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If I hadn’t drunk myself into a night I couldn’t take back, would Chris and I have made it? As much as we fought, I honestly don’t know how long we would have lasted. And for the first time since he walked out on me this morning, toothbrush and all, I question if maybe…

If maybe him leaving was for the best.

If maybe it’sfate.

My heart revolts at the thought, ricocheting an ache through my chest that makes it hard to breathe. Fear of the unknown shrinks my lungs, and though I’m not prone to panic attacks, I wonder if I’m about to have one now, 35,000 fucking miles in the air.

His touch is back, shooting warmth through the thin sleeve of my T-shirt where his hand rests on my shoulder. “What’s your name?”

“Jules,” I say with a hard swallow.

“Can you breathe for me, Jules?”

I like the sound of my name coming from his lips. Deep and soothing. Nodding, I suck in a breath, dragging it to the bottom of my lungs, and risk a peek at him. He’s turned toward me in his seat, dark brows furrowing in worry.

And his hand…

God, he’s still touching me, and I’m the worst kind of person because I don’t want him to move away. But he does, and I blink as my heartbeat slowly calms.

“I-I’m sorry. I’ve just had a really bad day.” I almost laugh at the understatement.

“I can relate. Count me in on the Bad Day Club.” He lets a beat pass then exhales. “Feel like talking about it?”

I’m saved from answering, as the flight attendant stops by with our drink orders. She gives him his bourbon before handing me a soda. I clasp both hands around the glass and look down into the bubbly dark liquid.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“You’re welcome,” she says. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

Silence is always awkward between two people who don’t know each other, but the quiet that settles over us now takes it to a whole other level—an exciting yet scary one. From the first moment I looked into his eyes, the earth seemed to stop. And when he touched me, bringing me back from the edge of fear and despair, my body came alive. Why I feel safe enough to confide in him, I’m not sure, but maybe I just need to break the disquiet.

“I’m not just visiting my friend.”

“I sensed a story there,” he says, and the weight of his scrutiny tingles down my spine.

I sip my soda and watch the nothingness outside the window. It’s easier to talk when I’m not facing him. “My life kinda fell apart this morning. Next thing I know, I’m on a plane.” A lengthy pause goes by. “I’m not going back.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself.

He lets out a low whistle. “That’s a gutsy move.”

A mocking laugh rumbles in my throat. “It’s a cowardly move.”

“How so?”

Biting my lip, I shoot him a furtive glance. “I fucked up, and instead of dealing with the consequences, I ran away.”

“I wouldn’t peg you for the type of person not to own up to a mistake.”

“Oh, I own it completely. But I can’t make it right, and I can’t take it back. Apologizing didn’t matter. He left anyway.”

“Your boyfriend?”

“As of this morning, myex-boyfriend.”

He falls quiet for a few moments, and I wonder if he’s judging me. Coming to certain conclusions like everyone in Whiskey Flats will undoubtedly do.

That I’m a slut. A cheater. Someone without morals.

But that’s crazy thinking. He doesn’t know me well enough to judge, and I didn’t tell him all the dirty details.