Cassian

Rotten luck is on our side tonight.

Although we found information we were looking for, dinner with Patrick's family was a bust. He's been silent ever since our flight took off. No words of sustenance were said when we landed. Or when I told him Pen was picking us up. The most I've gotten out of him is a simple "yes" or "no." I feel bad for the kid.

There were also no last-minute flights to Victoria. Patrick and I had to catch a flight to Vancouver instead. Which is why we're waiting for Pen to arrive. Resting my face in my hands, elbows on my thighs, I sigh. Did we ask too much of her? The ferry ride from the island is about an hour-and-a-half.

I try to tell myself that's not the case. Pen would drive across Canada for me. I would do the same for her.

Yet, I feel guilty. I impeded on her night out with Gemma, Morgane, and the rest of the crew. Pen wanted to play catch-up with Nolan, too. He's been dealing with Olive since she left. Although work drama sucks, it's entertaining at times.

Sighing, I pick up my coffee and take a sip. It's from Starbucks. Not my favourite, but it's warm and has caffeine. Caffeine isn't helping, but I like to fool myself into thinking it is. I'm exhausted. Patrick's silence is driving me insane, too. Whenever I ask how he's doing, his silence shuts me down. I'm ready to tear my hair out.

At least he fell asleep soon after we landed.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see Patrick's still asleep on the bench, his jacket acting as a pillow. Aside from our phones, jackets, and wallets, we boarded the plane with nothing. Depending on how long we're here, Patrick will not fair well without clothing and necessities. Our sizing is similar, so I make a mental note to grab him some clothes from my place. If I'm recalling correctly, I've got extra toothbrushes stored somewhere, too. I'll take him shopping another day. If he's feeling up to it.

Our flight has been grounded for two hours now. Pen should be here any minute. No matter how hard I try to prevent myself from staring at the automatic doors, my eyes betray me. It feels like we've been away from each other for weeks instead of days. I miss her. Now that we're dating, I understand why Jake and Gemma are always on the phone when Jake and I leave for business trips. Living without someone you love is difficult.

Tearing my gaze away from the doors, I focus on my coffee. I'm a fool, despite being entitled to thinking about Pen. Patrick is my friend. I should focus on him; plan how to fix this damn disaster. Where I can relate to Patrick in the sense I've never known my father, I haven't been betrayed. Mom hasn't lied to my face or pranced around wearing a facade. As soon as I was old enough to comprehend her story, Mom told me nothing but the brutal truth. I wasn't planned. Mom got pregnant because of a one-night stand with someone in her last year of college. Although her actions were a mistake, she doesn't regret the outcome. She never will, as she's told me. And I believe her. She decided to keep me. Her decision holds enough truth and meaning.

Even when I try to step back and view this from Patrick's perception, it's difficult to understand. How could someone lie to their child? Did lying ever cause Renée's heart to ache? I don't think she considered future consequences of making the executive decision to keep Patrick in the dark. Mom would never do such a thing. Nor would Pen's parents. If Jake's parents were still alive, I could vouch for them, too. Gemma...

And then it hits me.

Gemma was oppressed by her parents. They stabbed her in the back. Their relationship is okay now, but it sure as hell wasn't when we were younger.

When they heard Jake's rumour, they were authoritative. I don't think Gemma made another decision until we graduated from high school. Even after she moved out, her parents and Reid still silenced her. It took me beating the shit out of Reid to change his mind. It makes shame burn in my chest. I never should've beaten Reid up. But my voice shouldn't have held power over Gemma's.

I toy with the lid of my coffee. I wonder if Gemma would be open to talking to Patrick. Knowing someone has been through something similar would be beneficial for him. Although Pen and I can offer support in different ways, Gemma could complete the circle.

I remove my phone from my pocket and dial Gemma's number.

Just as she answers, I realize I've made a big mistake.

I'm a jerk.

"Cassian?" she yawns. "What's happening? It's almost two-in-the-morning."

