Chapter Twenty
“What’s going on with you?”
Ben was leaning forward in his window seat, eyeballing me as I clutched the armrests of my aisle seat. Considering how often
I was on the road for competitions, you’d think my fear of flying would’ve decreased over the years, but it hung on, as stubborn
as a grease stain on white cotton.
I shook my head, staring straight at the seat in front of me. “Nothing.”
He didn’t look away, and I could feel his eyes traveling up my body, cataloging every nuance.
“You’re nervous.”
“I’m fine.”
He shifted, still watching me, and I could tell the inquisition was about to level up.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and no one will be seated between us. These early flights are usually less crowded.”
“Yeah, I’m loving the six a.m. departure,” I snarked at him.
“We have a shitload to do today, and I knew you didn’t want to spend a second longer in Connecticut than necessary. Do you want the window? Where would you feel more comfortable?” Ben started to unbuckle his seat belt, poised to jump up.
A woman in a navy blazer came to a stop by our row looking just as unhappy as I felt. “Sorry, this is me.”
She pointed to the middle seat, frowning.
“Of course,” I said, doing an awkward half stand so she could squeeze by me.
“Before you sit,” Ben began and the woman paused. He gestured toward me. “We’re actually together, and my friend is a nervous
flyer. Would you like to have my window seat and I’ll take the middle, so the two of us can sit together?”
His unexpected kindness lowered my stress level by about 4 percent.
She glanced between the two of us and I waited for the inevitable spark of recognition, especially because she was within
Ben’s target demo; a middle manager–type clutching her laptop under her arm, who probably mainlined reality TV.
If she recognized him she didn’t let on, which meant that we wouldn’t be forced to make small talk with her all the way to
Hartford. In any other scenario I enjoyed connecting with skating fans, but flying meant that I needed to focus. I didn’t
have the bandwidth to chat on flights because the only reason I hadn’t crashed yet was the power of my visualization of the
plane remaining in the air for the entire flight.
“Um, sure,” she replied with an expression like she’d smelled something unpleasant. “But if you want to swap could I take
the aisle instead? I get a little claustrophobic in the window seat.”
“Done,” Ben said.
The three of us shuffled our carry-ons and reading material and settled into our new seats, with Ben in the awful middle seat
and me leaning against the window.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said quietly. “But I appreciate it.”
He bumped his shoulder against mine. “Happy to. I can be your human stress ball. If you’re feeling nervous, squeeze this.”
Ben held up his hand.
“Have you been watching the weather?” I leaned forward to peek out the window at the gray sky. “Because it’s looking dicey
in Connecticut.”
I started bouncing my leg and Ben gently placed his hand on my knee to stop it. “All I’ve seen is the possibility of snow. We’ll be okay.”
He sounded so convinced of it that I nearly believed him.
“Not if we get snowed in at my parents’ house.” I fell back against my seat and squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh my fucking god,
this is a bad idea on so many levels. I swear, if I lose training time because Winter Storm Ronaldo strands us . . .” I trailed
off because I wasn’t sure what sort of punishment fit the crime, and who would deserve it.
I only realized that Ben’s hand was still on my leg when he squeezed it. “Hey. Look at me.”
I opened my eyes reluctantly and felt a wave of calm unfurl when I saw Ben’s face, closer to mine than I was expecting. Capable.
Focused. Trustworthy.
“If we get stranded—” Ben began.
I cut him off with a frustrated noise.
“I said if,” 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 he trying to 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! You deserve to 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.”
The last bit was specifically for me, because the only person Bennett Martino ever had to beat was himself. I, on the other
hand, had plenty to prove to the rest of the world.
“The stage is massive. Normally the size of it would make you feel like a speck of dust, but it’s impossible in this scenario because you’re the
reason for it. Every eye is focused on you. There’s an energy in the air unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and you’re the
conductor. The lighting is bright, so much so that you’re almost tempted to squint, but you don’t because you don’t want to
miss a second of what’s happening. The two people on either side of you? Your former foes are now your allies, because the
three of you have accomplished the impossible. You’re the best of the best.”
I’d experienced watered-down versions of what he was describing at various competitions, but I still couldn’t visualize myself
on this stage.
I let out a frustrated huff and opened my eyes.
“I can’t do it.”
Ben pulled back, his face drawn with worry. “Quinn, seriously? Why?”
Therapist Ben was back. I had to fight to keep from unloading my whys, because he already had enough intel on me.
“Old scripts,” I replied. “Baggage. I’m working on it.”
His eyes searched my face, and once again I could understand why every woman he came in contact with fell for him. In this moment I sensed that all that mattered to him was me. My hurt, my hope, my journey. It was the craziest juxtaposition; a man who seemed to have a bottomless well of self-love
who could also pivot to completely focus on others.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Yes, because I knew firsthand that Ben had the power to soothe me. But 100 percent no, because he didn’t deserve more painful backstory from me.
I almost felt like an addict. Talking to Ben would make me feel better in the moment, but the comedown afterward would leave
me bleary and broken. I had to keep reminding myself that his care was transactional.
He stood to benefit from my pain.
“I’ll get there,” I finally replied. “I’m fine.”
Ben watched me for a beat longer. “One hurdle down. Look.”
He pointed at the window and when I finally felt brave enough to peek out I realized we were at our cruising altitude.
“You can do hard things,” Ben reassured me. “And when you feel like it’s impossible, I’ll help prove that it’s not.”