The Heart Rate of a Mouse - Volume 2: Wolves vs. Hearts

Columbia Dreams/Codeine Visions

Our jet is lost. Not sure how that can happen – it was meant to be in Hangar D, but it's not. Our pilots are none the wiser, and Vicky is busy yelling at the staff of the private airport. Most of us are slung on the hard seats of the small waiting room, dust flakes drifting in the air as sunlight comes through the dirty windows. We're sleep deprived and hungover, Greta and Butcher leaning on each other as they sleep in the corner. The air is stale and somehow too warm to breathe.

"Coffee would be great," Gabe croaks from beside me. He sounds like Satan's been fucking his mouth all night. He's got sunglasses on because apparently the light hurts his eyes.

"Vicky!" I call out, causing Gabe to flinch. "Can we get coffee?"

The airport worker she's talking to looks over her shoulder. "There's fresh coffee in the office." He motions to a door with slated venetian blinds over the window. He doesn't seem very bothered about the fact that his staff has misplaced our fucking plane. We only need to get to Florida. We're only number one now. No big deal.

"Office... too far... away," Gabe groans, reaching out pathetically and then slumping back in his seat.

"You sad fuck."

"Ryan. Ryan, ayuda, por favor. Necesito café." He pushes closer and nuzzles my shoulder. "I'll love you forever." He smells of old booze, cigarettes and some girl's perfume.

"I thought you already did."

"I'll love you more."

"Unlikely."

"I will. I really will." He looks up at me with plate-sized eyes, lower lip jutted out. I sigh as I push him off and stand up, and he makes a little purring sound like he's now overly pleased. He takes the opportunity to lie down on the seats, adjusting the butterfly collar of his shirt before stretching out, as if to make sure he looks good like this too.

I cross the room quietly so as not to wake up anyone. Vicky is hissing that the staff better move the other plane, then, if it's in the way of ours.

The office is small and cluttered, and I go straight for the old sixties coffee machine on the corner table next to a half-finished airplane model. I open the cupboards to find a mug or a glass since we're not being picky.

"You can rinse mine."

I look over my shoulder to find Brendon sitting by a small desk. He's extending a white mug with a cartoon kitten on it, his feet propped up on the paperwork on the desk. He's got a magazine in his lap, and it looks like I've walked in on his coffee break. He's smiling, though. Smiling.

"Thought you went for a walk with Cassie and Jon," I say, as if to explain why I am in the same room with him. Not on purpose – pure accident. I take the mug from him in any case.

"Was going to but then I found this." He lifts the aviation magazine, the cover showing a bikini-wearing woman posing in front of an airplane. "It's fascinating stuff. About, like, planes."

"I'm endlessly intrigued," I say as I fill up the mug with lukewarm coffee, and he chuckles. Making him smile always feels like a small victory.

He goes back to flipping the pages, and some of the tension in the air has lifted. "So what did you get up to last night? You disappeared from the party pretty early on."

"I went for a walk," I say honestly, although I don't want to think about it because then I – Yeah. Yeah, too late now because it's now on my mind: his record deal that he is clueless to. I just haven't had the chance to tell him yet. I've been busy with other things.

"A walk by yourself?" he asks, not looking up from the magazine.

"By myself."

He makes a humming sound, but then seems to get bored of the magazine and tosses it on the table. "And Audrey left this morning, then?" He looks inquisitive, scratching himself behind the ear as his eyebrows arch in question.