"Shit," I mutter. My mind was sprinting laps, and I forgot the time. Gemma's the last person I should wake up. She's six months pregnant and needs her sleep. "I'm sorry, Gemma. Go back to bed. The call can wait until tomorrow."

On the other line, I hear the rustling of sheets and groaning of springs. "I'm awake, Cassian. You might as well tell me. Is everything okay with Patrick? Did Penelope make it to the airport?" She pauses. "According to the clock, Penelope should be there soon."

My mouth tugs to one side. "See, Gemma, a relationship between us never would've worked. We're too alike." Aside from the doors, I've been staring at any clock source, counting the seconds Pen isn't here.

"Shut up," Gemma snorts. "Any sane person would be worried about someone they love. Anyway, what's going on?"

I take a deep breath. Bringing up Gemma's past is something I avoid, although she's reassured everyone she's comfortable discussing it. It's helped her become the woman she is today. I admire her for spinning a painful past into something positive."Would talking to Patrick be something you could do? I'm worried Pen and I won't be able to understand the oppression he's faced."

"You understand oppression, Cassian," Gemma says. "You've faced it many times because of your Indigenous heritage."

"I know," I reply. I like that she's not afraid to discuss the problems my skin colour and facial features have caused me. Gemma and Pen are similar in that sense. They both want to be aware. However, my experience isn't something to discuss tonight."But not the way Patrick has experienced it. Or you. Mom has always allowed me to be who I want. She's also never lied to me."

She's silent on the other line, and I swear I hear a jar of pickles being opened.

"Are you eating pickles?" I ask, wrinkling my nose.

Sure enough, there's a loud crunch through the phone. My ears cringe. "Shut up," she repeats. "My boy wants pickles, and that's what he's getting."

Climbing to my feet, I head over to the trash can and toss my coffee out. I can't choke this shit down anymore. It's too bitter. As I'm returning to my seat, realization strikes. "Wait. You're having a boy?"

Gemma stays silent for several seconds.

"Shit," she curses. "I wasn't supposed to say anything until Christmas. Jake and I were going to surprise you guys. Shit."

Memories of the bet Pen and I made come flittering back. Somewhere, in the ugly background noise, my wallet cries out for help. Yeah, I need to stop making bets with Pen. Somehow, she always wins. "Damn it," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. I sit down on the bench, next to the one Patrick is asleep on. It's cold and uncomfortable.

"Huh?" Gemma asks.

I realize how terrible my comment sounds. "Oh, no!" I exclaim. "It's not like that, Gemma. I'm happy for you and Jake! Pen and I made a bet about what you were having. She said the baby would be a boy. I said a girl."

"And now you owe her some money," Gemma chuckles. "I see."

"Have you decided on a name yet?" I press. Having this discussion will distract me from Pen's absence. Not that I'm using Gemma. I'm genuinely happy and curious.

"Callan William Swift," Gemma replies.

The name strikes a chord in my heart. It brings up post-accident memories, when Jake and Hanna's worlds came crumbling down. Without my father around, Jake's dad was my father figure while I was growing up. My favourite memory of William Swift is when he took Jake and I fly-fishing on the Fraser River. I'd always wanted to learn how to fly-fish, and gut and cook a fish. However, as soon as I caught one and was told to kill it, I stored my fishing rod away and became a vegetarian.

To say I miss William would be an understatement. Knowing how he would've reacted to Jake and Gemma getting married and having a kid makes my eyes water.

"God, you two had to tap into the water works, didn't you?" I sniffle, wiping away the tears.

"Reid wasn't happy," Gemma jokes, trying to lighten the mood. "But he'll get over it." She pauses. "I think William would be happy with the name we've chosen," she adds softly.

"Me too," I agree.

Jake's recovery was a dark time in my life. Supporting Jake and Hanna was my primary goal during the day. However, when night came along, I spent hours drowning in my sadness. William was the closest thing I'd ever had to a father.

