Page 20 of Rescue

Chapter Five

Haylee

“I hate this,” Dylan mutters, hunching his shoulders up as he slumps lower in his seat on the plane. “Whose idea was this, anyhow?” He shudders. “Flying across an entire ocean. Insanity.”

“That’s how you get to Europe.” Lance’s tone resembles that of someone explaining something very simple to a small child. “How did you not realize there would be flying and oceans involved?”

“Fuck off, Lance,” Dylan says, shutting his eyes tightly as he grips his arm rests.

“We haven’t even taken off yet,” I point out from my seat across the aisle. “We’re just, like, sitting here.”

“But we’regoing to,” Dylan moans.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Layla pulls out her phone and reaches over me to point it in Dylan’s direction.

“What are you doing?” Lance asks.

“Recording this so I can shove it in his face the next time he annoys me.”

“Your support means so much, Layla,” Dylan snaps. “You’re all incredibly helpful, just what a guy would want in his bandmates. Assholes.”

“Hey, I offered you some of my drugs,” I say, but unfortunately Louis chooses that moment to walk by on his way up to his seat. He glares down at us.

“Would you all please shut up,” he practically growls. “Swearing and talking about drugs on a public airplane—what are you thinking? The Ransomes are right up there.”

Lance affects an expression of mock horror. “Imagine—rock stars talking about drugs.”

“Andswearing!” I add as Layla laughs next to me.

“The rock stars on this plane are not sitting back here,” Louis says, silencing every one of us. He grins, clearly enjoying putting us in our place, as we all glare up at him. “Now behave yourselves.”

“Asshole,” Layla says under her breath.

“He kind of has a point,” I say. “The real rock stars are up in first.”

“Which is kinda lame, if you think about it,” James says, sticking his head between our seats. “Why do they get all the perks?”

“Um, maybe because they have three multiplatinum albums?” I ask.

He waves his hand dismissively. “But we’re supposed to be their guests.”

“We’re not their guests, we’re here to do a job.” I gesture around the cabin at the assorted roadies sitting back in coach with us. “Just like everyone on their crew.”

“Whatever. You’re a much better singer than Daltrey. We’re totally due for some first-class perks.”

“The man has a point.”

I look up to see none other than Lennon Ransome standing in the aisle next to my seat. “Shit,” Layla mutters under her breath. I kind of wish I could see James’s face—from the dead silence behind me I’m sure he’s gaping wordlessly at the rock star, probably opening and closing his mouth that way he does when he’s at a loss for words. It would be kind of funny—if his screwup didn’t affect all of us. Getting overheard talking shit about the headlining band—by a member of that band, no less—was firmly in the territory of Louis-is-going-to-kill-us.

But Lennon doesn’t look angry. In fact, he looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Dude, I am so sorry,” James finally manages to get out. “We were just messing around and—”

Lennon holds up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s actually why I came back here. We didn’t realize that the label put you guys in coach. Dad took care of it—we have seats for you up front.”

Layla gasps. “Seriously? In first?”

Lennon shrugs, his eyes meeting mine. Definitely trying not to laugh. “Of course. You are our guests, after all.”