I was on the plane the next day.

People were still getting to their seats, but I had my seatbelt on. I’d gone to the bathroom. My phone was in my hand, headphones on for music, and I was already bored. Flipping through the travel magazines in the seat pouch in front of me, I glanced between them and my phone. Then I thought, fuck it. I called Sam. We hadn’t talked for a while—not since the day at Manny’s when I needed some strength not to end up in bed with Channing.

It’d been a losing battle from the beginning.

“Hey!” She answered a second later, sounding out of breath.

“Hey. What were you doing?” I grinned. “Bumping uglies with your man?”

She laughed. “Yeah. Right. I wish. I was doing some of those mommy Pilates. Anything to help with the birthing, you know. I’m worried how stretched I’ll be.”

“Are you trying to induce yourself?”

Another laugh. “Yeah. Right. I’ll be like that closer to the date, but it’s too early.”

Wait—what?

“When’s your due date again?” I should know.

I was a horrible friend. I couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t I remember?

“We have another month. Mason wants to do a C-section, but I told him…” She stopped. “Heather?”

I wasn’t being carted out for a surprise birthing present. “Mason didn’t ask for me to fly out, did he?”

“Wait. What?”

I knew. I didn’t need her to ask Mason. I knew.

That fuckhead. Channing lied to me.

“Hey. Um…” I motioned to the lady next to me, mouthing, “I’m sorry” as I undid my belt and got up.

That fuckhead.

Fuckhead

Fuckhead.

I was going to kill him.

No, I was going to find him, then kill him, then bring him back to life, and maybe I’d kill him again. He knew damn well what he was doing.

He was getting me out of the way.

“Are you okay? Heather?” Sam was still on the phone.

Shit. “Sorry, Sam.”

I grabbed my bag from the top and started for the front.

“Miss!” A flight attendant stepped in front of me. “Miss!”

“I have to go.” I was past her, going back up the ramp.

“Heather, are you okay? Where are you?”

I laughed, wincing at how bitter I sounded. “I’m leaving an airplane I was put on to come and visit you as a surprise.”

“What?! Really?”

Another grimace. She sounded so happy.

I tucked the phone in the crook of my neck, gentling my tone. “Yeah. Listen, I have to go.”

“The plane is taking off?”

“No. I’m off the plane.”

“What? I thought you just said—”

“I know.” I was past the flight attendants. Both saw me and shook their heads. “Listen, Sam. I’ll call you later. I’ll explain everything, but I’m not coming.”

“Oh. Oka—”

I hung up on her. I would text her to apologize, but I had a suitcase to try to stop first.

“There’s an emergency…”

I started there, and I got a denial from the first employee, then a denial with a smile, then a denial with a forced smile, then a long pause, and then two phone calls until I was exiting the airport with my luggage.

Channing had given me a ride to the airport, so I dumped my stuff in the closest taxi and gave the driver my address.

I was officially off the concussion-healing regimen.

I was going to kick Channing’s ass.