Then again, I would much prefer the option where I simply do not die.
That seems reasonable.
Everyone onboard is much quieter than I expected. We’re seated near the back of the plane with the training staff, while the players and coaches are clustered closer to the front. Most people seem to be sleeping or lost in their screens, headphoneson, faces slack and peaceful. Aside from the occasional cough or the soft rustle of someone shifting in their seat, the cabin is hushed. The steady hum of the engines fills the space, a constant, almost soothing vibration. Except when I remember how high up in the air we are.
A flight attendant appears in the aisle beside me. She has golden brown skin, kind eyes, and an air that makes me feel like everything might actually be fine. She smiles down at me, warm and reassuring.
“I heard this is your first time flying,” she says gently. “I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.”
Cal’s head snaps toward me. “You didn’t tell me you’ve never flown before.”
I didn’t tell anyone. Except Arthur.
“I’m doing okay,” I say quickly, offering what I hope is a convincing smile. I don’t add that I am also silently cataloging my regrets, including the fact that I never recorded a heartfelt video telling my son how much I love him, just in case he somehow does not already know.
“Glad to hear it,” the flight attendant says. She holds out a can of ginger ale, which I accept gratefully. “If you start to feel a bit nauseous, take small sips. It usually helps. And I recommend chewing gum when we start our descent.”
She presses a small pack of spearmint gum into my hand.
“Thank you,” I whisper, genuinely moved. “I really appreciate it.”
“Of course. I’ll check in on you again before we land.”
She continues down the aisle, leaving me with cold ginger ale, minty gum, and a surprising amount of reassurance. I am also left with the warm realization that somewhere on this jumbo jet, there is a prickly coach who should be thinking about tomorrow’s game but instead made sure someone was watching out for me.
I wish he were sitting beside me right now. Not that I don’t love Cal.
It’s just not her hand that I want to hold.
We land safelyand without incident. The moment I step out of the air-conditioned airport, Florida hits me full force. The heat wraps around me like a warm embrace. Early May sunshine spills over the landscape, soft and golden and it sinks straight into my tired bones. My shoulders loosen. My lungs feel fuller. My soul relaxes.
I barely have time to bask in it before we’re herded onto buses and whisked away toward the hotel. Palm trees line the road like a welcoming committee. The sky is an endless, smug blue that feels like it’s showing off.
After around thirty minutes the hotel comes into view.
It’s a gleaming white palace by the ocean, balconies and arched windows catching the sun. Fountains flank the entrance, and tall palms sway lazily in front.
Inside, the lobby smells faintly of citrus and flowers. Marble floors stretch beneath my feet, and sunlight streams through huge windows. This place is nicer than any hotel I’ve ever stayed in.
Usually, training staff share rooms on away trips, but Cal insisted I have my own. She was probably relieved I’d agreed to come and sweetened the deal.
The moment I wheel my small suitcase into my room, I feel like a college kid away from home for the first time. The room is small, mostly taken up by a king-size bed. The bathroom is tiny too, with a stand-up shower and no bath. But honestly, I don’t need much more.
I take my time, walking around the room, openingdrawers and nosing around. In the closet, I find an ironing board and iron, an extra pillow and a white terry cloth robe. I decide to slip the robe on over my clothes as the air conditioning is making the room a bit chilly. Freezing, actually.
I locate the thermostat on the wall and press a few buttons but nothing seems to happen. I make a note to check with the front desk about it later.
Since I’m here for three nights, I decide to unpack my suitcase. I’m hanging one of my black Otters training staff zip-ups in the closet when there’s a knock at the door.
I open expecting to find Cal coming to check on me and am pleasantly surprised to find a tall, dark, and ruggedly handsome head coach expertly filling out the doorway instead.
“I didn’t order room service,” I say with a smile I’m sure is dopier than a patient waking up from general anesthesia.
“I’m not room service,” he says, stepping in and closing the door behind him. I find myself being backed against the wall, his big body surrounding me. “I’ve come to your room to service you. There’s a difference.”
“Ah. How silly of me.”
He tilts my chin up as he bends to kiss me. It’s not rushed like the secret ones we’ve stolen in the treatment room, but it makes my heart pound and adrenaline flood through me all the same.
