16. Chapter Sixteen

Vaughn

I exhale sharply in frustration as Nicholas brings the car to a staggering halt. Traffic. The traffic is heavy. Now, that’s nothing unusual, but you never get used to it.

Today’s training is light, way lighter than the rigorous sessions we have been having in the past week. We hardly even play a match; fitness drills are the order of the day: sprints, shuttle runs, footwork exercises, and some cone drills. Afterward, the fitness coach does some assessments on us, and we are done for the day.

But the fact that I’m very tired physically doesn’t mean I am fine.

“Perhaps I should call Dr. Craig,” I say to myself. I feel irritable. Perhaps it’s because Paul kept throwing side glances my way while I was in a one-on-one drill with Collins.

Yeah, we had a one-on-one drill, which I had initiated. I feel guilty about how I reacted when I saw him with Rachel. He didn’t seem bothered by it at all, and I’d like to think we are pretty much on good terms now.

Paul, a midfielder on the team and my former best friend, wouldn’t stop stealing glances at me—awkward glances and a stupid half-smile. The fucker had the guts to smile at me after fucking my former girlfriend two years ago!

It wouldn’t be hard to guess that ever since that happened, we hadn’t been on speaking terms. We had mostly avoided each other until necessary, but the fact that this asshole smiled at me today made me mad. I was pissed, and I swore, if not for Coach McLauren’s presence, I would have gone over and given him a smack on the snake face.

What more? Nicholas hasn’t taken me home either—a place I desperately want to be at this moment. Instead, he is taking me to the Charity Center to kick Rachel’s ass—she has fucked up my schedule again, and I am beyond pissed at this point. If not for my great lawyer, my name would have been on the news for terrible reasons: Famous soccer player Vaughn Graham signs deals with two rival companies, sparking controversy.

My patience wears thin as we wait for the lights to turn green, my chest heaving. Even Nicholas shifts uncomfortably in his chair from the tension in the car.

When I finally get to the office, I hop down from the car and head straight to the reception.

“Good afternoon, Vaughn. How is your day going?” I hear a voice say from over the table, followed by a smile that makes me even more annoyed. It’s Carmen.

“Is Rachel here?” I ask urgently without replying to her greetings, and I watch the smile disappear from her face.

“Yes. I saw her come in this morning. She’s likely in her office,” she replies unenthusiastically, her thin, painted red lips flattening into a straight line.

I take the elevator and head to the third floor. I never thought there’d be a day when I would be asking if Rachel came to work, but here we are! After having taken days off in the last two weeks on her own, it won’t be surprising if she takes too much liberty in the free day, I gave her yesterday and adds days of her own. Yeah, she’s changed that much! It irks me even more that there’s this feeling that is stopping me from putting her in check.

I flung her office door wide open without taking the trouble to knock. “Oh, so you came to work? That’s cool. Any explanation as to why you didn’t bring me my breakfast?”

She raises a well-plucked eyebrow in surprise, but she still remained graceful. “I didn’t think—”

“You know what, that’s even beside the point.” I close the distance between us in long strides and stand over her. “You fucked up my schedules again. I am not supposed to meet with that client you called me about until next week!”

I see her swallow. “Y-you mean the ‘energy drink for athletes’ company?”

I drag a chair opposite her and sit down. “Oh, are there more of my schedules that you messed up?”

She shakes her head frantically and pauses to wipe a bead of sweat off her forehead. “I am sorry, Vaughn. I . . . it was a mistake. I thought it was scheduled for today.”

She does look sorry . . . and scared. And I love it! Call me a sadist, but I don’t like feeling like I’m losing control over something that should be under my control.

“I’ll fix it,” she says.

Seeing that she does not match my scolding with a confrontational reaction, I calm down a bit. “You don’t have to. It would be a waste of time to abandon the meeting after getting there already, don’t you think? It’s been settled. What you have to do, though, is inform the pilot to get my jet ready. We are going to Australia.”

