Page 10

That was the thing about being a hockey goalie—you learned to read people. You had to. In the crease, a split-second tell could mean the difference between a save and a goal. A slight shift in weight, a flicker of the eyes, the tension in a shooter’s grip. I’d trained myself to notice everything, process it instantly, and react without thinking.

And right now, every instinct I had was screaming that Sam was barely holding it together.

Her brother had taken a seat two rows behind us, earbuds already in, giving us space. I was grateful he’d been willing to switch seats with me so I could sit next to Sam. It meant I could focus entirely on her without an audience.

“You know,” Sam said, her voice bright as she fiddled with the air vent above her, “I’ve always thought first class was overrated. Like, congratulations, you paid three times as much for an extra four inches of legroom and a warm towel. Revolutionary.”

I fought back a grin. Even on the edge of falling apart, she was a spitfire. I admired that about her, even if it also worried me.

Her fingers were trembling slightly as she grabbed the safety manual from the seat pocket and flicked through it. “Although,” she continued, filling the silence I refused to break, “the free drinks are nice. Maybe I’ll get champagne. Feels like a champagne kind of day, right? Nothing like cheap airplane champagne at”—she glanced at her phone—“two ten in the afternoon, but eh, it’s five o’clock somewhere, right?”

The flight attendant announced we’d be pushing back from the gate shortly and Sam’s body froze. It was so subtle I might not have noticed it if I wasn’t watching so closely.

Not likely, because I noticed everything about her, but another person might not have noticed.

“Harry.” Her voice cracked on my name, just barely, and then she recovered and plastered on that fake smile that was starting to grate on my nerves. She could pull that shit with everyone else, but she had to know I saw through it. “You’re being very quiet. Even for you. Which is saying something.”

I reached over and covered her hand with mine. “You don’t have to do that,” I said quietly.

“Do what?”

“Pretend.”

Something flickered in her eyes—that thing I’d been trying to name for months. Fear. Grief. Something deeper. But then she blinked and it was gone, replaced by her usual armor.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tried to pull her hand away. I didn’t let her. “I’m perfectly fine. Just peachy. Ready to go home and eat my body weight in Christmas cookies and make small talk with people who⁠—”

The plane lurched as it began to taxi.

Sam’s whole body went rigid. Her breath caught, and for a split second I saw through every wall she’d ever built. Pure panic filled her features, the kind that bypassed logic and went straight to the primal part of the brain that screamed danger, danger, danger.

“Sam.” I kept my voice low and steady. “Look at me.”

She didn’t. Her eyes were fixed on the window, watching the terminal slide past, her chest rising and falling too fast.

“Sam.”

Still nothing. Her hand had gone cold under mine, and I could feel the fine tremors running through her entire body now.

The plane turned onto the runway.

I shifted as best I could with the seat belt on to face her fully. Then I did something I’d been wanting to do for longer than I cared to admit.

I reached up and cradled her face in my hands, forcing her to face me.

Her skin was so incredibly soft under my palms. Her jaw fit perfectly into the curve of my fingers, like my hands had been made specifically for this purpose. To hold her.

To steady her.

She finally looked at me, those bright blue eyes wild with fear. Up close, the faint shadows under her eyes were obvious. She hadn’t slept last night; I’d bet anything on it. Her pupils were dilated, like her body was flooded with adrenaline that had nowhere to go.

“Breathe,” I told her. “With me. In.”

I inhaled slowly, deliberately, holding her gaze. Willing her to focus on me and nothing else. Not on anything happening in the cabin and definitely not on whatever ghosts were chasing her.

She tried. It was shaky, stuttered—barely a breath at all.

“Out.”