In the Likely Event(7)

Suddenly, my wish to be off this plane had nothing to do with my fear of flying and everything to do with Nathaniel. If we’d met on campus, or even back home in Denver, this conversation wouldn’t have to end in a couple of hours when we reached Atlanta.

Then again, if we’d been on campus or in Denver, who knew if we would have had it in the first place. I didn’t exactly make a habit of chatting up hot guys. I left that up to Margo. The quiet, accessible ones were usually more my type.

“I could send you books,” I offered quietly. “If you’re allowed to read and don’t have enough while you’re there.”

“You would do that?” His eyes widened with surprise.

I nodded, and the smile he answered with sent my pulse skyrocketing.

“Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff,” the pilot said over the PA system.

Guess it was our turn.

The attendant closest to us told someone a few rows ahead to put their tray table up, then strode for his seat, buckling in to face us.

I gripped both armrests as the engines revved and we hurtled forward, the momentum pushing me back into my seat. The fog had lightened just enough to see the edge of the runway as we raced past. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a steadying breath before opening them.

Nate looked my way, then stuck his hand out, offering it palm up.

“I’m okay,” I said through gritted teeth, trying to remember to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth.

“Take it. I won’t bite.”

Screw it.

I grasped his hand, and he laced our fingers together, warmth infusing my clammy, ice-cold skin.

“Go ahead and squeeze. You can’t break me.”

“You might regret it.” I white-knuckled his hand, my breaths coming faster and faster as we sped toward takeoff.

“I somehow doubt that.” His thumb stroked over mine. “Three minutes. Right? The first three minutes after takeoff?”

“Yep.”

He crossed his left wrist to our joined hands and pushed a few buttons, starting his stopwatch. “There. When it reaches three minutes, you can relax until we land.”

“You’re really too sweet.” The tires rumbled and the plane shimmied beneath us as we accelerated. I squeezed his hand so hard I probably cut off his blood supply, but I was too busy trying to breathe to feel an adequate amount of embarrassment.

“I’ve been called a lot of things, but sweet hasn’t ever been one of them,” he answered with a squeeze as we lifted off.

“Ask me something,” I blurted as every worst-case scenario flashed through my mind. “Anything.” My pulse skyrocketed.

“Okay.” His brow furrowed in thought. “Did you ever notice that pine trees sway?”

“What?”

“Pine trees.” He checked his watch. “People always talk about palm trees swaying, but pine trees do too. It’s the most peaceful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Pine trees,” I mused. “I’ve never noticed.”

“Yep. What’s your favorite movie?”

“Titanic,” I answered automatically.

The plane pitched upward, dropping my stomach as we angled into a steep climb.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” I nodded quickly. “I mean, there was totally room on the door, but I loved the rest of it.”

He laughed softly and shook his head. “Two minutes to go.”

“Two minutes,” I repeated, willing my breaths to slow and the knot to untangle itself from my throat. The odds of being in a plane crash were so minuscule, and yet here I was, clutched on to a gorgeous stranger who probably thought I was a few crayons short of a box.

“What’s your favorite time of day?” he asked. “Hey, I’m just distracting you.”

“Sunset,” I said. “You?”

“Sunrise. I like the possibilities of the day.”

He glanced into the sea of gray that filled the window, and I leaned forward to chance a peek. I could see the edge of the wing through the thick fog, but everything else was still murky. Maybe it wasn’t so bad if I couldn’t see the ground.

The engines whined at a higher pitch.

“What the—” Nate started.

The sound of metal on metal stilled my heart.

The wing exploded in a ball of fire.





CHAPTER THREE


NATHANIEL


Kabul, Afghanistan

August 2021

“That appeared to go well.” Torres’s voice thickened with sarcasm as I watched Izzy walk away with the rest of the envoy. She hadn’t stomped, stormed, or even glared at me before following Webb toward the armored cars at the edge of the runway. She’d simply dismissed me like we didn’t have a decade of history between us.

I scoffed, but there was no stopping the corners of my mouth as they lifted in appreciation. Well played.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Torres asked as we fell in behind the politicians. “Shit, I barely recognized her.”

Politician. She hated politics—at least she used to. She’d made such a big deal about getting into the nonprofit sector, never giving in to the pressure her parents put on her to further their own agenda through her career, and yet here she was.