"Anyway," Gemma continues, her voice sounding as nasally as mine. "I'll talk to Patrick whenever he's ready. He's family, just like you and Penelope. I'll do whatever I can to help."

"Thanks, Gemma," I smile. "Pen'll appreciate that."

I can practically hear Gemma rolling her eyes. "Don't distribute the appreciation elsewhere, Cass. You care about Patrick, too. That's what happens when the person you love has siblings. You care about them, too."

Leaning back, I stretch out my tired muscles, gazing at the industrial ceiling of the airport. Crowds have died down, as it's almost two A.M., but there's still a bustle around Starbucks. At this time, everyone needs their caffeine fix. Through the window, I see a steady line of taxis beneath the artificial lighting. In the background, there's light pollution from surrounding cities.

I can't argue with Gemma. I care about Hanna. Hell, I even care about Reid—even if we got in a fist fight. Patrick isn't any different. "Fine," I admit. "I appreciate it."

On the other side, Gemma yawns. "I'm getting tired, but I have to know..." she trails off. "Did you beat Reid up? Is that why he started talking to me again?"

The question is abrupt. Something I wasn't expecting. I'd always assumed Gemma had her suspicions about why Reid began listening to her. I never thought she'd ask me, though.

"Yes," I reply. There's no hesitation in my voice. Violence is never the answer. After Gemma called me, bawling her eyes out, I saw red. Reid was being an asshole, and he needed to have some sense knocked into him. I'm glad it worked, despite violence being an unacceptable option. I try to tell myself the situation was complex. "He was being an idiot, Gemma. I felt as if I didn't do enough for you. I was part of the rumour, so my efforts should've amounted to something. Even if I tried to shut it down, I still failed. Making sure Reid listened was my only way to help you. You needed support—support from someone other than me, Morgane, or Parker."

Gemma sniffles. "Thank you, Cassian."

Guilt stirs in my gut. My voice doesn't hold more value than Gemma's. "It's sad, though, isn't it? That my voice held more power than yours?"

"Sad, fair, and cruel," Gemma sighs. Another crunch sounds on the other end. It makes me cringe. I hate the sound of people crunching in my ear. "This world is terrible, but there's always light. Remember that. You were my light, Cassian. You vouched for me and forced Reid to see reason. It's because of you I have my brother back."

I open my mouth, ready to protest. I'm not good at taking credit.

"Before you disagree," Gemma interrupts, "I'm telling you to shut up. Shut up, Cassian. Take the credit for once. I know it's wrong, your voice having more power, but you did something. You took action. Why would I fault you for that?"

Chuckling, I bite my lip. If Gemma wants me to be quiet, I'll be quiet.

"Well," Gemma sighs. "Text me when Penelope arrives. When she does, you're allowed to tell her about Callan."

A smirk finds its way onto my lips. "Only because I lost, right?"

"You know it," Gemma laughs. "Not because I ruined the surprise. I'll see you soon, Cassian."

"Bye, Gemma," I reply.

After I've hung up, I slip my phone into my pocket and sigh, tapping my foot against the white linoleum. Pen should be here by now. I haven't seen her enter through the automatic doors yet. The roads here aren't treacherous regarding weather. Some drivers are stupid, though. What if she's gotten in an accident? I'm starting to comprehend why Hanna hated vehicles for so long. I'm also not comfortable with Pen walking around in the dark without someone. Another shameful confession I have to make. I shouldn't be worried about Pen walking the streets.

Maybe I should call her.

Just as I'm removing my phone, there's a loud whoosh. I glance at the open doors, holding my breath.

Relief floods my body when I see Pen's blonde hair and a baggy UBC sweater. As I'm climbing to my feet, Penelope's gaze finds mine. A beautiful smile lights up her features. Before I know it, we've met halfway.

I kiss her before she can say a word.

