Page 1 of Unhurried Hearts

Prologue: Chris

“This is wicked,” Clare says.

She bounces on her toes next to me, eager for our turn to go up in the plane. I squint up at the blue sky, the solo skydiver from the group ahead of us quickly growing from a blurry dot to a person-shaped smudge. I’ve been looking forward to this trip for months, but skydiving wasnotpart of the itinerary. Hell, neither was meeting another Canadian traveller, falling into bed with her the first night, and deciding to share a hotel room. Sweat trickles down my spine beneath the orange flight suit, the moisture-wicking shirt I wore beneath it doing nothing against the Mexican spring. The two men who will be our tandem jump partners walk over in their muchcooler-looking black suits and begin checking our harnesses. I’m being manhandled, but I’m too distracted by the skydiver approaching the earth. I’m new to this, but based on the lesson we took earlier, I’m sure his chute should be unfurled above him by now.

“Hey,” I say to the slim instructor tugging on the yellow nylon webbing that is basically squashing my balls. “Does that look normal to you?” I point up at the jumper who is so much closer than before. Perez, according to the embroidered patch over his chest, follows my gaze before ripping off his shades.

“Tirar! PULL!” he screams.

My heart’s pace ratchets up at the mix of authority and panic in his voice.

When the parachute deploys, propelling the man higher into the sky, Clare squeezes my arm. “Holyshit, that was crazy.”

Yeah, crazy scary. There’s no way in hell I’m doing this.

Perez speaks into his radio in rapid Spanish and while I’ve never done a skydive before, tandem or otherwise, I can tell that something is about to go down (no pun intended). The next five seconds are the slowest of my life as the skydiver rushes toward the drop zone with alarming speed. My stomach roils and the sweat on my skin feels cold. I shake Clare’s hand off my arm to clap my handover my mouth as he hits the ground. The dozen or so people huddled around me gasp. I’m grateful as fuck I couldn’t hear that impact, but the hundred metres of distance doesn’t do a thing to disguise the sickening screams of the man covered in the rapidly deflating parachute. Clare has her phone outfilmingwith an expression of pure excitement on her face. I’m embarrassed to be standing next to her.

“Give him some privacy.” I swat her phone out of her hand, and it hits the pavement.

“Oh my God, Chris.” She stoops to retrieve it. “You could havebrokenmy phone.”

“That guy almost died!” I hiss, embarrassed by her lack of empathy.

She examines her screen for scratches. “Obviously not, because I can hear him screaming.”

Nausea hits me as the wail of sirens grows louder. I consider how bad his injuries might be and how that could have been me doing this stupid activity I didn’t want to try in the first place.

“Do you think this will delay our jump?”

Ourjump?

“I’m not jumping after…that.” I nod my head in the direction of the ambulance.

The paramedics and instructors are working to extricate the man from the parachute and harnesses. He’s gone silent and I can only hope it’s from the pain.

“We already paid. I told everyone we’re doing this.”

My mouth is wide open, incredulous at the utter senselessness of her statement. Actually,Ipaid, and I’ve also changed my mind. The orange jumpsuit is scratchy and stifling on my clammy skin. I tug at the nylon webbing, desperate for more breathing room. Why am I lightheaded? I’m breathing, aren’t I?

You’re hyperventilating, you idiot.

There are spots at the corner of my vision, and I try to get a hold of myself before I pass out and become the next emergency. Even the deep breathing exercises I learned when I scuba-dived last year can’t calm me.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Just having a slight panic attack.

I spot a couple, leaning against each other for support. The woman strokes the nape of her partner's neck with affection. I want that. Hell, when I had an upset stomach the other night the extent of Clare’s sympathy was saying ‘bummer’ and begrudgingly walking to a pharmacy for me. There’s a distinct possibility that if I were the guy currently surrounded by medical personnel, Clare wouldn’t be all that shaken up.

“I’m not jumping.”

I stumble backward toward the hangar.

“Where the hell are you going?” she whispers, more concerned over people hearing our argument than she is about my wellbeing.

“I’m done.”

She scoffs, “I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

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