Page 1 of Absolution (Infidelty #3)

Jackie ~ January 2012

“Come on,” the guy in front of me says. “There has to be something.” He’s practically begging the gate agent at this point.

I can tell the woman behind the counter is doing her best to stay polite. Her smile is tight. Exhausted. Probably on her third shift. “Sir,” she says, carefully, “your flight to Austin was cancelled due to weather. The next available one is in thirty-six hours.”

“I start my new job Monday morning,” he groans. “I’ll never make it.”

She shrugs, sympathy straining through exhaustion. “You could try Union Station. The Texas Eagle hasn’t left yet. You might be able to catch it.”

“Only option left’s the two-person bedroom,” he mutters. “And I’ve already maxed out my credit card to book this flight which you cancelled.”

He looks so done I almost feel bad for him. Almost.

Before I can overthink it, I say, “I’ll split it with you.”

He turns, sharp. “What?”

“I need to get to Austin too. I’ll split the cost. And the seat.”

“It’s a bedroom.”

“Which has two seats.” I shrug.

He just stares.

“The train’s not gonna wait for us,” I say. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The gate agent gives me a look halfway between gratitude and concern, like I’m either her personal hero or a walking liability. Fair. I might be both.

I turn and walk away leaving him to follow. As we head toward the cab stand, he finally speaks. “Kyle.”

He’s tall. Like, noticeably taller than my 5'5". A long-legged giant who somehow looks both polished and sleep-deprived.

“Jackie,” I say.

“So… do you often run off with total strangers?”

I give him a look that says ‘Buddy, I just saved your ass.’ But what I actually say is, “I’ve got no interest in sleeping on airport carpet either. Besides, I’ve got some pent-up aggression. Wouldn’t mind taking it out on someone.”

He looks alarmed.

I laugh. “Relax. I’m kidding. Mostly.”

We get in a cab to Union Station. While he’s chatting with the driver, I call Amtrak. He’s right, only the two-person sleeper is left. I cringe at the price and agree to pay half. It’s either that or get stuck here in snowstorm hell.

Kyle doesn’t say much, but I catch him glancing at me now and then, like he’s trying to figure me out. I don’t blame him. My parents will kill me if they find out what I’m doing.

“So,” I say, settling down on the little sofa across from him, “This is it”

The bedroom on the train sounds fancier than it looks.

There’s one narrow couch on my side, and a slightly wider seat on his. Between us, there’s a tiny table barely big enough for two coffee cups. A mirror hangs on the wall, and there’s a sliding door that can close us in or trap us, depending on how this goes.

Above us, a bunk folds down from the ceiling. Apparently at night the seats convert into a bed, and the upper bunk drops down like a surprise guest. Everything's compact, tucked in like a dollhouse version of a hotel room. There’s even a tiny private toilet and a sink in the corner, curtained off awkwardly.

It smells like trains do, metal and cleaner and something vaguely sour. But it’s warm. And it’s not an airport floor.

“I’ve been in elevators bigger than this,” I say.

Kyle gives me a look. “Still better than a middle seat.”

Fair. I stretch my legs as far as they’ll go, which isn’t much. He shifts, awkward. There’s no way to not be in each other’s space.

“Well,” I say, “if I snore, just kick me.”

He finally smiles. “Noted.”

The train jerks once, then starts rolling, humming beneath us like a lullaby wrapped in engine noise. We sit in silence for a few minutes, the kind that isn't uncomfortable yet. Just new.

Then he speaks. “Why do you have aggression?”

I turn and raise an eyebrow.

“Earlier,” he says, “you mentioned pent-up aggression. Why?”

I study him. He’s not smirking. Just asking. I debate for a second, then say, “Did you believe in the 2012 end-of-the-world crap?”

He laughs. “No. Did you?”

I shake my head. “My boyfriend did. Well, ex-boyfriend.” I let that hang for a second. “I celebrated New Year’s with my family, flew in to surprise him yesterday. Turns out, genius figured if the world was ending, he might as well get high and join a week-long orgy.”

Kyle blinks. “Eesh.”

“Yeah.”

“You dumped him?”

“Call me crazy, but I think I could forgive murder before I forgive cheating.”

He looks at me like he’s reassessing something. “Wow. I commend that.”

I shrug, then smile. “So, what’s this job you’re starting?”

He straightens a little. “Junior associate at Grey, Bishop & Associates. In Austin.”

I nod like I’ve heard of them. “Congrats.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I was a public prosecutor before this. Let’s just say Law & Order makes it look way more fun than it actually is.”

I laugh. “So not as much cool lighting and dramatic cross-examinations?”

“Way more paperwork. And no one yells Objection! like that in real life.”

I smile, settling deeper into my seat. Outside, the city’s starting to blur into night and ice. Inside, it feels weirdly safe for a moving box with two strangers in it.

“Here’s to new jobs,” I say, lifting my water bottle.

He taps his against mine. “And to not getting murdered by your train roommate.”

“Cheers to that.”

The train rolls into the night, the city giving way to frozen countryside, snow-covered fields blurring past the window. Inside, it’s all soft hum and muted yellow light. Our little sleeper room sways gently with every turn of the tracks.

