jacket he’d draped across his lap, dug his fingernails into his jean-clad thighs. This was the first trip he’d ever made by airplane. Flying itself was okay. The takeoffs and landings scared the crap out of him.
Not that he’d let F-wad Fisherman in the seat next to him see it. He’d gone total incommunicado with the a-hole somewhere over Kansas after Mr. Fish made a pissy comment about his earrings. TJ had his reasons for getting his ears pierced, and he didn’t owe anyone an explanation.
A ding ding sounded in the airplane, followed by a man’s voice saying, “Flight attendants, please prepare for landing.”
Oh God oh God oh God oh God. He couldn’t stop himself from looking out the window. Mountains all around. In his mind’s eye, he saw the plane go splat against a rock cliff.
The plane descended. Nausea churned in his stomach. I will not barf. I will not barf. I will not barf.
Wheels touched. Bounced up. Touched again. There was a big whooshing sound, which he knew—at least since landing to change planes in Denver—meant the pilot had applied the brakes. I hope they work. I hope the runway is long enough.
Then he remembered that Savannah Moore would be waiting to meet the plane. Maybe he’d be better off in the long run if the plane did crash.
As the airplane’s tires rolled toward the gate, a familiar rage rolled through TJ. He mentally cursed his father with every vile, vulgar epithet he’d ever heard.
He’d been down this road before.
The first time Dad got sent away, the kindly, criminally incompetent Social Services people sent him to live with foster parents, the beautiful Susan and movie-star-handsome Alexander Rowe.
Or, as TJ now thought of them upon the rare occasions he didn’t try to block them from his mind, the pervs.
Thinking of them made him want the plane to crash.
But he’d survived, and Dad had come home, and life had been good for TJ. He’d been doing okay in school. He’d made the middle-school basketball team.
Then his father got laid off, went back on the booze, and back to jail.
And I lose my home.
The plane rolled to a gentle stop, and the pilot came on the intercom and said, “Welcome to Gunnison–Crested Butte Regional Airport.”
At that, the nausea in TJ’s stomach did another roll. Next to him, F-wad Fisherman rose and rummaged in the overhead compartment for the round tube that TJ figured held his fishing pole. TJ remained seated. He didn’t even unbuckle his seat belt. He’d almost rather face another takeoff than drag his ass off the plane.
Then he was the last one left. The flight attendant stood in the aisle, watching him expectantly. “Son, is everything okay?”
I’m not your son!
He gave no verbal response, but sullenly stood and grabbed his backpack from the overhead bin. The flight attendant gave him a fake smile, then stepped back into her little galley area to give him space to walk by her. Then he was walking up that long hallway thing toward the terminal. His aunt was supposed to be waiting for him at the baggage claim.
Aunt Jailbird. Sister of Uncle Jailbird, Uncle Ran Away, and DUI Dad. For all TJ knew, she’d been best friends with OD Dead Mom.
Did he have great genes or what?
TJ followed the signs toward baggage claim, his spine growing stiffer with every step. If, deep inside himself, the naive kid he used to be nurtured a seed of hope that this time might be different, he refused to recognize it. Approaching the security exit, TJ donned his defenses like a suit of armor. He’d spent years building them, and going through puberty had helped with that. Now when people looked at him, they didn’t see a skinny little kid with blond hair and brown eyes and a dopey grin. They saw a tall guy with a spiked multicolor Mohawk, seven earrings, a nose ring, and a tongue stud. They didn’t see the young, vulnerable kid; they saw the don’t-f-with-me teen. He’d survived Alex Rowe. He’d survived the night the uniforms knocked on the door to arrest Dad. He’d survived the effing airplane ride.
He would survive Savannah Moore and the middle-of-nowhere town where she lived. Eternity Springs. What sort of stupid name was that? Sounded like the name of a freakin’ cemetery.
He saw her through the glass wall that divided the baggage claim from the terminal, and a brief memory flashed through his mind. You want me to push you higher? Really, Tommy?