“What? I thought that was in another two weeks.” Her eyes widen, and her lips slightly part.

“Of course you do,” I grunt. “Might as well be my own secretary.”

You wouldn’t believe the look that she gives me. It’s subtle but obvious enough for me to notice. She better not ruin my mood further with her newfound sassy attitude—there’s no telling how I might react.

She still has a doubtful look in her eyes. I bet she thinks she didn’t make a mistake. She rolls her swivel chair backward and leans forward, exposing generous cleavage between two swollen mounds as she pulls at a drawer.

Sweet Jesus.

My eyes wouldn’t move an inch from her chest for about ten seconds, and it would have taken even longer if not for the burgeoning erection in my pants. I have just shorts on. I can’t risk it.

She slaps a file on her desk, her expression serious as she scans through it, and then she looks back at me in astonishment.

“You are actually right—”

“Of course I am right, Rachel,” I blurted impatiently. “Time to call my pilot instead of trying to prove a point, don’t you think?”

She inhales, in what seems like frustration and presses the phone to her ear after dialing a number. She talks with the pilot for some time, and as she ends the call, she springs to her feet and says, “I have to get some supplies for both of us. I will be back in like twenty minutes.”

“You better.”

Her heels clank against the tiles as she scurries out of the office, her hips shaking in her quick steps. She disappears, leaving me staring after her.

***

The last thing I expected to be involved in was a flight to Australia in the middle of a tiring afternoon. I had taken the time Rachel had gone to get supplies to freshen up and put on some clean clothes, but that did less than I expected it would.

The trip to Australia had gone completely under my radar, and I only found out about it because of the promotional video that involved the whole team—something about keeping the oceans clean or some shit. Great cause, of course, but it’s mostly an excuse to get the entire team in front of the cameras. Everyone loves seeing athletes in action, especially if it’s for something good.

If not for the coach who had reminded us after training, I wouldn’t have thought about it. I wouldn’t have been on my way to Australia now since it had also somehow flown under Rachel’s radar!

Rachel and I settled ourselves in the private jet. Soon, we are speeding down the runway into what I hope will be a smooth flight. I don’t even have time to think about anything else. I barely let anyone know where I am or where I am going, and honestly, I don’t care. I just want to get to Australia, do this shit—oh, I mean, shoot— and be done with it.

Rachel is sitting across from me, her face pale and drawn into a gloomy mask. She’s probably still trying to recover from her earlier mistake, I can tell. I am still angry at her, but I can’t bring myself to unleash on her again. She sits there, silent, calmly doing everything to fix it. It’s not enough to calm the silent anger raging in my mind, but I stay silent.

The jet surges into the air, and for the first time since I woke up today, I feel a strange calm wash over me. We are finally on track; everything is going to be okay.

About an hour later, in awkward silence, Rachel breaks it: “Would you like anything to eat or drink? There’s wine in the cabinet and some snacks if you’d like any.”

Sometimes, it takes just a statement from someone about food for one to realize they are hungry. That is the exact case with me. I made it a rule to only eat after training, and I only had a bottle of water down my throat from when I went to run the ad for the energy drink brand.

My stomach grumbles, and I say with a nod, “Sure.”

She stands up and heads to the cabinet. I watch her gingerly pour some wine into a glass, place some snack bars on a flat plate, and head back toward me.

I switch my gaze to the leather chair close to me. I won’t be caught staring.

I grab the glass of wine from the plate even before she sets it on the table and gulp it all down at a go.

Tastes good. Feels good.

I run the tip of my tongue along my lips in relish. It’s been a long time since I restocked the wine cabinet in my jet, as I don’t use it much. This wine right here could be up to two years old.

I know Rachel is staring at me, but I couldn’t care less. I grab a snack bar from the plate, pull the wraps down, and start munching. I returned her gaze this time. “You know what you could do instead of watching me eat? Get something for you to eat as well. We are in for a long flight.”

