Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Lincoln
Trinity seems to be a nervous flier.
She’s grabbing the armrests on her seat so hard there are indentations beneath each of her fingers—and we haven’t even taken off yet.
“I’m not just your pilot, I’m also your flight attendant,” Chris says with a grin, turning his head around to look at us from his seat. “Sorry I’m not a cute redhead. I need your seat belts on for the entire flight. We’ll be making a quick refueling stop in Atlin, but we won’t be able to depart the plane. In the unlikely event of a water landing, there’s a life raft hanging up there.” I glance to the spot he’s pointing at near the back of the tiny six-seater plane. “Parachutes next to the raft, first aid and survival kits. If you’re gonna puke, no shame in that, but please use the bucket.” He gestures at a small plastic pail affixed to the wall.
I almost took him up on his offer to sit next to him up front so I could enjoy the view, but I figured I should sit next to Trinity. She’s not much for conversation, though. Every question I ask is answered with one or two syllables.
Chris starts the plane and begins communicating with air traffic control through his headphones. Trinity and I both have headphones on, too. It’s the only way we can hear Chris over the noise of the plane.
Which is fucking tiny. I’m crammed into my seat, which is one of only six, including the pilot’s. I’m used to traveling on the Mammoths’ team plane, where I can recline my seat and stretch my legs out. My knees are currently pressed into the seat in front of me and my hands are in my lap, my shoulders squeezed together awkwardly so I can give Trinity the entire armrest area between us.
This is for Dalton, though. He’s like a brother to me. I didn’t hesitate when he asked me to leave the road trip early and get his sister back to Minneapolis safely.
Once Chris finishes all his preflight communications, he flips a few switches and looks over his shoulder at us. “Hold on to your hats, folks. It’s windy today. Gonna be a rocky first leg.”
Trinity cringes.
“Gertie’ll get you there, don’t worry!” Chris assures her. “If the bucket starts to get too full, let me know and I’ll get out a trash bag.”
Awesome. Who exactly will be flying the plane while he digs out a trash bag, I wonder?
The plane lurches slightly as it starts to move. Trinity presses her head back against her seat, holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut.
“Hey, breathe,” I remind her, patting her hand.
She ignores me, her face getting red. We aren’t even off the ground yet and I’m worried she’s going to pass out.
“Trinity, breathe.” My tone is stern this time.
“I’m breathing; leave me alone,” she snaps.
The color starts to return to her face because she had to breathe to respond to me. This is going to be a long flight.
I take in the view from the window beside me as we ascend, the landscape a sea of sparkling snow. Minnesota winters are cold as shit, and it snows nonstop, but January in Alaska seems to be relentless. I’ve only been here for a couple of days and it’s snowed more often than not. The temperatures are punishing, and it doesn’t help that the sun only shines about six hours a day.
The team outfitted all of us with parkas, extra thick socks and knee-high all-weather boots for this trip. Or I should say, a sponsor did. We wore a little patch on our uniforms with the company logo.
As the plane climbs higher, it starts to pitch from side to side and lurch lower for a few seconds at a time. When I glance over at Trinity, her elbows are on her knees and her face is in her hands.
“This is all totally normal, right?” I ask Chris over the headset, hoping to reassure her.
“Oh yeah. Bush planes aren’t made to ride as smooth as commercial ones, but Gertie’s a workhorse. She’ll get us there.”
Within a couple of minutes, Trinity’s face is hovering over the bucket. Poor kid. Dalton said she’s twenty-six years old—eight years younger than me—but seeing her like this makes her seem younger.
“Just do it,” I tell her. “You’ll feel better.”
She looks over at me, scowling. “Believe me, if I could, I would.”
I see so damn much of Dalton in her. I’m the team captain and two years older than him. I’ve had to talk to him about his shitty attitude a few times. His intense competitiveness can give him tunnel vision, and as his teammate, I get it. But he’s short-tempered at his best and a total asshole at his worst when he’s under pressure, and some of our front office people find him abrasive. Reporters aren’t big fans, either.
“You’re a lot like your brother, you know that?” I ask Trinity, hoping to distract her from her misery.
She sits up, narrowing her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Friendly.” There’s a note of sarcasm in my tone.
