A Plane Ticket

My cheeks burn with a sudden, fierce heat. Saffron’s words hang in the air between us, vibrating with a sharp, mocking edge that cuts straight through the booming music of the club. I look at Saffron, who is staring at Caleb with a smug, expectant grin, and then my gaze slowly shifts to Caleb.

My chest tightens as I wait for him to defend me. I wait for him to say something—anything—that proves he values me as a person, not just some joke to be tossed around.

"No," Caleb says. His reply is instant, flat, and completely devoid of hesitation. He does not even look in my direction when he says it, his focus remaining entirely on the blonde girl in his arms.

Saffron pouts her lower lip, her mouth slick with glossy pink shine. "Bummer. I wanted to see her naked."

I do not want to stand here and be the punchline of their private joke. I turn on my heel, pushing my way through the dense, sweaty crowd of the dance floor. The air in the club is heavy with the scent of cheap cologne, spilled alcohol, and body heat, making my chest tighten with every breath. I shove past a group of men standing near the bar and make a direct line for the restrooms at the back of the venue.

I slam the heavy wooden door of the single-occupancy bathroom behind me and lean my weight against the cold porcelain sink. My chest heaves. The harsh fluorescent lighting overhead is brutal, reflecting my pale skin, the faint smudge of dark mascara beneath my lower lashes, and the raw humiliation written across my face.

I am a fool. A complete and utter fool.

This entire night was my idea. I was the one who dragged Caleb out of his dark apartment to cheer him up after his world fell apart. I wanted to distract him from his heartbreak over Scarlett. Instead, my brilliant plan backfired. I have handed him directly to a woman who views me as an awkward, annoying chaperone. Now, I am hiding in a public bathroom while they are probably laughing at my expense.

I look at my hands. They are trembling. For ten years, I have played the role of the perfect best friend. I have listened to him talk about other girls, comforted him during his breakups, and sat on his couch while he planned his future with Scarlett. I did all of it because I believed that keeping him in my life as a friend was better than not having him at all. But standing in this dirty bathroom, smelling the cheap liquid soap and listening to the muffled bass vibrate through the drywall, I realize how exhausting it is to hold a secret this heavy.

I turn the metal faucet on, letting the freezing water run over my fingers. I splash the icy liquid onto my wrists, trying to shock my racing pulse back to a normal rhythm. I grab a paper towel, dry my wet skin, and swipe a fresh layer of dark lipstick over my lips, trying to paint on a mask of confidence. I am twenty-six years old. I can handle watching my best friend hook up with a stranger. I have watched him date, fall in love, and suffer through breakups for ten years. This should be no different.

But when I open the restroom door and step back into the bass-heavy warmth of the main room, Caleb is gone.

The corner near the bar where we were standing is empty. I walk through the crowd, my eyes scanning the flashing strobe lights and the sea of moving bodies. A cold knot of panic tightens in my stomach. Caleb would not leave without telling me. He would not just vanish into the night.

Then I spot them near the front exit.

Caleb has his hand resting low on Saffron’s hip, guiding her through the glass front doors. Saffron is laughing, her head tilted back toward his shoulder. They are leaving together. He did not send a text message. He did not look back to find me.

I push through the crowd toward the exit doors, ignoring the annoyed glares of the people I bump into along the way.

The chilly night air hits my face the moment I step outside. The sudden cold clears the lingering fog of alcohol from my brain, leaving behind a sharp, focused anger.

Under a flickering streetlamp in the middle of the parking lot, Caleb is fumbling with a set of keys. My keys. He is trying to insert the silver key into the driver's side lock of my sedan.

I walk quickly across the asphalt, my heels clicking loudly in the quiet night. "What do you think you're doing?"

Caleb flinches, dropping his hand from the car door. He looks at the keychain in his palm, then turns his gaze to me. "Vesper. We were just going to take the party back to my place."

"With my car?"

He rubs the back of his neck, his shoulders dropping in a silent apology. It is a gesture I usually find endearing. Tonight, it only fuels the fire burning in my chest.

