore open the envelope and pulled out the piece of paper inside. Her eyes widened as she unfolded it, fresh tears welling up to cloud her vision.
A black ink sketch of a phoenix, signed with only two words.
One day ...
THE END
Ink (The Haven Series) Page 33
