Full Throttle(100)

“I think it’s more like good evening,” she said, apropos of nothing.

“Mmm.” He stretched, lifting his arms above his head and yawning mightily before pushing into a seated position. Tilting his head from side to side, the little snapping sounds of his vertebrae were heartbreakingly familiar. And he was so frickin’ beautiful. So wonderful and fierce and kind and…perfect. And hers. At least he had been for a little while. But that was all about to change. Just as soon as she told him the truth about Rosa.

Which was another reason she’d been feigning sleep. She’d wanted…no…she’d needed a few more hours to gather her courage, to gather her wits, to try to find the right words to tell him—

The plane dipped, beginning its slow, lazy turn as the pilot aligned it with the runway. “Mierda. Are we here already? Did I sleep the whole way?”

“You needed it,” she said. “You deserved it.”

“Mmm,” he hummed again, then reached over to touch her wrist.

She turned her hand palm-up to lace her fingers through his. His skin was so amazingly warm, roughened by calluses, and deeply tan compared to her own pale flesh. This is probably the last time I’ll ever touch him, she realized. And, closing her eyes, she tried to burn the memory into her brain.

Then after a few more rare, wonderful moments, she told herself, It’s time to stop being a coward.

“C-Carlos,” she began, swallowing because his name was barely a whisper, inaudible above the loud throb of the jet engines as they throttled back for landing. But he was turned sideways in his seat, his temple pressed against the headrest, staring at her. So he saw her lips move.

Lifting his head, his mouth quirked. “What is it, Abby?”

Come on. Come on. Don’t chicken out! “There’s s-something I want to t-tell you,” she managed with a little more volume.

His smile softened. His expression becoming sympathetic, almost…understanding. “I think I know what it is.”

Her heart went from fluttering wildly to a dead stop. All the blood drained from her head. “You do?”

“Sí.” He winked. “You want to tell me you love me, too.” He reached over to push a crunchy, mud-caked lock of hair behind her ear.

So she hadn’t misheard him back in the jungle. He had said he loved her. Carlos Soto…the doctor, the soldier, the hero loved…her…

And just like that, all the horror, all the pain, all the lies and heartbreak could no longer be held at bay. They rushed through her as surely and unstoppably as a stream filled to overflowing by spring rain. She burst into tears in an instant, her sobs wracking her body until she thought it was a wonder she didn’t snap in two. Oh, if only that was what she needed to tell him. If only it could be that simple.

“Shh, mi vida,” he crooned. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You’re turning all the dirt on your face back into mud.”

She couldn’t help herself. She reached across the aisle and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close until they were both leaning over their armrests. “Oh, Carlos,” she whispered, choking. “Can you ever forgive me?” Her brain buzzed. Her skin crawled. And her chest felt like she’d sliced it open with a rusty shovel. And even though he was filthy, he still smelled good. Like healthy sweat, like clean jungle earth and big, wonderful man. She breathed deep through her tormented tears, knowing this was the last time she’d be this close to him.

“There’s nothing to forgive. You didn’t mean to get yourself kidnapped,” he said, completely misunderstanding her.

“No.” She pushed back. She wished her tears weren’t blurring her vision. She wanted to look at his handsome face and see him clearly one more time, one more time while he still loved her. “That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?” he asked, a little vertical line appearing between his brows.

She opened her mouth, but, try as she might, she couldn’t force the words out.

His scowl deepened. “Whatever it is,” he said, pushing back a few strands of muddy hair that’d fallen over her forehead, “you can tell me. You can tell me anything. I love you, neña.”

She closed her eyes against the burn of tears. “You shouldn’t,” she whispered over the whine of the engines, over the soft thunking sound of the wheels lowering in preparation for landing.

“What?” He raised his voice to be heard above the noise. “Why?”

She opened her eyes as the plane touched down with a hard bump. The jet’s engines screamed in reverse, the flaps straining against the atmosphere outside. And for a couple of seconds as the aircraft fought against its own momentum, she simply held his confused gaze, a hand braced against the seat in front of her. Then they slowed and turned off the tarmac, taxiing toward the hanger. And she finally spoke the truth she’d kept secret for eight long years. “Because I killed your sister…”