Saffron rolls her eyes, leaning her back against the passenger side window. "Relax, Mom. You can just grab an Uber."

"I am not taking an Uber." I step forward and snatch the keys directly out of Caleb’s hand. "You are both drunk. Get in the backseat. I am driving."

Saffron sighs loudly, but she opens the rear door and slides inside anyway. Caleb hesitates for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes searching my face before he follows her. I slam the door behind them, the loud metal clang echoing through the empty street.

The drive is pure torture.

I adjust the rearview mirror to avoid looking at them, but the motion is useless. The small space of my sedan is immediately filled with the smell of Saffron’s sweet perfume and the quiet, rustling sounds of their bodies shifting. I start the engine, shift into drive, and pull away from the curb, keeping my eyes locked on the dark road ahead.

The silence inside the cabin is thick, broken only by the steady hum of the tires and the wet, rhythmic sounds of their mouths meeting in the dark.

Every time Saffron lets out a soft sigh, a physical ache blossoms behind my ribs. I try to focus on the road, watching the white lines on the asphalt pass under my headlights, but my mind is a chaotic mess of jealousy and regret. Why did I think tonight would be a good idea? Why did I think I could handle this?

I reach for the radio, twisting the volume dial until the speakers rattle. It does not help. The bass cannot drown out the whispers.

"I want you so bad," Caleb says. His voice is low, gravelly, and entirely stripped of the playful tone he uses with me.

"Then take me," Saffron replies.

I glance at the mirror. Saffron is sitting sideways across Caleb’s lap, her short skirt pushed high up on her thighs. Her hands are buried in his dark hair, pulling his face down toward hers. Her lipstick is smeared across his jawline.

"If you two start having sex in my backseat, I am stopping this car and throwing you both on the highway," I say. My voice is tight, my hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white.

Saffron lets out a sharp, mocking laugh. She pulls her mouth away from Caleb’s neck and looks directly at my reflection in the mirror. She slides her hand down his chest, stopping just above his belt. "Why don't you join us? We could have some real fun."

My foot jerks on the gas pedal. The sedan swerves slightly toward the dividing line before I grip the wheel and force the car back into the lane. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me. I like to share. And you look like you need to let your hair down, Vesper."

Caleb reaches down and pulls her hand away from his waist. "Saffron, don't. That isn't funny."

"Oh, come on, Caleb. Look at her." Saffron leans her chin on his shoulder, her predatory gaze locked on my eyes in the glass. "She wants you. It is so obvious. That is why she followed us like a guard dog tonight. She is miserable watching us."

My heart stops. A wave of heat rushes to my face, hot and suffocating. The air in the car suddenly feels incredibly thin.

Caleb tries to shift away from her. "Saffron, drop it. You're making her uncomfortable."

"Am I? Or am I just saying what she is too chicken to admit?" Saffron’s voice is a cruel whisper. "Look at her face in the mirror. She has been in love with you for years, Caleb. And you are too blind to notice."

My secret. The quiet, heavy burden I have carried for a decade, the one I protected through every single one of his relationships, is suddenly laid bare on the dirty floorboards of my car. I cannot breathe. I cannot look at the mirror. I am terrified of what Caleb might see in my expression if our eyes meet.

I press my foot hard onto the brake pedal.

The tires screech against the asphalt as the sedan jerks to a violent halt by the curb. The seatbelts lock, throwing us all forward.

"Get out," I say. My voice is quiet, but it carries a cold, sharp edge that surprises even me.

Caleb reaches forward, his hand hovering near my shoulder. "Vesper, let's just talk about this."

I flinch away from his reach, pressing my back against the driver’s door. "Do not touch me. Get out of my car. Both of you."

Saffron lets out another laugh, climbing off Caleb's lap and opening her door. "See? I hit a nerve. She’s actually crying."

"Saffron, shut up," Caleb barks. He steps out onto the pavement, then turns back to look at me through the open door. "Vesper, please. Just let me explain."

"I am going home," I say, staring straight ahead at the empty road. "Take an Uber. I am done."

