Turbulence (1.5) Read online

  TURBU

  LENCE

  THE EPILOGUE

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Whitney Gracia Williams

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  Cover designed by Najla Qambers of Najla Qambers Designs

  http://najlaqamberdesigns.com/

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Turbulence (Epilogue)

  Author’s Note

  TERMINAL E: | EPILOGUE

  GILLIAN

  GATE E1 | JAKE

  GATE E2 | GILLIAN

  GATE E3

  Mr. Popular by Nicole London

  Reasonable Doubt by Whitney G.

  Also by Whitney G.

  For you

  Only you...

  Author’s Note

  Dear Best Readers Ever,

  If Turbulence was your first book of mine, I have to let you know two things: 1) Thank you! I’m extremely grateful that you took a chance on my second attempt at writing an erotic romance novel. Whether you hated it or loved it, I’m simply humbled you gave it some of your time.

  If Turbulence was not your first book of mine, and you’ve been a member of the awesome “F.L.Y. crew” for a while, you already know that I typically avoid writing epilogues for my novels. As a matter of fact, out of all the novels I’ve written, only one has ever been originally published with an epilogue.

  For this reason, I almost always either A) Launch a free weekly serial for the novel’s characters on my blog, B) post an extension for the characters on my blog, or C) publish the epilogue completely separately from the novel. (For Turbulence, I decided to go with the latter. For now... :-) )

  I promise that it’s never my intention to not write an epilogue. It’s simply a habit: I have a nonfiction background that spans several years and I’m simply used to writing the words “The End” and nothing more at the end of a story. Nonetheless, since I’m clearly writing fiction these days, I will be sure to include one from now on.

  I promise. :-)

  Thank you so much again for letting Jake & Gillian into your lives, and I truly can’t thank you enough for being the best readers a girl could ever ask for.

  F.L.Y.

  (Effin Love You)

  Whitney G.

  PS—Yes, I’ve already written the epilogue for my next book (a secret book), so no worries! (You can add it to your to-be-read list on Goodreads here)

  PSS—If you want to read previously released epilogues and the free serial I mentioned, you can find all of it on my website here.

  TERMINAL E:

  EPILOGUE

  Six months later...

  GILLIAN

  ~BLOG POST~

  Oh, New York! New York! New York!

  I’ve fallen head over heels in love with you, again. I miss you when I’m away for more than a few days at a time, and each time my flight nears the Manhattan skyline I know that this is where I truly belong.

  On weekends, and from my condo in the Madison at Park Avenue, I watch all those high hopes and dreams float up and down your Hudson River. I even catch whiffs of success from the open windows on Wall Street. Except this time, I don’t have to wonder if that ‘success’ will ever reach me.

  Everything I’ve ever wanted is now mine.

  I wish I could adequately put into words how the last six months have literally flown by, how each and every moment has so seamlessly strung together and led me here, but I only have a few minutes to write this post.

  I’m sitting right outside of a bookstore, getting ready for my final tour stop, and impatiently counting down the minutes until I see him again. Ever since we made up at that rooftop party, my life has effortlessly entwined with his, and I never want to let go.

  I’m more than in love with him, and even though he attempts to act like he has no idea what I’m talking about, he always says, “Fuck...I love you, Gillian,” whenever I fall asleep in his arms.

  Yes, we still argue from time to time, and yes, every single one of those arguments ends with him taking me against the bookshelf, or in the shower, or in bed... And sometimes, even when we need to argue about something, we don’t even bother. We just skip straight to the best part of us. The sex.

  I highly doubt our love will ever be perfect, or that it will become any less messy as the years go on, but it’s ‘us’ and I wouldn’t wish for it to be any other way.

  I want ‘us’ until the end.

  Only us.

  Write later,

  **Taylor G.**

  7 comments posted:

  JakeTROLL: I could have sworn we agreed that you were not going to start another private blog, “TAYLOR G.”

  TaylorG: No, we agreed that I would never turn my new private blog into a book. (How did you find this????) And are you seriously asking a writer not to write anymore?

  JakeTROLL: “A writer to stop writing” would read much better, but I would never ask you to stop writing. (You left your laptop open. And only one “?” is necessary.) I’m only asking you not to write about us, since you’ve done it already, and I’m your only goddamn follower. Deactivate this blog, or else.

  TaylorG: Or else? Or else, what Jake?

  JakeTROLL: Unless you would like me to write and release my own version of events in Turbulence 2. I believe my version will be far more well written. Far more truthful.

  TaylorG: You wouldn’t dare...

  JakeTROLL: Try me.

  **BLOG DEACTIVATED**

  GATE E1

  JAKE

  New York (JFK)

  I took a sip of water as my least favorite doctor tapped her fingers against a boardroom table. I’d been sitting in this Elite Airways holding room for over an hour, waiting for the final piece in this long and unnecessary investigation to be over.

