Page 142 of Reverie

As a defense mechanism, I tune out Jami’s voice as she performs the inflight safety demonstration.

We pull back from our spot on the tarmac and head to the runway more quickly than I’d anticipated. When Jami stops speaking and returns to her jump seat, I can finally take a deep, therapeutic breath.

“Are you okay, Winter?” Hunter’s voice is soft, but I still hear him over the roaring engines as we take off and race toward cruising altitude. I give him a weak smile.

My brain is not a happy place right now and I hate that.

I hate this.

I look at my left hand again. The ring really is so beautiful. I can tell he put a lot of thought into it.

My eyes slide back to Hunter.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

Veronica was right.

I shut down the thought as quickly as it comes.

Hunter nods and faces away. From the set of his shoulders, I can tell he doesn’t believe me, but he’s likely unsure what to say or how to fix this.

Fix us.

Isodon’t know how to, either.

We’re silent for the next hour of the flight. I desperately want him to say something, anything. I don’t know what the hell I expect him to say or what reassurances I’d expect from him.

All I know is that everything feels wrong where it’s never felt wrong between Hunter and me.

“Winter, I…” Hunter starts speaking but doesn’t finish his sentence. When I angle my body closer, I note the tension running through him.

When exactly did this wall come up between us? And, more importantly, how can we break it down?

No. The most important question is: Should we break it down?

I think back to that damned shower. I wish he wouldn’t have retreated from me, which is what he did. He ran away from me, from us. And while I know he did so to protect himself, I can’t help but feel that I’m responsible in part.

I pushed and pushed. I demanded that he show me all of it. And I did so without giving him a safe place to be vulnerable.

I can accept responsibility for my part.

And still…Hunter’s absence is somethingheis choosing.

You are Winter Leigh Vaughan, daughter of the incomparable U.S. Representative Katherine Vaughan and the first Black Chief of Neurosurgery in the history of all medical systems in northern Virginia. You come from a line of fierce, strong women. You are beautiful and a badass. No one will make me feel inferior.

I recite my pep talk over and over in my brain, focusing on the statement rather than the swirling self-loathing and anxiety on the periphery.

But maybe if I weren’t so raw, so exposed, so…lost, I could handle it when Jami returned to us and fixed her sights on Hunter again.

I might have been able to tolerate her flirtation then because, in an alternate universe, Hunter and I are solid.

But when Jami leans over to whisper in Hunter’s ear and reaches out to touch his chest, it doesn’t matter to me that he grips her wrist, halting her progress. It doesn’t matter that she gasps, and twin pink spots appear on her bottle-tanned skin as he gives her a flat, unimpressed glare.

It doesn’t matter that Jami smiles at Hunter, acting as if I don’t fucking exist or matter at all.

None of it matters because I’ve pushed past the level of control.

“Get your hoes in order, Hunter,” I snap, wrenching the buckle loose and standing.