CHAPTER 16
I stand there, staring at the bright blue jumpsuit in my hands, the nylon material crinkling between my fingers. “So, we just put these on over our clothes?”
“That’s right,” Gavin says, already stepping into his with practiced ease. “They help with the aerodynamics in the wind tunnel. Makes the experience more authentic.” The material swishes as he moves.
I try to step into mine but get tangled up, hopping awkwardly on one foot like a flamingo trying to dance. The suit bunches around my ankles, refusing to cooperate. Gavin finishes zipping his suit with a swift motion and walks over, his eyes dancing with barely contained amusement.
“Need some help there?” he asks, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Maybe a little,” I admit, feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment.
Moving towards me and I can see the question in his eyes, and I nod. He steadies me with his hands on my waist, although I’m prepared for it, I still jump at his touch.
The warmth of his touch radiates through the thin material of my blouse, and my breath catches slightly in my throat. I want to melt into this. To not flinch away. To not wonder what it’ll cost.
Gavin makes me nervous but in a way that feels human. Not like I’m waiting for the explosion, but like I’m afraid of being seen, of being known. I catch a whiff of his cologne and I breathe it in. It’s slowly becoming one of my favorite smells.
“Step in one leg at a time,” he instructs softly, his voice close to my ear. I follow his direction, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach as his hands stay firmly on my waist, helping me balance. The material rustles as I wiggle into it.
Once I’m in, he reaches for the zipper. “May I?”
I nod, not trusting my voice. As he slowly zips up the suit, the sound seeming impossibly loud in the quiet room, his fingers brush against my breast, sending a twinge through my body, it’s such a light tough that I don’t think he notices he did it and when he finishes, his eyes meet mine, intense and searching.
“You know,” he says, his voice low and intimate, barely above a whisper, “blue is definitely your color.” The words hang between us, charged with possibility.
My heart speeds up as he leans in closer, his warm breath fanning across my cheek, and I think for a moment he’s going to kiss me. Do I want him to kiss me? My mind spins with all the scenarios where if Matt could see me what he would do, how mad he would be.
Gavin’s serious expression breaks into a playful grin, and he gently taps my nose with his index finger.
“Boop!”
I blink aback. “Did you just boop my nose?” My cheeks flush warm, caught between embarrassment and delight at his playful gesture.
“I absolutely did,” he says proudly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come on, let’s go learn how to fly.” He extends his hand and I stare at it. My pulse quickening. Every instinct in me screams to keep my distance, to protect myself.
Matt’s voice echoes in my head. “Don’t embarrass me, Bailey”
But I push it down. This isn’t Matt. This is Gavin, with his kind eyes and gentle touch.
“It’s just a hand,” he says softly, noticing my hesitation. “No pressure.”
My fingers twitch at my side. I want this. I want to feel normal again, to touch someone without fear.
I take a deep breath and place my hand in his. His fingers are warm and strong as they close around mine. It’s not a possessive grip, just connection.
“Alright,” he says with a grin.
A small thrill runs through me, like I’ve accomplished something monumental. And maybe I have. One month ago, I wouldn’t have been able to do this—to trust a man I barely know, to let him hold my hand without panicking about the consequences.
We walk together toward the indoor skydiving chamber, our jumpsuits swishing with each step. His thumb absently brushes across my knuckles, and I don’t pull away.
“You nervous?” he asks.
“About the flying or the handholding?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He laughs, the sound warm and rich. “Both valid sources of anxiety.”
“I’m working on being brave,” I admit. “Small steps.”
“This doesn’t seem small to me,” he says, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “Seems pretty courageous, actually.”
Something unfurls in my chest. A feeling I haven’t experienced in so long I almost don’t recognize it. Is this pride? Am I proud of myself? For running. For starting over. For this moment right now, walking hand-in-hand with a man who makes me feel safe instead of scared.
I squeeze his hand back, just once, just lightly. It’s my way of saying thank you-for understanding, for not pushing, for making this feel like a choice instead of an obligation.
One brief training session and instructional video later, it’s Gavin’s turn first. I pull out my phone as he enters the wind tunnel with the instructor, adjusting the protective gear they’d given us. The powerful fans start up with a whoosh, and suddenly he’s floating, his face lit up with pure joy.
“Go Gavin!” I cheer, snapping pictures as he figures out how to maneuver. He gets the hang of it quickly, moving smoothly up and down in the column of air with the instructor like he was born to do this. The instructor helps him spin in a slow circle, and he flashes me a thumbs up, and I snap another picture. Sixty seconds later the wind is dying down and he comes back down, looking exhilarated.
“Your boyfriend’s a natural,” the instructor says when they finish, adjusting his headset. “Your turn!”
“Oh, he’s not my—” I start to say, feeling my face heat up again, but Gavin’s already reaching for my phone.
“Your turn to shine, Bailey!”
I step into the wind tunnel, my heart hammering against my ribs. The instructor—Kevin, according to his name tag—gives me a reassuring smile as he adjusts my helmet and goggles.
