Page 1 of Wild Card
CHAPTER ONE
BASH
One year ago…
I’m stuck in an airport, and everyone is annoying me.
“We’re delayed again, but it’s so beautiful outside that I don’t even mind,” a voice singsongs from the row of blue pleather chairs behind me. It’s a nice voice. Rich and calm and, based on the way she’s chatting away on the phone, not at all frustrated by being stranded in a snowstorm. “I feel like I’m living in a snow globe or something.”
I scoff, flexing my fists beneath my crossed arms. We’ve been waiting to board for three hours, and this woman doesn’t even mind.
And I believe her. I don’t bother looking in her direction, but I can tell by her tone, the awe seeping into every word, that she’s never seen snow and would describe this nightmare as “cozy.”
“Yeah, honestly…it’s cozy.”
Yep. There it is. Whoever she is, she’s enjoying this.
Must be fucking nice because I’m ready to crawl right out of my skin. People sneezing without covering their faces, babies crying, the smell of stale bagels. I’ve walked laps like a tiger pacing his cage, and even that isn’t taking the edge off anymore.
Leave it to Vancouver to be the only place in Canada that doesn’t know how to handle a snowstorm. And it’s not eventhatbad.
The crackle of the speakers filters through the low hum of Gate 82’s waiting area. “Attention all passengers awaiting boarding for Air Acadia flight 2375 with service to Calgary. We regret to inform you that your flight has been canceled and rescheduled for tomorrow morning. You should receive an email shortly with updated flight information. Please see a booking agent if you require further assistance. We appreciate your patience and understanding and look forward to serving you tomorrow.”
A communal groan rolls through the space. What follows is a string of announcements delivering the same message to neighboring gates: no one is getting out of here tonight.
My head drops back against the chair’s metal top and I let out an exhausted sigh. It’s been a crappy week, and this is just the bread that makes the whole thing a shit sandwich.
I’d empty my entire bank account just to sleep in my own bed tonight. To be alone with some fucking peace and quiet. To decompress.
Instead, I am fully compressed. Every muscle feels tight, and my jaw hurts from clenching it. Even my lungs feel constricted.
This was the last thing I needed after having my entire world turned upside down.
“Yeah, canceled.” That too-happy voice floats through the air toward me. “It’s okay. It is what it is. I’m going to make the most of it! When life gives you lemons…”
It squeezes the acid right in your fucking eyes.
I push to my feet.
A peek over my shoulder reveals a shock of wavy, platinum hair draped over the woman’s face as she rifles through an oversize bag, her phone pressed to her ear.
My brows scrunch low as she laughs at whatever the person on the other end of the line has said. I shake my head as I turn away and heave my bag onto my shoulder, deciding she’s altogether too happy. It’s not normal.
For some reason, her cheerfulness sours my mood even further. So with my heavy footfalls echoing on the polished concrete floors, I head toward the booking agent’s desk to see if there’s a way I can get the hell out of here.
Waiting in line doesn’t ease my annoyance. As it turns out, I’m not the only one in a foul mood. An angry middle-aged man ahead of me has gone from agitated to a full-blown meltdown. He points his index finger at the frazzled customer service representative, demanding she fix this—as if she personally created the snowstorm.
He’s mad about his bags. He’s mad about the lack of available accommodations. He’s mad about the new early flight time.
I’m mad too, but I’m not punching down over it. And the longer I watch, the more I’m just mad about what a royal asshole this guy is.
The girl’s cheeks darken, and her bottom lip wobbles. When her eyes fill as she shrinks back from his tirade, I’ve had it.
“My man.” I project my deep voice toward the desk. “Shit happens. No need to speak to her that way.”
Heads swivel in my direction, including the one belonging to the red-faced man. “Excuse me?” His jowls vibrate with fury, his lip beneath his thick mustache curling as his eyes home in on me. I get the sense that he’s not accustomed to people telling him off.
I shrug. Looking nonchalant is the ultimate affront to someone who wields their power in such a belittling way. “Take a walk,” I say in a low rumble. “It is what it is.”
