Page 6

Adrian

F lying across the country always sucked.

I hated long flights. I hated sitting still for hours with nothing but stale air and engine noise for company. I hated how time seemed to stretch endlessly when there was nothing to do but wait.

Most of all, I hated flying home.

It wasn’t because I disliked the West Coast. I loved my dad. I loved the ocean, the weather, and its familiarity. But home wasn’t home anymore—it hadn’t been for years.

Ever since they arrived.

I clenched my jaw, forcing my focus back on my audiobook. It wasn’t worth thinking about.

But then Elena had to go and be late this morning.

And, of course, it pissed me off.

Not because I cared. It was just irritating. I hated that she thought she could flounce whenever she wanted. To hell with her excuse about her driver not turning up. She probably just wanted to fuck with us. It’s what I’d do if I were her.

I didn’t like it when people were late. It threw off plans, schedules, and expectations—things I valued. I was a structured person—always had been.

That was all it was.

Except, I knew that was bullshit.

Because it was always worse when it was her.

I didn’t want to address why it got under my skin. I didn’t want to think about the fact that every time I looked at a woman, somehow, I always ended up comparing her to Elena.

That was a dangerous fucking thought.

So I ignored it, just like I ignored everything else about her. I brushed her off like she didn’t matter. And she didn’t. She never had. She was a thorn in our sides for nearly ten years.

I settled deeper into my seat, one earbud in as my audiobook played, my eyes drifting across the cabin. Without meaning to, I looked at her.

Elena was seated diagonally from me, just far enough to ignore but close enough to notice.

And I did notice.

She was wearing that pretty off-the-shoulder cream sweater I loved. Her leggings. She’d put on lip gloss. Pink. I’d noticed how shiny and plump her lips were when she arrived today.

I wonder if anyone has ever kissed her…

The thought snuck into my mind and made me clench my teeth.

Her fingers tapped against the book cover in her lap—some romance novel, no doubt. She always had one. Probably some brooding asshole in it that she’d swoon over because he had "depth” or some shit.

Her braid was long and neat, draped over one shoulder, nearly reaching her waist. I stared at the way it curled at the ends, and a few wisps of hair had slipped loose from behind her ear.

She was moving slightly, her body rocking in the slightest, most unconscious way, following whatever beat was filtering through her earbuds. She’d always done that with music. I assumed it was because of ballet. I didn’t know shit about any of that, though, just that she loved it. She dreamed of being a ballerina. She still practiced, tried out for shows, and even got a few roles. Dad had flown in to watch her last one. He asked us to go, but I made up some bullshit excuse about needing to study, and Troy said he had plans with Amanda.

I lied, though .

I stood in the back, mesmerized by her as she glided across the stage like the sweetest butterfly. She was so confident, so sure of herself—a stark contrast to the girl I knew offstage.

Her movements to the music beating in her earbuds were subtle, barely noticeable, but I saw them. I saw her. I always saw her.

And I was fucking mesmerized.

I hated that about her.

I hated that even when I wasn’t trying, I was still aware of her. That she just drew me in when all I wanted to do was escape her.

I exhaled sharply and turned away, pulling out my earbud. I needed a distraction. At least she wasn’t freaking out about the flight. She was typically fine once we were in the air, though, as long as her shade was drawn.

Troy was on his phone, staring at his screen with a look of frustration that told me exactly who he was texting.

“Still fighting with Amanda?” I asked lazily. He’d told me this morning she was being a pain in his ass, but he hadn’t elaborated on why.

Troy grunted in response.

I smirked, needing some conversation to clear my head. “That bad?”

Troy muttered something under his breath.

I prodded again, watching him tap the side of his phone with silent irritation.

Finally, he exhaled sharply, whispering, “She’s being a pain about things.”

Yeah. No shit.

Amanda had never been the understanding type. She was pushy, demanding, and always wanted more. I didn’t understand why Troy had even proposed to her in the first place. He was my brother, though, and I supported whatever he felt he needed to do. I’d already told him it was a bad idea, but he had it if he wanted my blessing.

Troy rubbed his jaw and glanced at me. “I pushed some guy at the party.”

I raised an eyebrow. That was entirely unlike Troy. I was the one who pushed people. He was the one who would laugh. “Why? ”

He hesitated, then sighed. “He was talking about Elena.”

That caught me off guard. “What kind of talk?”

Troy’s jaw tensed. “The usual. How hot she is. Wondering how many guys she’s been with. Making jokes about how they could ‘fix’ her if she was still a virgin.”

My fingers curled into fists before I could stop them.

Fucking idiots.

Troy leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling. “Didn’t feel right. Them talking about her like that.”

I gave a short laugh. “They’re not wrong about a lot of things, though.”

Troy scowled. “What the hell does that mean?”

I shrugged, leaning back with him. “She is quiet. She doesn’t have a lot of friends.”

Troy turned his gaze back to the window, locking his phone screen and refusing to respond.

He knew I was right.

Elena had always been on the outside looking in—keeping herself removed, uninterested in the world we lived in. She didn’t try. She didn’t want to belong.

I told myself I was OK with that.

That I didn’t care.

That it didn’t bother me when she locked herself away from everything, from us, because honestly, we didn’t want her around and never had. This was evident from our childhood together. Hell, even how our adulthood was now.

Before I could keep pressing Troy, the plane lurched.

A brief dip, then a rough shake.

My heart jolted in my chest, and I quickly looked at Elena to see her tense. I wasn’t scared of heights like her, but the idea of plummeting through the air to my death didn’t exactly overjoy me either.

Dean’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Just a little turbulence, guys. We’ve got a storm coming through, but we’re all good up here.”

I barely reacted further, trusting Dean to know what he was doing.

But then I looked at her .

Elena’s fingers were digging into the armrest now, her face pale, her eyes squeezed shut.

She really struggled with flying.

Another memory pulled at the back of my mind, one I hadn’t thought about in years.

She had wanted to hang out with us.

I don’t know why she even tried.

Troy and I had been climbing trees all summer, seeing who could climb higher and daring each other to take the risk.

She had been watching us that day, standing at the base of the tree with wide blue eyes, hesitating, but then—she started climbing.

She’d barely gotten halfway up before she froze.

“I— I can’t get down,” she called out, her voice trembling.

I remember Troy laughing, teasing her, calling her a baby, and telling her to jump.

But she wouldn’t move.

And instead of helping her, we’d left her there.

We didn’t mean to leave her there for so long. But when our parents called us inside for dinner, we forgot.

We sat at the table, eating and not realizing she wasn’t there—not until Dad asked where she was.

When we told them, our parents were pissed. We got grounded for two weeks. But that wasn’t what stuck with me. What stuck with me was how she looked at us after they got her down.

Like we had broken something.

She had been crying, begging for help, and we had ignored her.

I didn’t know why that bothered me.

But it did.

And I swore, after that, that I’d never feel anything for her again. That she would never be our sister. Troy and I had hooked pinkies like we always did when we made a promise to one another. It meant it was a sealed deal, and nothing could change it.

I looked at her now, her fingers still gripping the armrest.

She looked the same as she had back then—afraid, trapped, small.

And I fucking hated it. I hated those old feelings stirring inside me. I hated that I felt anything at all .

I clenched my jaw and forced my gaze away, staring at the seat in front of me.

Her problems weren’t mine.

Not now. Not ever.

I shoved my earbud back in, letting my audiobook drown everything else out.