“Just relax and remember what we covered in training,” he says, his voice barely audible over the sound of the fans powering up. “I’ll be right here the whole time.”
The floor beneath me is a mesh grate, and I can feel air already starting to push up through it. My jumpsuit flutters slightly. I glance back at Gavin, who’s watching from behind the glass, holding up my phone. He gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up and mouths something that looks like “You got this!”
Kevin nods at the operator, and suddenly the wind intensifies. My stomach lurches as I feel myself becoming lighter, my feet losing contact with the floor and I instinctively tense up, my arms flailing.
“Relax your body!” Kevin shouts over the roar. “Remember your position!”
I try to focus, to remember the arch position they taught us. Arms bent at the elbows, legs slightly bent, chin up. But my anxiety spikes as I start to wobble in the air current.
“I can’t—I’m going to fall!” I yell, even though there’s nowhere to fall to except back onto the mesh floor.
Kevin moves closer, his hands steadying my shoulders. “You’re doing fine! Just breathe!”
For a moment, I’m not in the wind tunnel anymore. I’m back in that house in Oklahoma, Matt’s hands on me, but not to steady, to hurt. I feel my chest constrict, my vision narrowing.
But then I catch sight of Gavin through the glass. He’s not looking at his phone or chatting with the operator. His eyes are fixed on me, his expression a mix of concern and encouragement. He makes an exaggerated breathing motion, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly.
I follow his lead, forcing air into my lungs. In, out. In, out.
And suddenly, I’m floating. Not falling, not flailing, but floating. The sensation shifts from terrifying to… exhilarating. I’m suspended in the air, defying gravity.
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me, surprising even myself. I’m flying. Actually flying.
The fans gradually power down, and I feel my feet touch the mesh floor again. My heart’s still racing, but now it’s from excitement rather than fear. I can’t stop smiling as Kevin helps steady me.
“That was incredible!” I exclaim, my voice sounding strange in my ears after all that wind.
“You did fantastic,” he says, giving me a high-five as we exit the chamber. “Especially after that rough start. Most people panic and never get past it, but you found your center.”
Gavin rushes over, his face lit up with enthusiasm. “Bailey, that was amazing! You looked like you were born to fly!”
“I almost chickened out,” I admit, still feeling light-headed and giddy.
“But you didn’t,” he says, his voice warm with admiration. “You pushed through it. That was seriously impressive.”
Kevin nods in agreement. “Your boyfriend’s right. That recovery was textbook perfect.”
Again, neither of us corrects him about the boyfriend comment. Gavin just hands me my phone with a smile.
“I got some great shots,” he says. “Want to see?”
We huddle together, shoulders touching as we swipe through the photos on our phones. There’s Gavin suspended mid-air, arms outstretched like Superman, his face pure joy. Then me, looking terrified at first, but the later pictures show a transformation. My body relaxed, face beaming with delight.
“I love this one,” Gavin says, stopping on a photo where I’m floating perfectly still, arms spread wide, head tilted back slightly, an expression of wonder on my face. “You look so free.”
Free. The word resonates through me. Is that what I felt up there? Freedom?
“Can you send me these?” I ask, suddenly wanting to keep this memory close.
“Already did,” he says with a grin. “Check your texts.”
Sure enough, my phone buzzes with his message containing all the photos.
We return our jumpsuits and gear, and as we’re gathering our belongings, Gavin glances at his watch.
“So,” he says, a hint of nervousness in his voice that I find endearing, “ready to grab that dinner? I know a great place that every new Texan needs to try, at least once.”
I munch on a bundle of fries, dunking them in what has to be the most amazing ketchup I’ve ever tasted. The savory aroma of grilled beef and melted cheese fills Gavin’s truck, and I can’t help but smile. He was right about Whataburger. It puts every other fast food joint to shame.
“So?” He glances over, eyebrows raised in anticipation. “Verdict?”
“Okay, fine. You win. This is incredible.” I pop another fry in my mouth. “Though I’m pretty sure they put something addictive in this ketchup.”
“That’s the ‘fancy’ part.” He chuckles, reaching over to grab a fry from my container. “It’s a Texas tradition. You can even buy a bottle of it at Walmart, it’s that good.
The radio plays quietly in the background, some country song I don’t recognize. He reaches over and turns the volume down even more.
“Hey, want to play a game?”
My stomach tightens instinctively.
“What kind of game?” I try to keep my voice casual while my fingers fidget with the paper wrapper from my straw.
“Nothing complicated. Just… twenty questions? But fun ones. No boring stuff like ‘what’s your favorite color.’” He flashes that disarming smile of his. “I’ll start with something ridiculous.”
I take another bite of my burger, buying time to think. It seems harmless enough.
“Okay,” I agree, though my voice comes out smaller than I intended.
“Alright!” His enthusiasm is contagious. “First question: If you had to fight a hundred duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck, which would you choose?”
The absurdity of the question startles a laugh out of me. “What? That’s… who even thinks of these things?”
“Hey, these are the important life questions! Now, tiny horses or giant duck?”
