Awww, I take it you guys don't like the Jommyless chapters uh? Anyway...thanks to everyone (burninsecretskept, Erin McKinley, LittleZurawski, cecapo3610, LuvTommy56, Duddley111, Tanya50801, blondenhot, and melliebaby) who left reviews :D...it's appreciated.
"You're late," Tommy grunts, as Mason and I hustle through the main doors to the small airport to the lobby.

Duh, Tommy, I'm always late.

No, wait.

Correction: I'm always fashionably late.

"Traffic was hellacious," Mason shrugs, struggling with his bag and my bags.

"Liar," I mumble.

He knows good and damn well we are late because he likes waiting until the last minute to pack, and then he couldn't find his Stetson that he was planning to wear at the wedding, and then he lost his keys…and he refused to let me drive so we called a cab.

And after all of that, I'm only 20 minutes late, so I am going to be happy about my accomplishment.

Dropping my bags on the couch, I notice Myles sitting in a corner, playing his Gameboy, and Veronica nearly in hysterics in Tommy's arms.

Did he break up with her? Nah, surely he wouldn't be hugging her if he just ended their relationship…

"What's the matter," I mouth to Tom as I walk over to the sitting area, but she answers my question.

"We're going to die, aren't we?" she gasps.

I give Mason a look and try to suppress a smile.

Quincy's girlfriend is a little pansy, not that I can talk that much. Planes freak me the hell out too…

But not this badly…

Can anyone say "Drama Queen"?

"No, we're not going to die," Tommy sighs, tucking her hair behind her ears, and rubbing her back.

"Don't lie to her Tommy," Myles grins, playing his Gameboy. "You're dying the moment you're born."

"Myles," Tommy says in a warning tone, turning to his right to pat Veronica's hand. "You're fine Sweetie, we're going to be just fine."

"You are more apt to get in a car crash," Myles put in.

I know for a fact Myles statistics aren't calming Veronica's nerves whatsoever because he sure as hell wasn't helping me out with them when we went parasailing.

"Myles…shut up," Tommy yells, turning back to Veronica.

"I'm just trying to help her out," Myles shrugs, briefly glancing up from his Gameboy, to throw Tommy a hurt look.

Aw, he's so cute…adorable cute either. He's hit that the 'awkward phase' as my Aunt Sylvia says. He still has his boyish looking face, but he's gotten braces at least 2 feet taller since I seen him last time in Miami. And his voice is changing up.

"What are you playing," Mason asks, walking over to where Myles's corner.

Mason's really off my Christmas list…I was just teasing before, but now I'm serious.

"Jude! You're killing her!" He wailed.

Literally wailed.

I've never heard a grown man hit such a high note, except for that one time I snatched Tommy's blanket off him and saw his total package…like Lil Tommy Q and everything. I asked him once if he think he'd be ever to hit that note again, but he has no recollection of ever hitting it.

I hopped off the chair like someone lit a match underneath my butt, "What?" I ask, frantically looking around for something. He didn't have any little pets or anything that I knew of.

He trudged over towards me and sullenly picked up the flattened hat.

"Oops," I say, breezily.

No biggie. Just a hat, right?

No. That would be wrong.

"Oops," he said, mocking me. "Oops? You flattened her."

"Mason…? It's okay, it's just a hat, babe," I murmured. He was seriously scaring me. Why was he personifying his hat?

"Just a hat," he asked, looking at me, his eyes full of disbelief.

I look at the flattened object in his hand, and nod my head. "Yeah…"

"It's not just a hat, Jude! It's my favorite Stetson!" he wailed again.

I bit my bottom lip and shrugged. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm sorry," he said, mimicking me again. "You're sorry? Did you not just hear me? It's my favorite Stetson."

I smiled weakly, taking the hat from him and attempting to fluff it out a bit. "It's just a hat Mason," I murmured, trying desperately hard not exacerbate the situation, but judging by the way his face swelled up into a giant cherry, I wasn't doing a very good job.