Caleb pulls Saffron out of the backseat and shuts the door. The moment the latch clicks, I shift the car into drive and slam my foot onto the gas. The tires squeal as I pull away from the curb, leaving them standing under the orange glow of the streetlights.

The tears finally spill over my eyelashes, burning my cheeks as I drive into the dark, empty streets alone.

***

For the next six days, I do not answer his calls.

My phone vibrates on my nightstand. Caleb. I flip the screen face-down.

A text notification lights up the display. *Vesper, please talk to me. We need to talk about what happened.* I swipe the banner away without reading the rest.

I spend the weekend locked inside my apartment, eating cold takeout and staring at the ceiling. The silence of my living room is deafening, but it is better than the alternative. I cannot face him. I cannot look into his eyes and see the pity or the awkwardness that surely resides there now. I have spent a decade building a wall between my true feelings and our friendship, and Saffron tore it down in a single night.

On Monday morning, I throw myself into my work at the marketing firm, arriving at my cubicle before the sun rises and leaving long after the cleaning crew arrives. I analyze data sheets, draft campaign proposals, and review client feedback until my eyes burn from the blue light of my monitor. I need the numbers to drown out Saffron's mocking voice. I need the spreadsheets to erase the memory of Caleb's face when my secrets were dragged into the light.

But Caleb Ashford does not understand boundaries. He never has.

On Thursday afternoon, a shadow falls over my desk.

"Are you going to ignore me forever, Vesper?"

I freeze, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I slowly look up.

Caleb is standing at the entrance of my cubicle, his broad shoulder leaning against the gray fabric partition. He looks exhausted. His dark hair is a messy, unbrushed tangle, his jaw is covered in a dark layer of stubble, and his eyes are bloodshot. He is wearing a wrinkled gray shirt, completely ignoring the professional dress code of our office.

"How did you get past security?" I ask, my voice flat.

"Your receptionist has a crush on me. I brought her a vanilla latte."

"Caleb, I am working." I turn my eyes back to my monitor, clicking on a random spreadsheet to look busy. "Leave."

"No. We need to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you. Please go."

"I am not leaving until you look at me, Vesper."

His voice has a rough, desperate edge to it that makes my heart ache. I want to look at him. I want to believe that he cares about my feelings, but the memory of him sitting in my backseat with Saffron is too fresh, too painful.

I glance around the open-plan office. Three cubicles down, Jenna from accounting has stopped typing. She is pretending to organize her highlighters, but her head is tilted toward us. Across the aisle, Carla from IT is staring directly at my cubicle.

"Keep your voice down," I whisper, leaning forward over my desk. "People are watching."

Caleb glances over his shoulder, a brief, arrogant smirk crossing his lips before he looks back at me. "Let them watch."

"This is my job, Caleb. You cannot just show up here and create a scene."

"Then talk to me outside."

"No."

"What is your problem? Is this because of Saffron? She was drunk, Vesper. She was just talking shit."

The words feel like a physical blow to my chest. *She was just talking shit.* To him, the exposure of my deepest, most painful secret is just a drunken joke. He thinks it is something to be brushed aside, a minor misunderstanding that can be fixed with a quick conversation. He has no concept of the weight I have carried, or the quiet grief of loving someone who only views me as a sibling.

"I do not want to discuss Saffron," I say, my voice steadying as I look him in the eye. "I do not want to discuss anything with you. I need you to leave my office right now."

Caleb looks at me, his jaw tightening. For a second, I think he is going to argue, to push back like he always does. But instead, he reaches into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. He pulls out a printed slip of paper and tosses it onto my keyboard, covering my workspace.

I look down at the paper.

"What is this?" I ask.

"A plane ticket to Asheville, North Carolina," Caleb says. "I booked it for seven weeks from now."

I stare at the destination printed in bold black ink. Asheville. The place where Scarlett Whitmore, his ex-fiancée, is scheduled to get married.

"Why did you buy this?" I look up at him, a cold knot forming in my stomach.

"You and I are crashing Scarlett’s wedding."