Hawaii (HNL)—> Dallas (DAL)—> New York (JFK)

I need a drink...

My head was throbbing in pain after piloting two turbulent flights back to back, Gillian was starting to call and text me whenever she felt like it, and I was seconds away from walking out of this simulator session. To make matters worse, the Elite Airways circus was back in full swing—gaining front page stories in all the major papers and placing promotional interviews on damn near every news station.

My father, ever the attention whore, was now the first airline CEO to host a “flying media tour.” He was allowing journalists from every paper to board his new Dreamliner—to write glowing reviews of the plane as he flew along with them and plied them with lies. He was reported as saying things like, “Yes, this is the plane I’m the proudest of,” “My family still hasn’t flown in it yet,” and “Yes. Yes, I think Sarah would’ve loved this one.”

It wasn’t until I read that last quote that I realized that he pulled this media frenzy shit at the exact same time every year. It was probably how he dealt with the guilt of getting away with his numerous lies, how he dealt with being destined for Hell.

I stopped myself from reading the remainder of the articles and put my phone in my pocket. I pulled out a new crossword puzzle, but before I could start it, the simulator session ended with a jerk that almost knocked me out of my chair, damn near slamming me against the windscreen.

Annoyed, I looked ahead at the results screen.

“Congratulations again, Ryan,” I said. “You’ve killed everyone again, but at least this time you crashed on the ground, so all of us will get to have our body parts in our caskets.”

“You’re not helping me learn, sir,” he said, teary eyed just like last time. “Would it kill you to actually give me some advice?”

I unbuckled my seatbelt. “Fly better next time.”

“With all due respect, could you tell me something that will actually help?”

“How about learn how to read?” I stood up and tossed the operations manual for the Airbus 321 at him. “You’re making the same emergency protocol mistakes because you’re treating this like a damn CR-9. Try memorizing chapters seven through thirty. Is that helpful enough?”

He nodded and I rolled my eyes, stepping out of the tube. I walked through the hangar—past the other simulators, ignoring the supervisor who was shaking his head at me.

I made it to the parking lot and opened my car door, but I heard a familiar, ugly voice calling my name.

“Jake! Jake!” Evan stopped a few feet short of me, forcing me to turn around. “Jake, I—I missed the chance to speak to you at the gala. Would you please let me talk to you?”

I didn’t answer.

“I just need five minutes of your time, so—”

“Get the fuck away from my car.”

“Jake.” His face fell. “Jake, don’t do this...”

“Don’t you have some erasing to do?” I glared at him. “More childhood photos you need to crop me out of?”

“Jake, please.”

“I like ‘Pearson’ as a last name. That was a really good choice the two of you made. How many of your legal friends did you have to go through to cover everything up?”

“We’re not covering up anything.”

“No?” I crossed my arms. “Have I somehow missed the scandalous tell-all in the press somewhere? I’d love to read it, if so.”

“We’re still your family, Jake.” He changed the subject. “No matter what you think we did, or no matter what we’ve done, we’re still your flesh and blood and we both need to talk to you.”

“Leave me a voicemail.” I opened my car door, but he stepped in my way.

“We’ve left you hundreds of voicemails, Jake. Hundreds. You keep changing your phone number, treating us like we don’t exist.”

“How ironic is that?” I pushed him. “Get the hell out of my way.”

“Today would’ve been mom’s birthday, you know. She would’ve wanted us to—”

“How do you sleep at night?” I felt the veins in my neck swelling. “How the fuck do either of you sleep at night?”

He shoved his hands into his pocket, regret creeping over his face. “We don’t...We honestly don’t.”

“Good.” I clenched my fists. “You don’t deserve to.”

“I know, and I think it’s time for you to listen to us, Jake. If you heard us out, you’d see that it’s time for you to forgive us.”

“The people who inflict pain can’t decide when it’s time for it to go away.” I slid into the driver’s seat, tempted to roll my car in reverse and then run over him. “Now, get the fuck away from me, and stay the fuck away from me. You, Nathaniel—”

“Dad, Jake. His name is Dad to you.”

“Funny.” I shrugged. “That’s not what I’ve read in the papers all these years.”

Looking saddened, he raised his hands in surrender and backed away from the car. I cranked the engine and pulled off, speeding onto the highway. I now knew I wasn’t going to last at Elite for more than a few more months—huge salary or not, and I needed to figure out a way to leave.

Turning on the radio, I searched for a decent station—something that could distract me, but there was nothing. All static or songs I didn’t feel like listening to.

I groaned and pulled over on the side of the road, parking and putting on my hazard lights. The fact that my brother and father could act so fucking normal, or like they’d ever be forgiven, still got under my skin and grated my nerves.

As a light snow began to fall outside my windows, I leaned back in my chair and shut my eyes—trying to calm myself before driving on the road.

By the time I opened my eyes again, an hour had passed and I had two missed calls from Evan, an unknown number, and a handful of emails from Gillian.

Subject: Can’t sleep.

Are you awake?

—Gillian

Subject: Yes, I know this email is not about fucking...

I know you’re awake, Jake...

—Gillian

Subject: My pussy is wet...

So. Soaking. Wet.

—Gillian

I clicked on her name and hit send via FaceTime.

“Seriously?” She answered on the first ring, her pretty face appearing on my screen immediately. “That’s what it takes?”

“That’s always what it takes.” I noticed she was only wearing a tank top, that her hair was wet and dripping onto her bare shoulders.

She narrowed her eyes at me and sucked in a breath, but I spoke before she could batter me with another long rant.

“I just left a simulator session,” I said. “I saw all of your messages at the same time.”

“So, you would’ve responded to the first one, if you’d seen it earlier?”

“Probably not.” I smiled. “You’re in Newark right now, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Which hotel?”

“The Doubletree.” She squinted at the screen.” Are you in your car?”

“Yes.” I turned on my windshield wipers as the snow fell a little harder. “I needed a minute to think.”