I actually have to think about it, which makes me laugh even more. “Um… the duck-sized horses, I guess? At least I could probably outrun them.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” he says, gesturing with a fry. “They’d overwhelm you with sheer numbers. The giant duck is the way to go. One target, plus ducks are actually pretty chill.”
“Pretty chill? Have you met a duck? They’re evil!”
“Your turn,” he says, still grinning.
I rack my brain for something equally ridiculous but mine doesn’t feel as quirky. “Okay… if you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, but whatever you pick would magically contain all the nutrients you need, what would it be?”
“Easy. Pizza.” He doesn’t even hesitate.
“That’s such a cop-out! Pizza can be anything!”
“Exactly why it’s the perfect choice. I’m both practical and strategic.”
We go back and forth like this, questions getting sillier. Favorite mythological creature. He picks dragons, I choose phoenixes. Would you rather be able to teleport or read minds? We both choose teleport, minds are a scary place. Best superpower to have while grocery shopping.
Then Gavin’s tone shifts slightly. “So… what made you want to move to Texas?”
The question hits me like a bucket of ice water. My hands freeze mid-fry-dip, ketchup dripping back into the container. In my mind, I see Matt’s face, contorted with rage. Feel the sting of his hand. Hear Sophie’s crying from the other room.
“I… just needed a change.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. I hate lying to him, hate the way my voice goes flat and defensive.
He must notice the change because he glances over, concern etching lines around his eyes. “Hey, I didn’t mean to pry. We can stick to the silly questions.”
“No, it’s…” I stare out the window, watching the darkened landscape roll by. Part of me wants to tell him everything. About Matt’s escalating anger. About the first night he hit me. About grabbing Sophie and running with nothing but what we could fit in my car. About how sometimes I still wake up in a cold sweat, certain I hear his footsteps approaching.
But I can’t. Not yet. Because right now, when Gavin looks at me, he sees someone strong enough to float in a wind tunnel. Someone who laughs at silly questions and argues about duck-sized horses. Someone whole.
He doesn’t see the broken pieces I’m still trying to glue back together. Doesn’t see the nightmares that leave me gasping in the dark or how I check the locks three times before bed.
I’m not ready to shatter the way he looks at me. “It’s just complicated,” I finally say, forcing a small smile. “Sometimes change is good.”
He nods, and I see him consciously steering away from the topic. “Fair enough. Okay, new question: if you could instantly master any skill, but you had to give up your ability to taste chocolate forever, what would you pick?”
The knot in my chest loosens slightly as we fall back into safer territory. But the moment leaves me shaken, aware of how much I’m keeping hidden. How many walls I’ve built to protect myself and Sophie.
The rest of the drive passes with lighter conversation, but my mind keeps circling back to that moment. To the genuine interest and concern in his eyes. To the weight of secrets pressed against my chest.
Maybe someday I’ll be ready to tell him everything. Maybe someday I’ll trust that he won’t look at me differently, won’t see me as damaged goods. But for now, I guard my heart behind jokes about supernatural powers and fast-food preferences.
When we pull up to Ms. Lucy’s house, the porch light is on, casting a warm glow across the front yard.
Gavin turns off the engine but doesn’t move to get out right away.
“Thanks for tonight,” I say, breaking the silence. “I had fun.”
“Me too.” His voice is soft, almost hesitant. “Let me walk you to the door.”
We both step out into the evening air. The gravel crunches beneath our feet as we make our way up the path to Ms. Lucy’s front porch. Each step feels weighted with something unspoken.
At the bottom of the steps, Gavin pauses. “Bailey, can I ask you one more question before you go in?”
I turn to face him, the porch light illuminating half his face while leaving the other in shadow. “Sure.”
He takes a step closer, close enough that I can now smell his cologne. “Could I kiss you?”
My breath catches. For a split second, I’m back in my old life. Matt’s hands gripping my wrists too tight, his mouth demanding things I didn’t want to give. The memory flashes through me like lightning.
But this is different. This is Gavin. This is me, standing on my own two feet, making my own choices.
I want this. I want to reclaim what was taken from me, the right to choose who touches me, who kisses me. The right to feel something good, something that belongs only to me.
“Yes,” I whisper, and the word feels like freedom on my tongue.
He closes the distance between us, one hand gently cupping my cheek. His touch is light, asking permission with every movement. I close my eyes as his lips meet mine. Soft, warm, and undemanding.
The kiss lasts only seconds, but it spreads through me like wildfire. Not consuming, but warming places inside me I thought had gone cold forever. When he pulls away, his eyes search mine, and I see a reflection of my own wonder there.
“Goodnight, Bailey,” he says softly.
I touch my lips, still feeling the ghost of his kiss. “Goodnight, Gavin.”
As I turn, I hear him. “Hey Bailey?”
I turn back.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, “I think change looks good on you.”
I can’t help my small smile as I knock on the front door.
Maybe someday I’ll be brave enough to show my whole self to someone. Maybe someday I’ll trust enough to let someone see the whole truth of who I am. But for tonight, I’m content with small victories. Floating in the air, laughing at absurd questions, and letting someone see just a glimpse of the real me.