For a while, we just talk.

He tells me about law school in Michigan, the cold winters, terrible coffee, one professor who made everyone cry. I tell him about my dad’s stroke last fall, how I deferred college to help my mom take care of him. We trade stories like we’re playing poker, one honest card at a time.

He has a good laugh. It sneaks up on you, quiet at first, then unexpectedly loud, full-throated. And his smile? Yeah, dangerous.

I tell him about being the youngest of three. How my siblings and I bickered so much as kids we nearly drove our mom insane, full-on screaming matches over cereal, TV, bathroom turns. But somewhere along the way, all that noise turned into something solid. Now we’re so close we have a standing conference call. It started as me venting about Mom being impossible, but it turned into this ritual. Every week, we catch up on everything. Life stuff. Dumb stuff.

“Whenever we’re together,” I say, smiling, “it’s still like we’re five. We revert. But also… we’d fight anyone for each other.”

He’s quiet for a second, watching the lights outside flick past.

“I’m an only child,” he says finally. “I always thought it’d be cool to have siblings.”

By hour five, we’re past small talk. It’s the kind of conversation that makes time feel strange, like the train isn’t just moving us through states, but through some suspended space where everything feels safe to say. I tell him things I’ve barely said out loud before.

Like how all my friends moved away for college last fall. Facebook turned into dry one-word replies. Invites stopped coming. I guess they outgrew me and that’s okay, I say, and I mean it. Mostly. But it’s not fun. It’s never exciting being the one left behind, watching everyone else’s life get bigger while yours gets smaller.

Kyle listens. Really listens. No phone, no fake nods. Just quiet, steady attention like I’m worth the space I take up.

When he talks, his voice is low, thoughtful. He doesn’t make any promises and honestly, for all we know, we’ll never see each other again. Just two strangers passing through the same quiet moment on a train headed south.

But that thought sits heavy in my chest. It’s strange. We just met. Hours ago, he was just a guy arguing with a gate agent.

And yet… the idea of never seeing him again hurts more than being cheated on by my boyfriend of two years.

At some point, I kick off my boots and curl up sideways on my seat. He does the same. Our knees brush once, a soft, accidental thing and neither of us pulls away.

We share snacks. He has almonds. I have chocolate. He pretends he doesn’t want any, then eats half the bar.

When we pass through St. Louis, it’s still dark out. The train stops briefly, platform lights flicker through the window like a silent film, and for a moment we just sit there, side by side, watching the city drift by.

He leans back against the wall, looking at me like I’ve surprised him.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says.

“Yeah? What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. Not someone who’d share a train bedroom with a stranger and threaten him with bodily harm.”

I smirk. “I contain multitudes.”

“You really do.”

The train lurches as it starts again. My head is foggy from too much sitting, too little sleep. But I feel good. Light. Like for the first time in a while, life isn’t passing me by, it’s taking me with it.

Later, we fold down the beds. He offers to take the top bunk, and I don’t argue. There’s a weird kind of intimacy in hearing someone breathe above you in the dark, not sexual, just human. I lie awake for a while, listening to the train, his steady breath, the creak of the tracks. At some point, I drift off.

By the time we hit Texas, something has shifted. Nothing’s happened, not really. But everything’s different.

We walk off the train in Austin as… what? Not strangers. Not quite friends. Something in between. Something that could become more, if either of us were brave enough to ask. Stopping outside the station, Kyle turns to me.

“Do you need a ride?” he asks.

I shake my head. “My mom’s already circling the block.”

He nods like he gets it. Like we both know this little pocket of time, this strange, suspended space we shared is about to close. I should turn and walk away. But I don’t. And neither does he.

“Well,” he says letting out a breath. “This was great. I thought Texas would be a fresh start, but I didn’t think I’d meet someone so… great before I even got there.”

I smile, waiting. Hoping. Just ask.

A horn blares behind me, I turn to see my mom’s car parked up the street, her eyes definitely already reading way too much into all of this.

“Well,” I say again. “I should…”

He nods. “Yeah.”

I turn with a sinking feeling, forcing myself to walk away. Of course I read too much into it. I was a travel companion. Not a soulmate. He’s a lawyer. I’m someone who hasn’t even gone to college. I shake my head.

Idiot.

“Wait!” he calls out. “Jackie!”

I stop, spin around. “Yeah?”

He jogs a few steps toward me. “I know we just met and this is probably stupid, but… I really had a good time. Do you think I could… maybe have your number?”

“For the money?” I ask, grinning.

He laughs. “For that. And maybe also… so we could get dinner or something?”

My smile answers before I do. “I’d love to.”

He hands me his phone, and I type my number in. When I give it back, I lean up on my toes to kiss his cheek, but I catch the corner of his mouth instead.

We both freeze for a second.

I step back, heart thudding. “Call me,” I say, smiling as I walk backwards, still watching him.

He stands there, looking like he wants to say more, but I turn toward my mom, who is definitely making googly eyes at me from the driver’s seat.

And I don’t even care.

Not today.