“I saidif,” he continued, squeezing my leg again, “I’ll make sure you get a great workout somehow.”
He seemed to realize the double entendre after it was too late, and we both wound up blushing, until he recovered and said, “You brought your sneakers, right?”
I nodded. “Running has always been my excuse to get out of the house.”
“If all goes according to plan you won’t need an excuse this time, I promise. We scheduled this trip like a military operation. We’ll land, meet up with Neil and Hailey, who I think are back there somewhere,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the rear of the plane, “grab the equipment and rental car, drive to your parents, set up, knock out the interview in a couple of hours max, then head to the hotel for the night. Tomorrow we’ll wake up at the crack of dawn, go to the DMV—”
“You absolutely do not have to come with me to that hellscape,” I interrupted.
He made a face at me. “Like I’m going to let you deal with it alone. I’m going. Anyway, DMV, new license with a killer photo, then off to the airport. And before you know it, you’ll be back to the grind.”
Which was exactly where I belonged. I’d get through the next thirty-six hours with the help of the accidental cheerleader and therapist beside me.
The flight attendants came out to do their show and my stress level spiked.
Takeoff was imminent. Three hours and forty-five minutes of hang time in the clouds. And at the end of it all? Not a tropical vacation. I was about to face more torture in the shape of Tricia Albright.
I closed my eyes and let out a long, slow breath through pursed lips.
“You’ve got this,” Ben said quietly.
“I hate takeoffs. I feel like I’ve got a dozen rabbits in my stomach.”
“Alive, or eaten?”
“Alive, and angry,” I replied.
“Let’s redirect that energy,” he shifted in his seat. “Time for some guided meditation. I’m really good at it.”
I cracked one eye to look at him and hoped it was enough to telegraph my disdain.
“I’m serious!”
“I meditate all the time,” I replied. “And I do positive visualization of my performances. It doesn’t help in this scenario. I’ve tried.”
“Yeah, but have you ever visualized the medal ceremony?”
My sassy reply died on my lips. I’d been doing versions of cognitive rehearsals since I was a kid, but I’d never considered doing it for the medal ceremony. The reasons for the oversight lurked in shadows. I didn’t like giving them air.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Okay, then let’s do it now. Guided visualization, brought to you by me.”
The plane started taxiing, and as much as I didn’t want Ben chanting in my ear, I did sort of need a distraction. I put my hands in my lap and dug my fingernails into my palms.
“Go,” I choked out.
He shifted a little closer, and his arm wound up pressed against mine. “Close your eyes.” Was hetryingto do a sexy voice? Because he sounded like a spicy audiobook narrator. “Now, picture yourself having just skated the most incredible programs of your life. You’re finally done. The hard part’s over. Every second of pain and sacrifice brought you to this moment. You won gold! Youdeserveto be here.”
The plane picked up speed, and even though Ben’s voice was a soothing focal point, I couldn’t fully embody the scene he was describing. I could see the arena and feel the energy of the crowd, but picturing myself leaning down to accept a medal?
In my mind, my body looked like a mass of TV static. Unidentifiable as me.
“You step onto that stage and suddenly you feel the adoration of thirteen thousand spectators,” Ben continued.
I cracked an eye. “Thirteen thousand? Are you serious?”
“Even more, thanks to the TV coverage, now close your damn eyes,” he scolded. “As I was saying, you’ve never felt this way before. You’re proud. Honored.Vindicated.”
