RISKY PLAY (RED CARD #1) BY RACHEL VAN DYKEN Page 0,3
me.
I jerked to attention as the woman tugged down my headphones and reached for my hand. “Engine failure!”
“Stop yelling.” I pressed a hand to my temple as I looked around the cabin. Everyone seemed to be panicked and staring at the flight attendant like she was going to somehow fix this or hand out parachutes.
“This is your captain,” crackled a reasonably calm voice over the loudspeaker. “We’ve lost one engine, but luckily we’re a few miles out from the Puerto Vallarta airport. Just hang tight and try to relax. We’ll be making an emergency landing in the next ten minutes.” Oxygen masks tumbled from the panel above us. The captain came back on. “Flight attendants, prepare the cabin, and buckle up.”
The woman next to me was pale as a ghost. “This!” She held her head in her hands. “It can’t end like this! I’m not ready, you hear me, universe!” She clenched her fists. “I was left at the altar, this is unfair! Completely unfair!”
“Uh, can I get you something?” I whispered to her in an effort to both calm her and try to get her to put the mask over her nose and mouth. “To help you calm down and stop talking to yourself?”
“One thing.” Her light-blue eyes met mine as an electrical charge pulsed between our bodies.
The plane shook and dove a few hundred feet. I grabbed her hand and rubbed it with my thumb.
She shrieked and reached for my shirt, gripping it with both hands while her eyes frantically searched mine for confirmation everything was going to be okay.
The plane plummeted again.
I gripped her hands, needing the distraction just as much, as a loud noise filled the cabin.
“Answer this question: What one thing do you regret?” she said in a voice that sounded like failure, like giving up, like the world was against her in every single way.
“Just one?” I tried to make light of the conversation even though my adrenaline was spiking like I’d just started the championship match. The plane kept diving at rapid speeds, causing my stomach to lurch. We needed to get our masks on, but getting them on seemed like it would only make her more frantic, and I needed her calm. I wasn’t sure why—I just did. Maybe because her touch was calming me. Maybe because it was the first time I’d touched another woman since being betrayed by the one I thought I loved.
“One.” She nodded more calmly now.
I kept my eyes locked on hers. “I would have drunk all the wine. You were right, it deserved more than a ‘good.’”
Her eyes lit up like I’d just told her she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, which wasn’t too far off the mark. From her caramel-colored hair to her almost too-big eyes to the wide smile on her pillow-like lips, I could imagine many things I’d rather be doing with her than talking.
“Really?”
“Really.” I nodded. “Your turn.”
The plane dipped, and she sent a worried glance toward the cockpit.
“Hey.” I grabbed her chin. “It’s going to be fine, pilots are trained for this. Just focus on me, on my voice. Can you do that?”
She swallowed, closed her eyes, then nodded. “Yes, I can do that.”
“Good.” I dropped my hand as an alarm sounded around the plane. The flight attendants ran to their spots as we lost more elevation. I could see the mountains in the window right along with civilization; we were at least ten thousand feet, maybe lower. The airport must be nearby.
“I would have said no,” she finally answered.
“Said no?” I repeated, confused.
“To Alton, when he asked me if I loved him. I would have said no. I would have said not the way you deserve, and I would have walked away.”
Heavy.
My eyes briefly scanned her left hand. No ring.
“And then”—she kept talking—“I think I would have kissed you.”
My eyebrows shot up as a smile spread across my face despite my growing anxiety over how fast the plane was traveling and how close we were getting to the ground. “Oh? You often kiss strangers?”
“Only ones from Spain.” So she’d nailed my heritage without even asking. Which seemed impossible, I was mostly half Spanish and German with a whole bunch of other things my mom couldn’t seem to remember.
“Spain is for lovers,” I found myself saying like an idiot.
She smiled, though.
And I wanted to think it was because of me, not because of who I was, or what I did.