“Don’t worry, I am fine,” she says, clutching a small pillow to herself.

“I am not worrying. That’s an order. I want you to be maximally efficient. Now, go get something for yourself.”

She rolls her eyes and stands up. She had just taken a few steps toward the cabinet when the jet shook—not so violently, but enough to make Rachel collapse back on her sofa.

Then it stops.

The pilot bursts out of the cockpit, worry etched on his face.

“S-sir,” he stammers, “we lost an engine.”

I can’t help but see that my eyes widen in shock despite trying to remain calm. “What do you mean, ‘We lost an engine’?”

Rachel’s face is a mask of fear, her hazel eyes turning a dark green.

“The left engine isn’t responding,” the pilot explains quickly. “We are losing altitude fast, and we have to make an emergency landing.”

Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.

Rachel almost shoots out of her seat again. “This is my entire fault. If I had started making preparations sooner, and maybe he would have checked—”

“Calm down,” I say in a tone that sounds more like an order than reassurance. I turned back to the pilot. “How much time do we have left?” I ask, growing increasingly aware of the tightening in my chest.

The pilot moves back to the cockpit, and I follow him with Rachel at my heels.

“Honestly, not much,” the pilot says. His face shows a bit of scare, but his voice is confident, and that works for me just fine. “I am going to try to get us closer to the water to reduce the impact when we go down.”

Rachel gasps beside me, her hands covering her mouth. I can see the fear in her eyes as the reality of the situation sets in. Her hands tremble as she grips the headrest of the pilot’s seat.

I find myself telling her that we are going to be fine, even though I’m not sure if I believe that myself. “See? We have got life jackets. We are close to the water. We will be fine.”

Rachel bobs her head, her eyes still filled with doubt. She’s obviously scared, perhaps as scared as I am, but I think there is more to her worried look. Is she still blaming herself for what’s happening, thinking that if she hadn’t messed up the schedule, then the pilot would not have had to hurry and would have had enough time to check the engines? And while a large part of me wants to blame her, too, it doesn’t seem fair.

This is too serious to be anyone’s fault.

It’s just bad luck. Terrible fucking luck.

In the next few moments that follow, the jet descends faster and appears to be plunging head-first toward ground level. We all hold our breaths. The assistant pilot hands us life jackets, her trembling hands betraying the confidence her voice painted as she says, “Everything will be okay.”

I pull the jacket on me, glancing over at Rachel as she fumbles with hers. “You good?” I ask.

She exhales. “I think so.”

“Okay, everyone, brace yourselves,” the pilot’s voice sounds.

The next moments happen very fast. The jet dips sharply, the wind whistling and engines roaring. My grip tightens on the pilot’s headrest, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Rachel’s knuckles turn white as she clenches her fists tightly. The tension in the plane rises to an all-time high, the scent of salt water becomes more apparent, and fear is choking all parties involved.

And then, impact.

The force with which the plane hit the water almost knocks the living daylight out of me. The sound of shattering glass and tearing metal fills my ears.

This is it. This is how it ends.

The forceful, turbulent rush of water into the plane reminds me of a typhoon, and then I start randomly remembering scenarios of deadly typhoons I have seen in the news; my heart almost gives away. There’s no way any of us will survive this. No, this is how it truly ends for all of us.

“Get out! Get out now!” the pilot screams, and he starts rushing to the emergency exit, with Rachel behind him and the remaining two of us running closely behind.

The cold air hits me like a slap in the face as we all jump out of the sinking jet. The freezing water cruelly tortures my skin like it’s been waiting for me its whole life, pulling me mercilessly underneath. I desperately kick to the surface, struggling to catch my breath as I look around.

I see no one, not a single soul. I am the only one I can see as far as my eyes go. Scary thoughts torture my mind. Where’s everyone? Where’s Rachel?

My mind plays fearful scenarios of what could have happened, and I choke hard in panic. I doubt I would have choked any harder if water had gotten into my airways.

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