"Correction, Jude, it's not even 'just a hat' anymore," he said, snatching it back from out of grasp. "It's a damn pancake! Your big butt killed it!"

Do I have big butt?

I might have big butt…it's not like I look at it every chance I get. I do the jean test personally, if my jeans are tight, then I cut back on the junk food for a while

"I do not have a big butt!" I gasped, trying to look at it in the mirror doors of his closet.

"Whatever," he snapped, laughing evilly. He put his thumb and pinky to his face as if he were talking on a phone. "Hello, Beyonce? You might want to do some more squats to make sure you're ass is up to par…Jude's Harrison's going to be in the area for the next couple of days."

I frown at Mason, as I sit down on the coffee table, well, makeshift coffee table, it's really a humongous chest big enough to hide the Incredible Hulk. But it's cute, it goes with the room's theme…kinda rugged/elegance.

Mason must feel my glare burning into neck, because he looks up at me curiously. I have half the mind to flash him the naughty finger, but decide against it. I'll just take back those Italian Leather boots I got him for Christmas…

I can't believe he left over here with Vommy or is it Teronica…I can never remember what the media finally decided calling them.

"I don't want to ride the plane," Veronica sniffles into Tommy's shirt collar.

My god girl, dry those tears up! Or at least stop snotting all over Tommy like that…major ugh-factor right there.

"Baby, it'll be fine," Tommy says soothingly, in the same voice he uses with me when I'm worried about something.

She blubbers for a little longer and he seems to have calmed her down some…until the pilot comes back into the room.

"Sorry for the wait folks. We should be ready for take off in 10 more minutes," he explains, as he motions for another guy to grab our luggage to put on the plane.

"Tom, I can't board that plane," she moans, clutching at his shirt collar again.

Now she's starting to get to me a little bit.

Is she having a premonition or something? Because if she is, she needs to let me know so I can make alternate means of travel…

I seen Final Destination…actually Tommy made me watch it one time…

"Baby, you're going to be just fine okay…it's only a four hour plane ride…"

I get up and sit in the seat next to her and pat her back along with Tommy. He did look like he had it under control, but now she's starting to hyperventilate.

"Veronica," I murmur softly, "You'll be fine. The worst part is the take off after that it's smooth sailing."

She mumbles something incoherently, wiping her tears. I can't even pay attention to what she's saying. For one thing, she's blubbering and for another, I can't get past the way she looks all crying and everything.

I hate her!

How can she look gorgeous while she's crying? It's not fair. When I cry my nose gets redder than Rudolph's, my makeup looks terrible and my eyes get red and swollen completing my high/intoxicated look.

"I'm fine with the takeoff part, I'm just scared of the not being able to get of in case of an emergency part," she sniffled. "It's better with a commercial flight…Tom failed to mention to me that it was a private jet."

I glare at Tom as she's telling me that, and reach around to hug her. Tommy rolls his eyes and glares at me. "How about you just catch a train then?"

"You know what, I should do that because there is no way that I'm getting on that plane," Veronica mumbles, looking between Tommy and me.

"Babe," he moans, "I have to be there at the dock in a few hours, I have that thing I was telling you about," he whispers, kneeling down in front of her.

Thing? What thing is talking about? Why don't I know about a thing?

I look at him curiously, but he's too occupied with calming down Barbie.

"I'll go by myself," she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You're not traveling by yourself," Tommy said, standing up as if he has the final say.

"Do I look twelve years old to you Tommy?" she snaps.

Ooh…they're arguing…

And the remarkable thing about it is she's holding her own.

Wow.

I like that.

That right girl, don't give in to the baby blues!

What am I saying? I don't like her, why am I cheering her on? Well, it's okay since I'm only praising her mentally; I'm all contradictory up here.

"No, you don't look twelve years old," he says suggestively, squatting down in front of her again.

Ugh.

He did not just say that in front of me. I don't want to hear stuff like that.

I repeat: Ugh.

"Veronica…" he grunts, holding her hands in her lap.

"Tommy…" she replies in the same tone.

"I'll just take the train with her," I hear myself say.