Love at First Fight - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Thirty-One

"Now boarding: flight number 367 for Detroit."

It wasn't our flight, but across from me, Woods and Ellie stood like they had somewhere else to be. "It's for Detroit," I told them, thinking that there had to be a mistake. We were headed for Boston so that we could catch a private flight back to Virginia.

They didn't have much—one bag each. The pair looked like they were ready to take on the world, but there was something beneath the bravado and the strength. Beneath the superheroes were two women who just wanted to go home. "We know," said Woods. "That's why we're boarding."

And maybe my poker face wasn't as good as I thought it was, because Ellie took one look at me and decided to explain. "It's still not safe," she said. "Anyone who knows the truth about the Dubois family is too dangerous not to take seriously."

"So you're still going to run," I concluded.

I turned back to Woods, and there was a look in her eye that I hadn't seen in a while. For a moment, I was back to being a predictable sophomore, and she was back to being some sort of omniscient mind reader. "Don't worry, Goode," she said. "I've got a feeling that we'll see each other around."

And before I had time to even process that, Ellie was bounding back into the conversation. "And," she said, waving my mother's journal. She hadn't taken her eyes off of it since we'd picked up Matt and Scout from the safe house. "This time, we're not going to screw ourselves over by relying on guesswork. We've got pages full of identities in here—if they want to send someone after us, they're going to have to send someone we don't know."

That, at least, made it seem like they stood a chance. Even if they didn't.

The voice called over the speaker one more time, droning and bored. "Final call for flight 367."

After a hug from Mom, the pair of them took off, and it was harder than it should have been to watch them go. They each held their bags over their right shoulders, perfectly in step as they laughed about a joke that I was too far away to hear. My focus was on Charlotte Woods—the last of the Dubois line—wondering if she would ever find an end. I wondered if she would ever feel resolved and then I wondered how she'd do it. How she would let herself live after a lifetime of keeping herself dead.

Maybe I was overthinking things. Maybe it was a trick of the light or a trick of the distance, but as she turned a corner, I could have sworn I saw her look at me. I could have sworn I saw her give me a firm, military nod. I don't know what made me think it, but for a very brief moment, I was sure that everything would be okay.

That was when Luke decided that he would sit next to me.

There was no longer any part of me that hated Luke Collins, but there were many, many parts of me that were angry with him, and I didn't make much of an attempt to hide it. "I'm sorry," he said.

"She's your sister."

"I'm sorry."

"Your honest to god sister."

"Tell me how to fix this and I will," he pleaded. "Tell me how many times I need to apologize and I'll do it. How many times do I need to say—?"

"I don't want apologies, Luke," I told him. I had meant for it to sound harsher, the way it always did with him, but it came out as exhausted and scared. I didn't hate Luke, but I hated myself, and I hated how easy it was to break me. "I want answers—how long?"

He paused, that crease cutting into his forehead. "How long has she been my sister?"

"How long have you known she was alive, Luke?"