Pen's lips mould to mine and our kiss moves with treacherous synchronization. It's treacherous because it's intoxicating. I feel as though I've been deprived of my drug of choice.

"It's so good to see you," Penelope murmurs, looping her arms around my neck.

I harden the kiss, acknowledging her comment but choosing to respond with action instead of a verbal opinion. Her mouth tastes like mint toothpaste. Her lips are soft. The feeling of her fingers tangling in my hair at the nape of my neck is shudder-inducing.

Eventually, we pull away from each other. My chest rises and falls with dramatic style. Pen's cheeks are pink and her lips are swollen. "Uh... Welcome back to the Lower Mainland," Pen rasps.

I throw my head back and laugh, pulling her into a hug. "I've missed you, Pen."

She hugs me back, allowing our special moment to last for several seconds before she pulls away. "Where's Patrick? Is he okay?"

The concern in her eyes makes my heart ache. She feels guilty for leaving. It's written on her face. I want to point out she shouldn't feel any guilt. However, I decide that's not a prime topic to discuss right now. It can happen tomorrow when we're well-rested. Returning to Saanich with Patrick is pencilled in on our schedule.

"He's sleeping on the bench," I reply. "The poor kid's exhausted."

Pen nods and loops her arm through mine. I guide her back to the bench, watching her face as we walk. There's a firm line between her brows and her jaw is set with concern. Guilt lights up her eyes. I give her arm a reassuring squeeze. "It's okay, Pen. Things went downhill, but it wasn't the worst scenario."

All she does is nod, chewing on her bottom lip.

When we're standing beside the bench, Pen kneels down and shakes his shoulder. "Patrick?" she says. "It's time to wake up."

Patrick yawns as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. "Penelope?"

"I'm here," Pen smiles. She pushes a strand of hair from his forehead.

Patrick sits up and pulls Penelope into a tight embrace. It's an awkward hug, but Pen laughs and provides words of assurance. While they're talking, I step back and give them some space. I would walk over to Starbucks and grab another coffee, but the bitterness still haunts me. Instead, I wander over to a souvenir shop, inspecting the postcards. They're covered with photos of the Grouse Grind, the City of Vancouver, the seawall. Anything a Vancouverite considers memorable, it's on the postcards.

As I'm putting away a postcard with Roger's Arena on it, a yawn overtakes me. It leaves me feeling exhausted.

"Cassian!"

I turn around to see Penelope waving me over. Patrick is standing next to her with purple half-moons under his eyes. I'm not sure how we're going to make back to Saanich tonight. We're all exhausted.

When I arrive, Pen rubs her tired eyes. "I was thinking, why don't we book two hotel rooms for the night? Patrick, can have his own room. You and I will take the other one. Unless..." She turns to Patrick. "Unless you want me to stay with you. I can crash on a couch or pull-out bed." She adjusts the drawstrings of her sweater while Patrick ponders his answer.

Patrick stares at the floor. "I need a night to myself. If that's okay."

Pen rests her hand on his shoulder. "Of course it is." She turns back to me. "I'm parked down the road, to the left. Did you guys bring anything?"

I shake my head, glancing at Patrick. "We needed to get out of there."

Pen presses her lips together and nods.

Patrick steps away from Pen, rubbing his forehead. "Can we go now?"

I frown at the impatience, ready to scold him, but Pen shakes her head. Exhaling deeply, I allow my posture to relax. He's been through a lot. He needs a chance for the dust to settle.

"Yes," Penelope replies.

Without another word, Patrick heads for the doors.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" I murmur as he exits the airport, passport, wallet, and phone in hand. The jacket is slung over his shoulder. His face is emotionless. It sets off warning bells in my head. Jake was stuck in a similar funk after his parents died.

Pen's posture slouches against my body. "Yes," she replies. Her voice is firm. "He needs time, but he'll be okay."

Patrick disappears around the corner.

I sigh, hoping the drama doesn't last too long.