And I never said it.
I never fucking said it.
I told her I was coming back.
I told her I’d prove it.
But I never told her.
Fuck.
I never said the words.
The plane shudders violently.
A crack of thunder so loud it feels like it splits the cabin.
The pilot’s voice again, strained.
“We’re going to attempt emergency landing?—”
Attempt.
My hands grip the armrests.
My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
I am not afraid of much.
I’ve stood on stages in front of a hundred thousand people.
I’ve walked away from deals that would’ve buried me.
But this—this helplessness?
It hits different.
The ground rushes up in my mind before I can see it.
And all I can think—all I can feel—is this crushing, unbearable realization.
I never told Hilary that I love her.
The plane dips.
The lights go out.
The ground rushes up—a collage of rain, asphalt, mud, flashing lights, and metal.
The sound is—loud. Unbearably loud.
And after one suspended, breathless second—everything goes black.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hilary
Adrianna’s bedroom smells like peppermint tea and laundry detergent.