Kissing Kendall

He cocked his head to the side, “And are you okay?”

Aubrey let out the sigh she’d been holding in so long that it ended with something that sounded a little too much like a whimper to her ears. “Not even close.”

“You know what, why don’t you come inside.” He nodded at the guard who opened the gate for them. “We’ll get you all straightened out with a temporary passport and on the next flight home.”

“I thought it was closed for the night.”

“Well,” he said walking through the gate. “Every once in a while we observe Pacific Standard Time when the occasion calls for it, so we’ve got a few hours before it’s five. Plus, being the ambassador has its privileges. Let’s go get you taken care of and make sure your friends know you’re okay.”

She wouldn’t be that, not for a good long time, but getting home and eating pecan pie at The Kitchen Sink Diner would help. She had to believe that because it was pretty much the only thing making it possible for her to get one foot in front of the other and put more distance between her and the man she’d fallen for who never wanted to see her again. And who could blame him? She’d fucked it all up from the beginning.

Eleven

Byron would be having a fit if he ever found out that Carter had voluntarily opted for coach to get the first flight out of Nassau and back to New York after a night spent walking around Nassau looking for Aubrey. It wasn’t until he got to the embassy this morning for a temporary passport that he found out she’d already been there and left on the final flight out last night.

And that was that. He’d overreacted like an asshole and fucked it up. He should have listened to her at the very least. Instead he’d acted like a total douchebag and she’d walked out, which he realized this morning he rightly deserved.

Even though it wasn’t enough, bypassing the wine drinkers in first class to fold himself into a smaller seat with pretty much negative legroom seemed at least some punishment. He was a fucking idiot.

He checked his ticket for the third time to confirm his row and seat as he did the slow shuffle down the aisle behind people trying to fit what should clearly be a checked bag into the overhead bin. One guy was telling with the airline attendant that there had to be something wrong with the bin on this plane because it had fit on the plane he’d taken down to Nassau. Judging by the what-kind-of-bullshit-are-you-slinging look on the woman’s face, she wasn’t buying it. Finally, the guy gave up and everyone snuck into whatever open space there was while he took the walk of shame back to the boarding area with his too-big bag.

Carter’s seat was two rows further down. A woman and a skinny kid were already sitting down. The woman had her hair pulled back into a braid and was wearing the sunburn of a Michigan tourist who’d vacationed anywhere near the equator. The kid, who looked all of eight, was wearing one of those antiviral face masks and had dark circles under his eyes. The kid was by the window. The woman was on the aisle.

He hesitated, not sure what the protocol was in this situation.

“Shadron, time to get in your seat,” the woman said, giving Carter a small apologetic smile. “This gentleman here has the window.”

The boy let out a soft sigh without looking away from the window but started to get up.

“It’s alright, I can take the middle seat. No big deal.” Self-flagellation for the win? That’s right.

“That’s sweet of you, but it’s okay,” the woman said.

She got up and her son moved to the middle seat. Carter sat down by the window and tucked his arms as close to his sides as possible and settled back for a long ass flight back to New York. With any luck, he’d sleep through the whole damn thing and wouldn’t dream about Aubrey even once.

It wasn’t until they’d been airborne for a few minutes before he felt a little nub of a finger poking him in the arm. He cracked an eye open and looked at the kid on his left. His many years of media training was the only thing keeping him from growling—right up until the kid shoved a folded piece of paper at him and gave him one of those weird, awkward kid winks that was more of a blink.

Hello, Admiral. My name is Shadron. I’m eight. Are you undercover?

Fuck. So much for his Bahama Living cap pulled down low and the days’ worth of beard growth. He hadn’t even fooled a little kid. He didn’t have it in him to lie to a kid who was obviously sick. The best he could hope for was to keep his real identity between him and Shadron. He lowered his tray table, snagged the pencil from the boy, and jotted down a quick response.

I’m not at liberty to say.

The boy read the note, nodded, and started writing his response on the bottom. He adjusted the mask covering his mouth scrawled off a few words before handing it over.

Understood. You are my favorite superhero.

How often had Carter heard that from kids and adults during the past ten years of playing The Admiral? Too many to count. However, he heard the studio’s PR person’s voice telling him that while he may have heard it all before that it was the first time that fan had gotten to say it to him and that was what was important. He borrowed the pencil again and handed over his reply.

Thank you. It’s a huge honor to meet you.

The boy grinned big enough that it was noticeable

even with his mask and started to write another note. That’s when Carter felt like he was being watched, he looked up and locked eyes with Shadron’s mom who was staring at him with the kind of do-not-fuck-with-my-child glare that only a mom could give. Okay, maybe passing notes with a little kid without his mom’s go-ahead didn’t have the best optics. Before he could explain though, the kid slid over the note that now was covered with his uneven handwriting almost all the way down to the bottom. Carter held it up, angling it so the boy’s mom could read it too.

Sir, I would like to ask a few questions. 1. Is Bolt really your best friend? 2. How long have you had your dog, Tug? 3. Are you worried about facing down Iceburg? He’s the most powerful super villain on the planet.

Carter glanced over at the woman and raised an eyebrow in question. If she wanted to shut the conversation down, he would find a way to make that happen. However, as soon as she started reading the note, her suspicion turned to something softer and the tip of her nose got red as she pulled a Kleenex out of her pocket and mouthed, “Thank you.”