Page 24 of Anatomy of Us

I smile at the screen. My first real smile since this morning.

Me: Thanks.

Tessa: Don't thank me yet. Florida is going to be hell.

Me: Because of the heat?

Tessa: Because of everything.

Chapter 8

Tessa

The second I step off the plane, Florida humidity slaps me full in the face.

“Fuck,” someone groans behind me. “Is this air or chicken soup?”

I don’t turn. I don’t need to. That tone—pure “I speak, therefore I am”—only belongs to Iris Vance.

I stand at the bottom of the stairs, off to the side, like a decorative plant they park next to the aircraft. The team starts coming down one by one, dragging carry-ons, complaints, and under-eye circles. Someone decides a 7 a.m. flight is a good idea. Sweat beads before I can form a thought. My shirt sticks to my back.

Zoe comes down last.

She has Wesley strapped to her chest in a baby carrier, a diaper bag slung over her shoulder, and she pulls a small suitcase with her right hand. Her perfect ponytail from a few hours ago has surrendered. Strands escapeeverywhere, some already plastered to her forehead by the heat.

“Let me help you,” I offer, climbing up three steps to meet her.

“I’m fine.”

She says it too fast, the same way a player says “I’m not hurt” while she grips her thigh. I ignore her and take the suitcase from her hand.

Wesley watches me with huge brown eyes. Dead serious, like he’s deciding if he should smack me.

“Hey, boss,” I murmur. “Don’t worry. I hate this temperature too.”

The shift when we step into the air-conditioned bus is violent. Even the baby looks up, startled, like we just walked through a portal or someone opened a freezer door in the middle of hell. At this point it already smells like sports deodorant and potato chips.

From the back seats, Iris pops up like she just scored a last-minute winner.

“The boss is here!” she screams, cutting across the aisle toward the kid.

Zoe shakes her head and rolls her eyes. On the plane, one of the many times Iris leaned in... she said the kid looked like the boss of the whole expedition. The rest of the players found it hilarious and started calling him Boss, which doesn’t amuse his mother.

Iris bends close to Wesley, closes her eyes, and inhales like a psycho.

“God… I love how this kid smells,” she sighs. “Can I keep him?”

“No,” Zoe growls.

“Rent him by the hour?”

“Vance, sit your ass down, we’re leaving,” the coach yells from the front seat without looking up from her tablet.

Iris makes a fake pout but obeys. Even she doesn’t pick fights with Hades.

I choose a seat four rows back. Distance. Boundaries. Professional.

Even so, my eyes keep sliding to Zoe’s reflection in the bus window the whole ride.