Finally, I just want to tell you thank you. I had no clue that day I accepted your limp body in exchange for a gambling debt how you’d change my life for the better . . . how you’d show me my purpose. And though I wish you would’ve had a normal life without all of this in it, I’m so grateful for you ending up with me. I hope you never forget our time in the cabin.
Now be a smart girl and wipe those tears . . . ’cause I know you didn’t listen to me earlier . . . and burn this note so there’s no evidence of any of this. There’s a pack of matches in the nightstand drawer. Go ahead. Grab them and burn this paper, nice and slow so you don’t set off any smoke alarms.
And enjoy your life in paradise. You deserve it.
-Raze
I cry and I cry and I cry. And after my tears dry up, I make myself a sandwich and watch the national coverage of the story until they show a picture of Raze, and then I start crying again. I’m like a water faucet with no ‘off’ position.
Happy tears. Sad tears. Relieved tears. Guilty tears. Every emotion that exists tears. I cry them all over the next four days. However, when Monday morning rolls around, I get up, take a shower and get dressed, position my stylish raven wig, and make my way to the airport with confidence and poise I didn’t know I had.
The minute I step off the plane in my new home, with my new name and new look, I have a permanent smile stretched across my face and begin counting the days until I become a sweet girl once again.
Slow and steady.
Three Weeks Later
“WOULD ROYAL BRUNEI AIRLINES PASSENGER Zachary Covey please report to the customer service desk at gate nine in terminal one? Again, Royal Brunei Airlines passenger Zachary Covey, please report to one of the customer service associates at gate nine, terminal one. Thank you.”
The announcement is repeated in Filipino throughout the Manila International Airport, but I’ve already thrown away what was left of my lunch—or perhaps dinner, as my internal clock is so jacked up from crossing multiple time zones—and I’m striding through the throngs of people to reach the gate where I’ve been summoned. Anxiety bubbles in my gut, threatening to reject the food I just inhaled. And as I step up to the small desk where an older woman, dressed in an official airport uniform, is staring at a computer screen with her eyebrows pinched together in confusion, I’m afraid I may get sick if I open my mouth.
I swallow back the bile-flavored fear in the back of my throat and say a silent prayer that this entire notion of starting over for the sake of love isn’t stopped before it ever gets started. When I first appeared at LAX however many hours ago, I knew I was taking a risk. The biggest one of my life.
But I also knew it was worth it. She was worth it.
And up until now, things have been seamless. No one has given me a second glance, unless you count the twenty-something girl bartender at the restaurant in the Hong Kong airport that kept sneaking side-glances at me. But based on how she kept trying to bend over in front of me or use her arms to press her cleavage together, I’m guessing she wasn’t interested in the fact I’d just picked up and walked away from the last thirty-five years of my life and assumed a completely new identity. To her and everyone else so far today, I’ve just been Zachary Covey, another American guy with dyed black hair and matching beard, dressed in the most unassuming outfit I could think of—jeans, gray polo, and sneakers.
“Hello.” I smile politely at the airline associate, silently cursing all the facial hair for covering my charming dimples. Few women are immune to the dimples. “I’m Zachary Covey. There was an announcement for me to report here. Is everything okay with the flight?”
Without looking up from the computer screen, the woman holds her finger up, motioning for me to give her a minute as she finishes searching for whatever it is she’s looking for. I take advantage of the lull to glance around the area, and the lack of any other employees or security guards nearby settle my nerves a tiny bit. There is still something obviously wrong, or I wouldn’t have been paged to report here. And today, of all the days in my life, I really need everything to go right.
After a couple of minutes, she finally pries her eyes from the monitor and looks at me blankly, obviously not having heard anything I said when I first walked up. “I’m sorry. How can I help you, sir?” she asks.
“My name is Zachary Covey. I was paged over the intercom to report here,” I repeat, doing my best to hide my annoyance.
“Oh yes, Mr. Covey.” She nods and forces a courteous smile. “There seems to be an issue with your booking on the flight to Brunei.” My heart stops beating a split second before my lungs quit pumping. Sweat pops up along my brow and my vision blurs. I think I’m going to pass out.
“It appears your specific seat was assigned to both you and another traveler,” she continues, looking down at a sheet of paper briefly. “So I’m hoping you’ll be satisfied with moving from 2A to 4B, a window seat to an aisle?”
Like an electric jolt to my systems, her simple request incites a surge of relief through me, restarting each of my body functions. My chest swells as I quietly suck in as much air as possible, and the return of blood flowing through my veins causes a tingling sensation in my fingers and toes.
“Yes, of course. That shouldn’t be a problem.” I somehow refrain from leaping over the counter and kissing the woman to express my overwhelming gratitude that she wasn’t telling me that I’d been discovered. Instead, I nod once and press my lips together before accepting the new boarding pass from her.
Her smile brightens into a genuine one once she realizes I’m not going to give her any problem with the change. “Thank you so much, Mr. Covey. I do appreciate your cooperation. We are scheduled to begin boarding in approximately fifteen minutes. I hope you enjoy your flight and your stay in Brunei. Are you traveling for business or pleasure?”
The mere thought of the reason I’m traveling to a tiny Asian country on the other side of the world fills me with warmth, and I can feel my cheeks stretching as my lips curl up in a ridiculously huge grin.
“For love.”
Not ten minutes into the two-hour flight, I’m even more thankful for having been moved seats, because somehow I end up with no one next to me. The plane is smaller than those from the first two legs of my trip, with a pair of seats on each side of the center aisle and only about fourteen rows or so. And other than the window seat next to me, it appears the flight is full. Again, however, no one seems to pay any extra attention to me. Almost there, Madden.
Once we level off and the seatbelt light turns off, I lean down into my carry-on bag and pull out the folded piece of paper I’ve read so many times I’m surprised it hasn’t disintegrated under the intense heat of my scrutiny. I hate to admit it, but I’ve even slept with the damn thing more than once over the last couple of weeks, clutching it like a lifeline.
I know I was supposed to burn it. The damn thing even specifically tells me to turn it into ashes, but I can’t. Not yet. Not until I see her and know this isn’t all some incredibly cruel joke. God, please don’t let this all be a lie.
Carefully, I open the letter and focus my eyes on the handwritten words, hoping this will be the last time I feel the need to read it. If all goes to plan, all of the promises listed on this piece of paper will become reality in the next few hours. If not, I may light myself on fire instead of the damn note.