But he never did.

And as close as death had come...we’d survived.

After forty-five minutes of fear and spine-jarring bucking, the captain had managed to save us from turning into road kill. We were intact—minus a few bumps and bruises from pelting luggage. We were no longer at the mercy of storms but secured firmly on the earth thanks to gravity’s hold.

An eerie quiet filled the plane as we taxied to a gate. No one spoke or clapped at the safe landing or even laughed with nervousness. It was as if the harrowing ordeal had stolen any holiday cheer, showing us how killable we were when nature wanted us.

The plane rocked as we turned toward the terminal. The waiting air-bridge danced in the storm, drenched with rain and occasional flashes of lightning.

I waited while the plane slowed and the usual rustling of passengers announced we would soon be free. The instant we docked, people launched themselves from their seats, scrambling for luggage and family members.

“Welcome to Nadi, ladies and gentlemen.” The captain’s voice cut through the raucous. “I appreciate your patience and want to thank you for remaining calm. We have just been informed by air traffic control that the storm is currently making its way north and will soon be over for those transporting to hotels and homes. However, for those travelling on outgoing services—either international connections or island links—your services have been postponed until further notice.”

An annoyed moan crested as people glared at the speakers, blaming the captain for their derailed plans.

Bloody idiots.

Were their attention spans so short they forget what we just lived through?

Shit, what about my flight?

I had to get to Kadavu—the island where I’d be building homes for locals for three months—before tonight. Otherwise, I’d have no job or place to live.

Waiting until the aisle cleared from annoying passengers, I grabbed my messenger bag and slipped from my row. My eyes flickered to the left, looking for Unknown Girl.

She wasn’t there.

She’d bolted.

Not that I could blame her. She’d been nervous as hell most of the flight, let alone the mayhem and turbulence at the end. I wasn’t an anxious flyer, but even I had expected to be shark bait rather than disembarking on two legs.

Well, good riddance.

She’d gone.

I was safe—just like I wanted.

Keeping my head down, I followed the crowd down the air-bridge and into the heaving terminal. Apparently, another flight had just arrived suffering the same warm welcome we had. Voices escalated with tales of drama and danger as people made their way to immigration.

Nothing like a shared tragedy to turn strangers into best friends.

Hooking my bag higher on my shoulder, I brushed past gossipers and beelined for the departure board. The captain had said the storm was moving away. With a little luck, the sea-plane I was meant to catch in an hour to Kadavu would still depart.

It wasn’t that I was eager to get back in the air where my life expectancy became a debate but because I’d made a promise. I’d committed to something I believed in.

It’d been so long since I’d put myself out there—wanted to put myself out there—that I wouldn’t let a little rain and wind stop me. Not now, when I was so close to finding redemption for the shitty human I’d become.

I have no choice.

I’m going.

Tonight.

Scowling at the departure board, I repositioned my glasses and brushed a hand over my face as nothing but red lettering and flashing DELAYED announced no one was getting anywhere fast.

All around me the havoc of families and screeching children amplified in decibels, sending seething frustration through my blood.

I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t let my one opportunity to rewrite the wrongs I’ve done slip away.

The storm will blow over by the time you clear customs.

Holding onto that thought, I navigated the airport and dutifully lined up for my turn at immigration. My back ached from the landing-rodeo, but the line didn’t take too long. Handing over my passport and already organised work permit, I was ushered through with no issues.

Marching toward the baggage claim, my dinged-up, overstuffed backpack slid down the chute directly in front of me. Hoisting the weight onto my back, I rearranged my messenger bag and scanned the terminal.

Thanks to my tall height, I skimmed the heads of most people to the services offered beyond. Exits beckoned newly freed passengers to enter their tropical destination and shuttle operators sold vouchers to drive them to hotels.

I didn’t want to head out there without finding out about my flight or securing another alternative.

Spotting the airline who my new employer had arranged to fly me to the island, I stalked toward the booth, dodging flustered holidaymakers.

There was a small line, but I grudgingly stayed patient. Shuffling farther up the queue, I tossed my backpack onto the floor to rescue my spine.

Finally, it was my turn.

A Fijian woman with thick black hair and wide smile motioned me forward. “May I help you?”

“I hope so.” Kicking my backpack to lean against the counter, I placed my arms on the top and smiled. Dad always said I had a nice smile—straight teeth and honest intentions. I agreed with the straight teeth but not so much about the honest intentions. I’d been bloody lucky to get the work visa.

Someone like me didn’t normally find such hospitable welcomes.

Smiling wider, I hoped I could work some charm and get what I wanted. “I’m starting work tomorrow on Kadavu. I’m booked on your service to fly there tonight.”