(Sean's POV)
I come back from the coffee counter in time to catch the tail end of something I clearly wasn't meant to see the beginning of.
Connie and Jack are sitting close together on the hard plastic bench outside our next gate, heads bent toward each other in the specific configuration of a conversation that isn't casual — Jack's shoulders drawn in slightly, his hands doing something restless with the sleeve of his jacket, his face working through an expression I've watched cross it a dozen times this past year and learned, slowly, to read for what it actually means.
I can't hear a single word of what's being said. The distance and the general airport noise — announcements, rolling luggage, some child two gates over having a full operatic meltdown over a dropped snack — swallow it c
