Chapter 15: Steps Toward Healing (Part 1)

POV: Evelyn Reeve

The cabin hummed with the restless energy of people desperate to be somewhere else.

I watched the latecomers shuffle down the aisle, their rolling luggage clattering against the floor like a rhythmic, hollow heartbeat. The flight attendants stood at the front, their smiles practiced and sharp—perfectly ironed uniforms hiding whatever fatigue they felt.

Jovan and I had boarded early.

I took the window seat, my fingers white-knuckled as I gripped the unbuckled seatbelt. The plastic felt cold against my palm, a stark contrast to the heat still radiating from my cheeks.

Jovan sat beside me, his large frame making the middle seat look ridiculously small. He was stiff, his knees nearly touching the seat in front of him.

He glanced at me for a split second before looking away, fixing his stare on the safety manual in the seat pocket. He was giving me space—physical and emotional—as if he were afraid that a single wrong word would cause me to shatter right there in 4B.

Around us, the chaos of Manhattan’s hustle continued. A man grunted as he shoved a massive carry-on into the overhead bin; a woman hissed at her husband for forgetting their headphones.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the cabin doors are now closed. Please ensure your seatbelts are fastened..."

The flight attendant’s voice over the speaker felt miles away. My mind was still stuck back in Midtown, replaying the look on Archer’s face until it became a blurred, ugly smear in my memory.

I clicked the belt into place.

Outside, the plane’s wing sat motionless against the tarmac, a silver blade cutting through the hazy afternoon light. I didn't feel peaceful. I just felt… numb.

Jovan rubbed his palms against his dark slacks, a rare sign of agitation. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, careful baritone that barely carried over the engine’s whine.

"If you need anything… just tell me. Anything at all."

His eyes searched mine, wary of overstepping.

I gave a small, jerky nod. "I will. Thanks, Jovan."

The plane began its pushback. The cabin lights dimmed, and a low vibration shivered through the floorboards. On the screens, the safety demonstration played out with robotic grace.

"Good afternoon, everyone. We’re looking at a flight time of about three hours down to Miami..."

The captain’s voice was steady—the kind of voice that made you believe the world wasn't falling apart.

As we hit the runway and the engines roared to life, the force pressed me back into the seat. Manhattan fell away, shrinking into a grid of glass and steel until it was nothing but a memory swallowed by the clouds.

The afternoon sun bled through the window, painting the cabin in soft, amber hues. It looked like a dream. It felt like a funeral.

Jovan picked up a magazine, flipping through the pages without reading a single word. He just needed something to do with his hands. Every few minutes, I felt his gaze linger on my shoulder, checking for a tremor, but he never pushed.

My thoughts were a tangled mess. Was I running away? Could Archer have actually changed?

The questions were poison. I forced myself to stare at the white expanse of the clouds until my eyes ached.

Time slowed down to the steady drone of the turbines. It felt like an eternity before the nose of the plane dipped and the blue of the Atlantic began to rise to meet us.

Miami appeared through the haze—the white shorelines, the sprawling palm-lined suburbs, and finally, the heat-shimmered runway of MIA.

The wheels hit the asphalt with a sharp jolt.

"Welcome to Miami," the speaker crackled.

I took a long, shaky breath. This was it. A clean break, even if the edges were still bleeding.

The humidity hit like a physical weight the moment we stepped out of the terminal. The air smelled of salt, jet fuel, and the looming promise of a thunderstorm.

Jovan didn't ask. He simply grabbed my heavy suitcase from the carousel, his knuckles strained against the handle, and led the way to the ride-share app pickup.

"Uber?" he asked, his voice short but not unkind.

"Yeah," I replied, pulling my cardigan tighter despite the heat.

We slid into the back of a black sedan. The door shut with a muffled thud, sealing us back into the silence.