The Grandgers are far from ordinary, but never before have they been involved in something so odd. With a missing sister and an epidemic of missing children threatening the world, the small family takes it upon themselves to get to the bottom of the...
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❝Two or three cars parked under the stars, winding stream. Moon shining down on some little town, and with each beam, the same old dream.❞▶FRANK SINATRA
DAWN WAS ALWAYS --- AND FOREVER WOULD BE --- JACK'S FAVORITE TIME OF DAY. The way the silence remained still and unmoving, only a few other animals bothering to wake up early enough to make noise. The way he would watch as the world was slowly bathed in the warm golden glow of the sun. Most of all, he enjoyed standing on the porch of his house, swinging lightly on the rocking chair that once belonged to his now deceased mother as he sipped lightly on a cup of whatever he was feeling that morning as his dog curled up in his lap. He loved to watch the world wake up, the smell, the sounds, the sight, the very taste of the atmosphere as bustling people prepared to stretch their limbs and head out to work.
However, Jack wasn't home, and he certainly couldn't swing on his mother's rocking chair.
Even so, he was perfectly content with just observing the sunrise from over the brim of the plane window. They left for America from London shortly before eight last night and had been on the plane ever since, which was silent apart from the occasional murmur of a conversation between attendants and travelers. Kristal had imagined up a few good plane tickets for the crew.
Even if Jack felt the need to go to the bathroom at all during the plane ride, he couldn't move. Sophie had fallen asleep on his shoulder, and Mason had fallen asleep in the other. In the middle row, Bethany sat awake on her phone while Kristal and Jill slept in one another's arms with nothing but a small complementary pillow--- which, let's face it, was nowhere near the size of a normal pillow --- to separate them.
Sophie had long since wrapped up her BBC Sherlock marathon, and her phone sat limply in her hand. Jack had one earbud in, the gentle hum of Frank Sinatra's Swinging Down the Lane completing the perfect moment.
What? Repressed emos can listen to not emo music, right?
Sophie nuzzled her head farther into the crook of his neck, wrapping her frail arms around his chest. Jack didn't dare move.
He hated having to see the scratches on his arms and knowing that they were his fault. He could have stopped her from being attacked.
She exhaled loudly, almost like a sigh, reminding Jack of his dog who would snuggle into his lap and then sigh with content.
He briefly dwindled on the question of whether or not Sophie was content sleeping on his shoulder. He knew damn well he was falling for her, and that he was falling hard. He made no effort to stop it simply because it made him happy. Somehow the mere thought of her made him smile even in the toughest moments, and whenever he was around her he had to put on a cool facade to cover up the fact that he was a stuttering mess.
He wanted nothing more than to be able to do things like this every day with her. To wake up with her in his arms, or to be able to snuggle and fangirl over Benedict Cumberbatch until they passed out
