Page 23 of Slap Shot Scandal
“Please take your seats and keep your safety beltsfastened for the remainder of the flight. We’re moving through a storm and there will be turbulence.” The pilot’s voice hums through the speaker, and I plant my feet firmly on the floor, digging in.
“It’s just a little turbulence. We’ll be fine.” Weston’s voice is calm as he attempts to reassure me.
The plane shakes and we drop again, a quick dip down, sharp enough to lift my ass off the seat.
“Oh my gosh!” I cry, the panic intensifying.
“Breathe, Harbor. It’ll be okay.” Weston’s voice is low, soothing me. “Breathe in and out. Good, just like that.”
He rests his fingers on my forearm, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing tiny circles on my arm. Sparks fly across my skin, all my focus on Weston’s touch.
“In and out. Good girl.” The words trickle through me like warm honey, my stomach swooping. “That’s very good.”
We drop again, steeper this time, and now I’m shaking.
“It’s okay, we’re okay.” I don’t know if he’s trying to convince me or himself at this point. The sky’s a dark gray as we pitch through the clouds. Sweat beads on my brow as we lurch through the air. Weston keeps his hand on my arm the entire time.
I scrunch my eyes shut and start reciting the Hail Mary, at least what I can remember of it, my lips moving fervently as I pray.
I don’t want to die today.
Please don’t let me die.
I can’t go out like this.
Rain beats against the window, competing with the loud whoosh of blood pounding in my ears. A wave of nausea rolls through me as we bounce up and down, the water churning in my stomach.
Another spiky descent and to my horror, I scream, bracing for impact. Weston wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his strong body.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, stroking my arm. His masculine scent fills my nostrils as I breathe in deeply, trying to get ahold of myself. “I’ve got you.”
I relax into him, hot tears pricking my eyes. His T-shirt’s soft on my face, his heartbeat thumping in my ear.
I cannot cry right now.
Champions don’t break under pressure. Mental toughness separates the winners from the losers.
And here I am, about to break down at thirty thousand feet in front of the one person whose respect I need the most.
“If you could go anywhere in the world, do anything, what would it be?” Weston lightly squeezes my biceps, bringing me into the present.
“Besides heaven, if this plane crashes?”
“Yeah. Besides heaven.”
“Uh…I don’t know.”Bounce, bounce, bounce.
I rack my brain for an answer to his question, ignoring the turbulence.
“France. I always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower in person. Sounds cliché, I guess. But I took French in school.”
“Nice. Good choice.”
“What about you? Where do you want to go?”
“Iceland. I want to see the Northern Lights.”
“Oh, that’s a good one. Me too. It seems so romantic.”
