Once we got our boarding passes, we made our way slowly through security. When we finally reached the front of the line, Travis kept setting off the detector, so the TSA agent made him take off his ring.
Travis grudgingly complied, but once we passed through security and sat on a nearby bench to put on our shoes, Travis grumbled a few inaudible swear words, and then relaxed.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s back on your finger,” I said, giggling at his overreaction.
Travis didn’t speak, only kissed my forehead before we left security for our gate. The other spring breakers appeared just as exhausted and happy as we were. And I spotted other arriving couples holding hands who looked just as nervous and excited as Travis and I were when we arrived in Vegas.
I grazed Travis’s fingertips with mine.
He sighed.
His response caught me off guard. It was heavy, and full of stress. The closer we got to the gate, the slower he walked. I worried about the reaction we’d face at home, too, but I was more worried about the investigation. Maybe he was thinking the same thing and didn’t want to talk to me about it.
At Gate Eleven, Travis sat next to me, keeping his hand in mine. His knee was bouncing, and he kept touching and tugging at his lips with his free hand. His three-day scruff twitched every time he moved his mouth. He was either freaking out on the inside, or he’d drunk a pot of coffee without me knowing.
“Pigeon?” he said finally.
Oh thank God. He’s going to talk to me about it.
“Yeah?”
He thought about what he might say, and then sighed again. “Nothing.”
Whatever it was, I wanted to fix it. But if he wasn’t thinking about the investigation or facing the aftermath of the fire, I didn’t want to bring it up. Not long after we took our seat, first class was being called to board. Travis and I stood with everyone else to get in line for economy.
Travis shifted from one foot to the other, rubbing the back of his neck and squeezing my hand. He so obviously wanted to tell me something. It was eating at him, and I didn’t know what else to do but squeeze his hand back.
When our boarding group began to form a line, Travis hesitated. “I can’t shake this feeling,” he said.
“What do you mean? Like a bad feeling?” I said, suddenly very nervous. I didn’t know if he meant the plane, or Vegas, or going home. Everything that could go wrong between our next step and our arrival back on campus flashed through my mind.
“I have this crazy feeling that once we get home, I’m going to wake up. Like none of this was real.” Concern shone in his eyes, making them glassy.
Of all the things to worry about, and he was worried about losing me, just as I worried about losing him. It was then, in that moment, that I knew we’d done the right thing. That yes, we were young, and yes, we were crazy, but we were as much in love as anyone. We were older than Romeo and Juliet. Older than my grandparents. It might not have been that long ago since we were children, but there were people with ten or more years of experience who still didn’t have it together. We didn’t have it all together, but we had each other, and that was more than enough.
When we returned, it was likely that everyone would be waiting for the breakdown, waiting for the deterioration of a couple married too young. Just imagining the stares and stories and whispers made my skin crawl. It might take a lifetime to prove to everyone that this works. We’d made so many mistakes, and undoubtedly we would make thousands more, but the odds were in our favor. We’d proven them all wrong before.
After a tennis match of worries and reassurances, I finally wrapped my arms around my husband’s neck, touching my lips ever so slightly to his. “I’d bet my firstborn. That’s how sure I am.” This was a wager I wouldn’t lose.
“You can’t be that sure,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow, my mouth pulling to the side. “Wanna bet?”
Travis relaxed, taking his boarding pass from my fingers, and handing it to the attendant.
“Thank you,” she said, scanning it and then handing it back. She did the same to mine, and just as we had little more than twenty-four hours before, we walked hand in hand down the Jetway.
“Are you hinting at something?” Travis asked. He stopped. “You’re not . . . is that why you wanted to get married?”
I laughed, shook my head, and pulled him along. “God, no. I think we’ve taken a big enough step to last us a while.”
He nodded once. “Fair enough, Mrs. Maddox.” He squeezed my hand, and we boarded the plane for home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Anniversary
Abby
Water beaded on my skin, mixing with the sunscreen and magnifying the texture of my tanned stomach. The sun beat down on us, and everyone else on the beach, making the heat dance in waves on top of the sand between the patches of brightly colored beach towels.