Page 54 of Every Shattered Note
Her throat works around something that might be a yes.
“And the third?”she asks, voice tight.
I exhale through my nose, nerves crawling up my spine.“Keep my secret.”
She doesn’t answer right away.Her eyes brim with something she won’t let fall.
“You told Jules,” she states.“How do you know she’ll keep your secret?”
I press my lips.“She signed an NDA before I spoke with her.Needed her help, but as my lawyer and friends told me, I couldn’t risk it.I trust you.Her ...I have no idea.”
That earns me a look, unreadable but not dismissive.She sways slightly, like the world tilted beneath her feet and she’s trying to stay upright.
“Why me?”she finally asks.“Why trust me?”
“Because when I met you, you treated me like a person.You were pissed and weird and honest.You thought I was an amateur and told me to fuck off—in a nice, professional way.That’s rare, Aly.”
She wraps her arms around herself.“You lied.That’s not rare at all.”
I lean closer, but stop short of touching her.“I’m sorry.”
Silence again.
She stares out the oval window, her reflection caught against the black sky, as if the answers she needs might be floating somewhere out there—above the clouds, beyond the stars, anywhere but here with me.Her arms are locked around her torso, as if she’s holding herself together piece by fragile piece.
The silence inside the cabin isn’t peaceful.It hums beneath the low drone of the engines, filled with every word we didn’t say soon enough and every truth I should’ve never let her find out this way.
“None of this is normal,” she says, her voice tight, like it’s unraveling thread by thread.“I should run.”
She turns to face me, her eyes burning, and the look she gives me doesn’t just hit—it fucking lingers.Like I’ve carved this into her.Her glare strips away whatever fragile peace we had left.And beneath all that anger is something I can’t unsee—betrayal, disbelief, and hurt carved into every line of her face.
I did that.
I fucking did that.
And I hate myself for it.
“I wouldn’t stop you.”My voice barely makes it out, thick and frayed around the edges.“But I’d miss you.”
That startles her.Her gaze snaps to mine like she wasn’t expecting anything soft from me.Maybe she shouldn’t.Maybe I’ve already proven I’m not the safe option.
“I don’t even know you,” she says, barely above a whisper.Like it’s a truth she’s only just realizing.
“You know more than most people do.”I take a breath that barely makes it past my ribs.“I’ve told you things I haven’t told anyone else.If you stay ...you’ll know everything.The real me.Not the one in a headline.Not the one they built from press releases and family scandals.Me.”
Her brow creases.“What happens when we’re back in Seattle?”
I glance at her lips, then up at her face.She’s barely moving, but everything about her feels tense—like she’s trying not to breathe too loudly, like even that would make this unravel faster.Something knots in my throat.I wish I had an answer.But nothing about this—about me—is ever that simple.
“Whatever you want to happen,” I murmur.“I’ll follow your lead.I can disappear the second we land in San Cristobal.I can keep my distance.Or maybe ...maybe we can figure it out.I don’t know.”
My chest burns as I force the words out, one after the other, like they’re costing me something I might not get back.Something I never had, for that matter.
“But if you’re even thinking about a future—about anything beyond this jet—you need to know who I am.Not just the guy who played along.Not just the name on your lips right now.All of it.The damage.The press.The family.The expectations.And the fallout.”
The cabin hums with that low, constant drone.Outside the windows, there’s nothing but blackness and reflection.But in here, the silence stretches too far.The air feels too thick, too dry.There’s nowhere to hide up here, not from her stare and not from myself.
“You gave me something I didn’t think I’d ever feel again,” I say, and the words feel scraped raw.“Hope.”