She scoffs. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re the one who’s like my brother. Expecting all women to fall at your feet because you’re a big, strong hockey player.”
I shrug, amused by her irritation. “Unfortunately there’s no room at my feet right now.”
She rolls her eyes. “That is unfortunate. You know, there’s a--” She tops talking and leans over the bucket, puking into it.
She does it over and over until she’s dry heaving. The plane drops so hard and fast that she screams and I brace my hands against the seat in front of me.
“It’s just a little snowstorm,” Chris says through the headset. “Shit.” He rubs his shoulder like it’s bothering him. “Get the lid on the puke bucket, or we’ll all end up covered in it.”
Trinity flips the lid closed on the bucket and snaps a latch to lock it. She looks over at me, the fight gone from her expression. “I don’t know if I can do this all the way to Mi--”
She stops when the plane plummets again, this time shifting from side to side, too. My stomach rolls with nausea, which has never happened to me on a plane.
My pride won’t let me admit this turbulence is unnerving to me, too. My head bounces off the back of the headrest, the contact so rough it makes my teeth rattle.
Trinity is crying. I cover her hand with mine.
“We’re gonna be okay,” I promise. “Take some slow, deep breaths.”
“I have to get off of this plane,” she says weakly. “Please.”
I don’t disagree. I’m thinking I can rent a car in Atlin and drive us the rest of the way.
The plane does another stomach-rolling drop and I lean forward, putting a palm on Chris’s shoulder. “Hey man, how much longer until we get to Atlin?”
He doesn’t respond. I unfasten my seat belt and lean forward, my heart pounding so hard I can feel the rush of it in my ears.
Chris’s chin is on his chest and his eyes are closed. I grab his shoulder and shake him, but he doesn’t move.
This is bad. Really fucking bad.
“Chris?” I put my hand on his neck, checking for a pulse. Though I don’t feel anything, I’m not sure I’m checking in the right spot.
“Lincoln, what’s going on?” Trinity practically wails. “Chris? Chris, what’s happening?”
I get a good look out the plane’s windshield and my jaw drops. The view that was a bright-blue sky is now a dense forest spotted with white snowcaps.
We’re not far from the ground. I do the math quickly. Even if I could fly this thing—which I can’t—I don’t have time to get Chris out of his seat and take over the controls before we hit the ground.
“Holy shit!” Trinity screams. “We’re going to crash!”
All we can do is brace for impact. I sit down, quickly get my seat belt back on and look over at Trinity. The plane drops farther and she screams again.
I close my eyes for a couple of seconds. This is going to be it. There were things in my life I should have made right but never did. I told myself I’d do it someday. Remorse and shame wash over me as I picture my dad.
“We have to get out!” Trinity unfastens her seat belt and starts to get up. “The parachutes!”
I don’t stop to think. I just throw my arms around her waist and pull her against me.
“No, don’t!” She tries to fight, but it’s useless.
I force myself to breathe. I’m on the cusp of clinching a Mammoths team record for most goals scored, and now I’ll never do it. I’m going to die in a plane crash six goals short.
We’re nose-diving hard now. My heart feels like it’s going to stop just from the horror of anticipation.
“Lincoln!” Trinity struggles to break free, but it’s no use.
“We don’t know how to use the parachutes.” I’m holding her as tightly as my arms will allow. “And we don’t know how to fly a plane. We’re going to brace ourselves and--”
“Die,” she whimpers. “We’re going to die.”
A shiver races through me as I hear and feel the bottom of the plane scraping on treetops. Trinity presses her face against my chest and I lay my cheek on her hair. It’s soft and smells like fresh rain. At least the last thing I’ll ever smell in this world is her hair. There are far worse things.
The nose of the plane makes contact all at once, my arms locked around Trinity as my upper body rockets forward. It’s like a bone-rattling body check into the boards during a game.
The roar of the engine goes silent and all I hear is a beeping sound. Trinity’s heart races against my chest. A couple of seconds tick by as we both breathe; neither of us seems to believe it.
“We’re alive,” she cries softly. “Oh my God, we’re still alive.”
I release my hold on her slightly and our eyes lock for a second. I exhale heavily, then suck in a deep breath, still reeling. Then I lower my brows, sniffing.
“Do you smell that?”
Her eyes widen. “Smoke.”