  It’d taken three months for the National Transportation Safety Board to determine that Flight 491 was the result of maintenance failure, two more for the Pilots Union to determine that I was mentally fit to fly again, and one more for Elite to decide that they had more questions they needed to ask.

  “Captain Weston?” Dr. Cox cleared her throat. “How many times do I need to repeat my previous question?”

  “Until it starts making sense.”

  “Okay.” She began to speak slowly. “Did you or did you not tell your copilot to call control and ask to climb when you returned to the cockpit?”

  “I did.”

  “Good. Do you recall what happened after? Like, the actual scene?”

  I stared at her, unsure of where this was going. I’d answered this question one too many times in other interview rooms already.

  “It’s not a trick question, Captain Weston. Just tell me exactly what you remember. It could be anything from the way the sky looked, the sounds you heard in the cockpit. What all do you remember?”

  Everything. “Nothing.”

  She flipped her papers over, continuing to rattle off familiar questions. As she spoke, the minutes before the crash came into clearer view and I tried my best to block them, but it was no use.

  The sound of screaming passengers (and Ryan) was something that still crossed my mind every night. That, and a slight feeling of guilt that I wasn’t completely able to prevent the fatalities in the end.

  “Okay, last question.”
Her voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “The cockpit voice recorder confirmed that you and your copilot complied with emergency protocol, but we wanted to clear up one final thing for our own reasons. Did you or did you not say the following words before flight 491 began descending into the waters? And I quote, Fuck...I love you, Gillian.”

  “What does that have to do with this investigation?”

  “Look.” Her voice was firm. “I need you to answer the question, Captain Weston.”

  “And I need you to ask me something worth answering.”

  “Fine.” She picked up a remote and the screens on the wall lit up in a flurry of gray and white static. Then, the unreleased sound-bites from the cockpit voice recorders began to play.

  “We’re in a stall,” Ryan’s voice was shaky, but loud and clear. “Do I thrust up?”

  “No. Just hold steady.” It was undeniably my voice. “We’ll just reset it until we’re in steadier air. As long as you didn’t already attempt to do that without me, we’ll be fine.”

  “And if I did attempt to do it?” A long pause. “If I did attempt to do it, is there another plan?”

  Sounds of us frantically hitting controls and asking the passengers to brace for impact came next. The faint sound of screaming from the cabin followed. And then there was a loud “Error! Error!” from the plane’s dashboard before a stretch of spine-chilling silence.

  “Fuck...” My voice appeared on the tape once more. “I love you, Gillian.”

  The tape came to an immediate stop and Dr. Cox looked at me with her eyebrow raised.

  “Did that refresh your memory, Mr. Weston?”

  “Slightly.”

  “Good,” she said. “We’re finally getting somewhere.” She clicked her pen and scribbled a few notes onto her pad. “Thank you for cooperating over the past few months and completing all of the required evaluations with us here at Elite and the NTSB. As we stated to the media, maintenance was the leading factor in this incident. We’re not out to suspend you from flying or blame you for any part in this.”

  “Then why am I still blacklisted from working for other airlines?”

  “I’m not sure.” She gave me a sympathetic look. “You don’t think you’ll return to flying for us again?”

  “I highly doubt it.”

  “Fair enough.” She flipped through a few papers, humming to herself before looking up. “Well, I think that’s it on my end. Do you have any questions for me?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  “Really?” She smiled. “Ask away.”

  “Can I leave now?”

  “Ugh, of course.” She slid me a paper to sign, a clearance form that confirmed I’d completed every step of the investigation process.

  “Thank you.” I signed my name and returned the paper. Relieved that this was over, I walked to the door and stalled before twisting the doorknob.

  “Wait a minute.” I looked over my shoulder. “I do have a question.”

  “Yes, you really can leave now, Captain Weston.” She waved me away. “And no, we won’t call you anymore until it’s time for you to personally talk to Human Resources. There, all answered.”

  “I’m being serious,” I said. “Why did you ask me about the words I said on the cockpit voice recorder? No one else has asked me about that over the past six months, so what’s the sudden significance?”

  “Oh, um...” Her cheeks turned bright red and she shook her head. “It was on my list of things to ask you today. That’s all. No reason, really.”

  “There definitely is a reason, and I want you to tell me.” I stared at her, giving her a look that let her know I wasn’t leaving this room without an answer. “Now.”

  “It was for personal reasons. Strictly personal reasons.”

  “You and me don’t have a personal relationship, so what reasons, Dr. Cox?”

  She slipped her hand into her purse and pulled out a copy of Turbulence, her cheeks turning a darker shade of red. “I just—I just really wanted to know if any of it was true or not. And, outside of her getting some planes and airport codes wrong here or there, it was. So, thank you for confirming my thoughts as a reader.” She paused, and then she smiled wider than I’d ever seen her smile before. “Do you think you’ll ever propose?”

  Jesus Christ...

