Page 14 of Riding the Curve

“Of course, dear. Make sure to keep icing those bruises over the next couple of days, okay?”

Henley nods, her smile falling when her eyes refocus on mine. “See you around, Emerson.”

Long brunette waves twirl around her as she turns swiftly, storming down the aisle without looking back. Pulling my own suitcase out of the overhead storage, I leisurely make my way down the aisle. Henley is about to “see me around” a lot sooner than she thinks.

For now, I’ll give her the illusion that she has a little space.

CHAPTER 6

Emerson

Trying to contain my laughter, I follow the stubborn woman in front of me.

I’ve been trailing Henley for the past five minutes as we maneuver our way through the crowded Sacramento airport. I make sure to keep my distance, but not enough to lose her. I had planned to carry the suitcase for her, but the sneer she gave me was clear enough warning that she couldn’t stand to be around me for a second longer.

We may have been apart for several years, but she’s still that same feisty, stubborn Henley that fought with her brother and I growing up. Still embodies the same spirit that eventually made me fall for her.

After she struggles down the escalator, we finally make it to baggage claim. Immediately, she drops the carry-on, stripping off her sweatshirt and wrapping it around her waist. Hovering a few paces away, I try not to bring attention to myself until necessary. Sliding her hand into her back pocket, she pulls out her phone and unlocks it. There’s confusion written all over her face. I’m sure she sees no text or call from her brother.

As she waits for her luggage, her fingers begin to frantically type out a message to who I can only assume is Ryleigh. I jolt forward to intercept her before she sends the text, which would only confuse the shit out of her brother.

Closing in behind her, I lean over her and swipe the phone from her hands, quickly deleting the text and sliding it back into her bag. Fury blazes over her skin, darkening it to a scarlet hue. She shoots me a look that could kill.

“What the hell, Emerson?” She growls, hands holding onto her hips as she taps her foot. “I was trying to text Ryleigh. He’s supposed to be here, but he’s n-not. He’s never late and I’m worried⁠—”

“Breathe, Hen,” I whisper, reaching out for her shoulder and squeezing it gently.

Henley’s always been riddled with anxiety.

Only once did I see her break down in a panic attack like Ryleigh used to mention her having every once in a while. These less intense moments, I used to witness a lot.

Growing up, Hen was always incredibly hard on herself. There were days after school she’d come home deflated. Sometimes it was because of her classes, sometimes because of friendships or social interactions. The frustration would build, and though she fought so hard to keep it in, it would manifest in different ways.

She’d stumble with her words or forget what she was saying halfway through a sentence. But the biggest sign of all was when she would get like this over something that others would deem a ‘small’ issue.

I could see all these signs, because I am just like Henley.

Her breathing still escalates.

“Everything’s alright, deep breaths.” I rest my palm on the side of her neck and stroke it lightly with my thumb. My words seem to calm the storm brewing in her head, and I notice she listens to me and takes a few steady pulls of air.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her eyes growing wide as her attention locks onto her gigantic floral suitcase inching its way toward us. I pull it from the conveyor and slide the handle up. Inquisitively, she watches as I swipe her carry-on and peel off my sweatshirt. Wrapping it around the carry-on, I attach it to the larger suitcase handle and tie it into a knot to secure it. Then I start to pull all our luggage toward the rental car pickup. Frozen in shock, she doesn’t follow immediately.

“Em!” she shouts behind me as I just keep walking. “Emerson Alexander Lane!”

Not pausing, I chuckle to myself when I hear her footsteps trailing faster behind me. When we were younger, she’d try to use Ryleigh’s and my full names to halt us from doing something without her. More often than not, it caught my attention, and I’d convince her brother to let her tag along. Nice to see that at least old habits haven’t changed.

Footsteps thunder closer as she catches up. She reaches out and grabs my arm with a surprisingly strong grip, enough to halt my steps.

“Wow, Hen. I’m impressed. That’s quite a grip you’ve got there.”

Hazel eyes sparkle with satisfaction as her hands whip to her hips. “I’m not as weak as I once was. I’m a lot different than the Henley you used to know,” she snaps while arching a brow.

The intended jab hits home.

I want to know all the ways Henley has changed over these years, but I decide it’s in my best interest to change the subject. “I’m taking you home.”

“Wait, w-what?” she stutters, her arms falling loose by her sides.