Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
It’s just a quick plane ride and hopefully, a few days in Minneapolis. No big deal.
CHAPTER TWO
Lincoln
Trinity seems to be a nervous flier.
She’s grabbing the armrests on her seat so hard there are indentations beneath each of her fingers—and we haven’t even taken off yet.
“I’m not just your pilot, I’m also your flight attendant,” Chris says with a grin, turning his head around to look at us from his seat. “Sorry I’m not a cute redhead. I need your seat belts on for the entire flight. We’ll be making a quick refueling stop in Atlin, but we won’t be able to depart the plane. In the unlikely event of a water landing, there’s a life raft hanging up there.” I glance to the spot he’s pointing at near the back of the tiny six-seater plane. “Parachutes next to the raft, first aid and survival kits. If you’re gonna puke, no shame in that, but please use the bucket.” He gestures at a small plastic pail affixed to the wall.
I almost took him up on his offer to sit next to him up front so I could enjoy the view, but I figured I should sit next to Trinity. She’s not much for conversation, though. Every question I ask is answered with one or two syllables.
Chris starts the plane and begins communicating with air traffic control through his headphones. Trinity and I both have headphones on, too. It’s the only way we can hear Chris over the noise of the plane.
Which is fucking tiny. I’m crammed into my seat, which is one of only six, including the pilot’s. I’m used to traveling on the Mammoths’ team plane, where I can recline my seat and stretch my legs out. My knees are currently pressed into the seat in front of me and my hands are in my lap, my shoulders squeezed together awkwardly so I can give Trinity the entire armrest area between us.
This is for Dalton, though. He’s like a brother to me. I didn’t hesitate when he asked me to leave the road trip early and get his sister back to Minneapolis safely.
Once Chris finishes all his preflight communications, he flips a few switches and looks over his shoulder at us. “Hold on to your hats, folks. It’s windy today. Gonna be a rocky first leg.”
Trinity cringes.
“Gertie’ll get you there, don’t worry!” Chris assures her. “If the bucket starts to get too full, let me know and I’ll get out a trash bag.”
Awesome. Who exactly will be flying the plane while he digs out a trash bag, I wonder?
The plane lurches slightly as it starts to move. Trinity presses her head back against her seat, holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut.
“Hey, breathe,” I remind her, patting her hand.
She ignores me, her face getting red. We aren’t even off the ground yet and I’m worried she’s going to pass out.
“Trinity, breathe.” My tone is stern this time.
“I’m breathing; leave me alone,” she snaps.
The color starts to return to her face because she had to breathe to respond to me. This is going to be a long flight.
I take in the view from the window beside me as we ascend, the landscape a sea of sparkling snow. Minnesota winters are cold as shit, and it snows nonstop, but January in Alaska seems to be relentless. I’ve only been here for a couple of days and it’s snowed more often than not. The temperatures are punishing, and it doesn’t help that the sun only shines about six hours a day.
The team outfitted all of us with parkas, extra thick socks and knee-high all-weather boots for this trip. Or I should say, a sponsor did. We wore a little patch on our uniforms with the company logo.
As the plane climbs higher, it starts to pitch from side to side and lurch lower for a few seconds at a time. When I glance over at Trinity, her elbows are on her knees and her face is in her hands.
“This is all totally normal, right?” I ask Chris over the headset, hoping to reassure her.
“Oh yeah. Bush planes aren’t made to ride as smooth as commercial ones, but Gertie’s a workhorse. She’ll get us there.”
Within a couple of minutes, Trinity’s face is hovering over the bucket. Poor kid. Dalton said she’s twenty-six years old—eight years younger than me—but seeing her like this makes her seem younger.
“Just do it,” I tell her. “You’ll feel better.”
She looks over at me, scowling. “Believe me, if I could, I would.”
I see so damn much of Dalton in her. I’m the team captain and two years older than him. I’ve had to talk to him about his shitty attitude a few times. His intense competitiveness can give him tunnel vision, and as his teammate, I get it. But he’s short-tempered at his best and a total asshole at his worst when he’s under pressure, and some of our front office people find him abrasive. Reporters aren’t big fans, either.