  I rolled my eyes and immediately left the room with her calling after me, but I didn’t look back.

  “Would you at least sign my copy?” She yelled. “Or, better yet tell me how I can get in contact with Taylor G. so she can sign it, maybe?”

  ***

  Later that night, I picked up a stack of Gillian’s recently read books and returned them to the shelf according to their color and genre. I’d long given up on arguing with her about how I preferred to have the books in my library arranged. That disagreement always ended in sex, and the books remained how she wanted them.

  And that was only one of the many concessions I had to make when she moved into my condo months ago. The guest suite was now her private writing space, her familiar strawberry scent infiltrated our shared sheets every night, and her habit of overturning my Coke cans in the kitchen each time she came home had yet to go away. That, and her best friend Meredith came over no less than three to four nights a week so they could “catch up on star ratings and talk about sex.” (I made sure I always had something to do or somewhere to be whenever the hell that happened.)

  Even though I hadn’t flown a commercial plane since the incident, I chartered private ones from Signature and personally flew her to each of the cities on her book tour. And in between the shared flights, the toned down arguing, and our incomparable fucking, I’d finally realized that we were both a special brand of psycho that undoubtedly belonged together.

  Glancing at my watch, I started to text her and ask where she was, but I saw three new messages from my father.

  Nathaniel: Hey, Jake. You got a minute?

  Nathaniel: Jake, I know you see this message...This is definitely your new number.

  Nathaniel: I thought you were going to give me and Evan another chance to talk to you...It’s been months, Jake. Please answer. Please...

  My finger hovered over the reply button, but I couldn’t bring myself to tap it. I deleted the messages, just like all the others he’d sent.

  I’d read his last article in The New York Times over a hundred times. I’d even watched all the pre-recorded interviews he’d conducted on morning TV shows, wanting to believe that he was genuinely sorry for all he’d done, but it still felt like he was only doing a public apology tour to keep Elite’s clean image. And even though he’d said the words “I’m sorry” to me in the hospital, I still wasn’t sure if he’d meant it or not.

  I returned to typing my message to Gillian, but she suddenly walked into the condo with an arm full of bags.

  Setting them on the counter, she walked right over to the collectible Coke cans and began overturning them one by one. Humming to herself, she moved a few more things around, and then her green eyes finally met mine.

  “I didn’t see you.” She blushed. “I thought you said you would be in that interview until five.”

  “We got done early.” I walked over and pulled her close, pressing my lips against hers. “What’s in the bags?”

  “Stuff for tonight, to prevent you from claiming you need to leave and get something.”

  I raised my eyebrow.

  “Your dad’s first live interview,” she said. “You promised me you would try to watch it last week. You said you would give it at least thirty minutes.”

  “I said thirty seconds.” I trailed my finger against her mouth. “There are plenty of other things I’d rather do tonight than watch him lie on live television.”

  “Well, we can discuss that after the interview.” She stepped back, slowly pulling things out of the bags. “Wine for you, coffee for me, gourmet desserts from your favorite bistro, and two new crossword puzzles. Guess what their special themes are?”

  “I’d ra
ther not.”

  “Then I’ll just tell you.” She smiled. “The first one is about anomalies. The second one is about long-term commitments.”

  I knew better than to respond to that. I took the bottle of wine from her hands and motioned for her to sit on the couch. Since I was certain she wasn’t going to let us get out of watching the interview, I cooked a quick dinner and took my seat next to her.

  Flipping through the channels, I stopped when I saw my father’s face on CBS, when I saw the headline at the top of the screen: Disgraced Elite Airways CEO Finally Breaks Silence.

  “With the shocking news of Elite Airways CEO Nathaniel Pearson still making its way through the airline industry, we bring you a very special segment,” the blonde reporter across from him said. “Tonight, the CEO joins us for an exclusive one on one interview.”

  My father smiled weakly at the camera, but the reporter’s face remained stoic.

  “Mr. Pearson, let’s just get right into it. Why did you lie about your wife being killed in your airline’s only fatal crash? And where exactly is your wife if she’s not deceased as you wrote in The New York Times?”

  “She’s...That’s personal. And I lied because—”

  “Actually,” she said, cutting him off. “Not only did you lie, but you and your son—Evan Pearson, seem to have worked so thoroughly for years to cover this up.”

  He didn’t say anything to that comment. He simply stared at her.

  “And, if that wasn’t enough, with you and your company being the so-called pioneers of the ‘Family First’ campaigns in aviation, you disowned your own biological son. A son who eventually worked for your airline. How can you ever expect the American people to trust your company again? How can we believe anything you have to say tonight?”

  “I don’t know, Christy. It all depends on if you let me get the chance to say anything tonight.” he said, and for a split second I remembered we shared the exact same sense of humor.

  “My apologies,” she said. “Let’s back up a bit. We do have a full hour after all. Is there anything you want to say before we get into the questions?”