Beth Michele: Scarred Beautiful

I slowly turn back around to find his gaze hasn’t shifted. It’s still deadlocked on me, so I divert my focus back to the drawing. I’m paying way too much attention to Ryan and decide I’m going to punish myself for the rest of the trip and ignore him.

The ‘fasten your seatbelt’ sign lights up above me and I hear the accompanying ding . Knowing what comes next, I latch on to both sides of the seat and suck in a breath. I scrunch my face up, close my eyes, and count backwards from ten, feeling Ryan’s eyes on me, yet again.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice sincere, offering a small smile.

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Totally fine. Thanks,” I respond a little too quickly, trying to ignore the fact that the plane is tagging down the runway. Well, that was sweet, he actually looks concerned.

I take out my iPod and earbuds and pop them in my ears, playing the songs of Parachute so loudly that I can drown out not only the sound of the plane but my own thoughts. I close my eyes and let the music carry me away.

An unsettling feeling stabs at my stomach and jolts me awake. I look beyond Ryan snoring quietly beside me and see why. We are dropping. The plane is falling out of the sky. This is it . This is how it all ends for me. My breathing picks up as tears fill my eyes. Without realizing it, I let out a strangled noise and Ryan stirs. When he sees the panic overtaking me, he immediately sits up and reaches for my hand.

“Fran, what is it?” he asks, my terror reflected in his eyes.

I squeeze his hand, my nails biting into it, shaking my head frantically as the tears fall down my cheeks and slap against the silk fabric of my blouse. “We’re…I…I d-don’t want to die yet.”

Ryan looks at me, his brow crinkling, unable to comprehend my emotional breakdown. He places his other hand over mine and attempts to stop the trembling that has finally reached there. “Fran, what are you talking about? You’re not dying,” he assures, his voice soft and even, a valiant attempt at talking me down from the ledge I’m about to fall from.

“I-I can feel it,” I sputter, “we’re d-dropping fast….I never should’ve…should’ve gotten on the plane.”

There’s a momentary flicker of recognition in his eyes before he takes my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him. “Fran, we’re not dropping. We’re descending. We’re about to land at LAX.”

I blink several times, trying to process his words. “You mean, we’re not plunging into the ocean? W-we’re not going to die?”

He chuckles, wiping away my tears with his calloused thumb. “No, baby, we’re not dying. We’re very much alive and about to make our presence known to all of Los Angeles.”

My mouth hangs open and I immediately cover my face, the sheer idiocy of my actions washing over me. Ryan reaches over and pulls my hands into his lap.

“It’s okay, Fran. You don’t need to be embarrassed. I get it. I used to be deathly afraid of heights. I’ve since overcome it, but it hindered me for many years.”

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” I ask, relaxing under the soothing touch of his fingers.

“I do want to make you feel better, but no, I’m not just saying that.”

A smile edges the corner of my mouth. “Thank you,” I say quietly, noticing how his eyes have sailed down to my lips. For a split second, I want his mouth on mine. I’m silently willing him to kiss me, needing a connection, but he doesn’t.

The voice of the pilot comes over the speaker: “Welcome to Los Angeles. On behalf of Delta Airlines we hope you had a pleasant flight, and we hope to see you again soon. Enjoy your stay.”

Ryan reaches up to the overhead rack and pulls both of our bags down. Unable to help myself, I take a quick glimpse of his ass in the worn jeans he fills out so completely, licking my lips that suddenly feel parched.

I stand up, stretch the kinks from my arms and legs, and stuff the notepad back in my purse. There’s a line forming in the aisle and Ryan ushers me out before him. We follow the crowd inside the terminal to the baggage area without a word, only periodic glances at one another.

He sees his luggage and pulls it from the conveyor belt then heads back over to me, stopping just a few feet away. “It was really nice meeting you, Fran. Hope you enjoy your trip,” he says, popping the handle of his suitcase up and turning to leave.

“You, too,” I reply, but then realize I need to say more as he’s walking away. “Ryan, wait!”

He stops instantly and spins around, his dark hair falling over his questioning eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I answer, smoothing the sides of my skirt. “I just wanted to say thank you.” I reach out and place my hand on his arm. “For what you did on the plane, for calming me down. I really appreciate it.”

He eyes my hand and then raises his brown eyes to my green. “Don’t mention it. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He lets out a small laugh. “And alive.”

I smile, the recent memory of my ridiculous behavior painting a layer of red on my face. “Yeah, me too. So I guess I’ll see you around.”

“See ya, Fran.” He flashes me that brilliant smile before he disappears, and I smile right back.

I steer my Aston Martin up to the circle drive of The Ritz Carlton and Caleb and I step out, heading to the back of the car to retrieve my suitcase and his portfolio. As I hand my key to the valet, Caleb quirks a brow and shoots me a quizzical look. He doesn’t have to say anything, I can already read his mind. That’s what happens when you’ve been friends for twenty-five years. Caleb Brody knows everything there is to know about me, including the simple fact that I don’t trust anyone with my baby.

“Are you seriously valet parking your reason for living, your one true love?” he asks, keeping his voice down so he doesn’t offend the guy looking at my car like he just won the fucking lottery.

“Caleb,” I say, raising a hand in gesture at the display of wealth and understated elegance behind us. “Does this look like a place where I need to be worried about my car?”

He looks back at the hotel, nodding his head and chuckling softly. “I guess not. It’s just that I think this might be a day to go down in history.”

I shake my head as I walk over to the valet attendant and slap a fifty in his hand. “Take care of my baby,” I instruct, forcing a laugh, but my underlying tone says there’s nothing funny about it. He smiles, knowing he’s about to get in my car. The moment he pulls away, I release a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

I look over my shoulder one more time, watching until the last remnants of black disappear from my vision. We enter the hotel and Caleb stops short beside me, taking in our surroundings: the ultra-modern lobby with rich, dark wood and warm, leather seating, modern artwork in muted ocean blues hanging on the walls, and a soothing waterfall built into one of the side panels.

“Holy fucking shit,” he mutters, and a middle-aged, smartly dressed woman reading a newspaper looks up, pursing her lips and tossing him a sneer before becoming engrossed in her paper again.

“Caleb! Keep your voice down,” I scold. “I don’t feel like being kicked out of here before I’ve even checked in.”

Caleb is like a brother to me. We grew up together in Pleasantville, New York, starting with elementary school all the way through college, where we both received a Master of Architecture from Parsons. I moved to California immediately after, while Caleb stayed on and landed a job at a firm in Manhattan. With the financial help of a family friend, I started my own company, which I ended up selling to our current CEO three years ago. After Mr. Brody was transferred to California and Allison ended things with him, Caleb was ready to move here to be closer to his family. Once a position opened up, I immediately had Caleb flown out to interview and the rest is history.