Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
MIRANDA
“Please God. “Please God. Please God. Please God,” I chant over and over, clinging to the armrests of the private plane.
“I didn’t realize you were so religious,” Anna teases from the chair across from me.
I’m sure she’s smiling, but I don’t pry my eyes open to look. I’m focused on praying to every entity that ever existed. My lap aches where the seat belt digs into my skin as the plane jolts and tosses me in the leather seat.
The captain’s voice comes over the speaker. “Experiencing some mild turbulence, ladies. No need to worry. We’re making our descent into Detroit and will be landing shortly.”
Anna laughs. “Mild is a bit of an undersell, huh?”
I’ve flown on more planes than I can remember. I surely can’t ever recall the turbulence being this bad.
“Jaden says they’re having a thundersnow storm.”
“What the heck is a thundersnow?” I grip the armrests tighter.
“Apparently, it’s like a blizzard with snow, thunder, lightning, and lots of wind.”
“That’s a real thing? And seriously… it’s April. When we left, it was nice. I wouldn’t say warm but pleasant, like spring. Is the snow ever going to stop?”
“He says thunderstorms are rare and usually happen this time of year when warm and cold air are colliding. He also said that every year, just when you think spring has arrived, they’ll get a random snowstorm, but it usually thaws out pretty quickly.”
“You had to fall in love with a guy from Michigan.”
“I know, but I don’t miss LA. Do you?”
I halt my internal prayer chant and think back over the past couple of days.
Anna and I flew out to LA to go over some contract details with her agent, meet the producers of her upcoming movie, which is set to film this summer, and sign some paperwork.
I was looking forward to the trip, but it didn’t live up to my expectations.
I had conveniently forgotten about the traffic, the smog, the parking, and the fact that we had to look amazing everywhere we went in case we were photographed.
I’ve stepped out of the house in Michigan looking like I just rolled out of a thrift-store bin—hair disheveled, bags under my eyes—telling the world I’d given up, and I didn’t feel self-conscious at all.
And while the cameras in LA are never on me, they’re there for Anna.
I have a certain appearance to maintain as her representative.
“I thought I would, but no… I don’t,” I admit.
“Me either.” Anna’s calm demeanor cracks. “Oh my gosh, what does ‘shortly’ mean to him?”
I’m exuding some anger toward the pilot as well. While the storm isn’t his fault, we need an accurate timeline of events. This flight feels like it’s drifting away from “some turbulence” toward “inevitable and sudden death,” and it’s terrifying.
Overhearing our conversation, the flight attendant strapped in at the back calls out, “About five more minutes, Ms. Sterling, but we should be past the clouds any moment.”
“Thank you, Grace,” Anna responds over the rattling pieces of the plane.
This aircraft isn’t as big as a commercial jet and only fits about ten guests and the crew. The creaks coming from the metal put me on edge—can it really withstand a thundersnow?
Thankfully, shortly after Grace’s reassurance, the plane stops vibrating, and my aching fingers can finally release the armrests. I open and close my hands, urging blood flow to return.
“We haven’t had turbulence that bad in a while,” Anna says, relief lining her features.
“If ever,” I murmur, massaging my hands. The feeling of prickles returning to my skin is oddly comforting.
“Well, thankfully, we won’t have LA traffic, so we should be able to make the game in plenty of time.”
“Oh, definitely.”
“I’m still so glad they agreed to move the shooting up by a couple of weeks so we’ll be done by September.” The happiest of smiles spreads across Anna’s face. “A September wedding is going to be perfect. Don’t you think?”
“First of all, of course, they moved it up. You’re an Academy Award winner, Annalise Sterling. They’d be stupid to lose you. And yes… September is going to be gorgeous. Especially in the apple orchard.”
“Right? I always assumed I’d have this big, lavish Hollywood wedding. But the small one we have planned in the orchard—where we spent our first date—I can’t think of anything better.”
“With only people you love there,” I add.
“Exactly. That in itself is priceless. My face is sore from all the fake smiles I dished out while we were in Cali. While the weather isn’t always the best here, it’s nice to spend our days around truly great people. Isn’t it?”
“It really is.”
“Okay.” Anna nods, holding my stare in hers. “You’re happy here, right? Like really happy and not just pretending to be for my benefit?”
“I really am happy.”
“Okay, and you’re good living with Miles? That’s going well?”
“It is. We have so much fun together.”
“I just worry. I don’t want you to feel lonely.”
I reach forward and squeeze Anna’s hand. “I don’t. I promise. And you don’t have to worry about me. I’m a grown woman who is very capable of taking care of herself.”
“Oh, I know that’s true. But it won’t stop me from worrying about you.”
The plane lands, and Anna and I don’t waste any time exiting. Even the snow whipping my face as I hurry down the steps can’t dull my excitement to be on solid ground—alive.
We hurry across the tarmac to where the black SUV waits. The driver greets us with a smile and opens the door. Hastily, we climb in.
The door closes behind us, and the driver slides into the front. “I picked up your bag. It’s ready for you in the back seat, Ms. Sterling,” he says.
“Thank you. We’ll head straight to the arena, please,” she tells him.
“You got it,” he replies, before closing the black partition that separates the front of the vehicle from the back.
Reaching behind us, Anna retrieves the bag.
She unzips it and hands my outfit to me—jeans, a navy-blue sweater, and a number sixteen Cranes jersey—before she grabs hers, including her fiancé’s number two jersey.
Number sixteen just happens to be Miles’s number.
When Anna and I attended our first Cranes game, I picked it because it was one of the few jerseys left in the team store, and I felt bad that it wasn’t getting more love.
Turns out, as a new player, he hadn’t amassed as many fans then.
That, of course, has changed now that the Cranes fans have seen Miles in action all season. He’s incredible.
Anna and I weren’t ice hockey people before, but we're definitely ice hockey people now. There’s something so fun about the games. They’re addicting.
We change in the back seat of the SUV, removing the outfits we wore for our last meeting in California and putting on our Cranes gear.
I check my phone for the time. “Oh good. They haven’t started warming up yet. If we’re lucky, we’ll make it for the best part.”
“We can’t miss it. Let’s run.” Anna grins.
The driver drops us off at the back door, which regular fans don’t have access to. The security guard gives us a nod and lets us right in.
Jaden has secured a route to our box seats that doesn’t require us to come into contact with anyone besides employees. I love that Anna can live somewhat of a normal life here and not have to be followed around by a bodyguard.
The VIP box seats have some new faces as players rotate who they give their tickets to. Mr. and Mrs. Applebottom, who never miss a game, greet us with wide smiles and hand each of us a fruity beverage.
“You almost missed it,” Mrs. Applebottom says with a smirk.
“Believe me, I know. We raced to get here on time,” I say.
The Applebottoms own the infamous orchard where Jaden took Anna on their first date, and where they’re going to be wed in September.
Jaden befriended them years ago and gifted them their box seats.
I know I’m not the only one who considers them extended family at this point.
Their joy is contagious, and their genuine kindness is unmatched.
Mrs. Applebottom, always colorful, went all out with her attire today.
She clipped streaks of navy hair into her salt-and-pepper bob and is wearing enough navy and white beads around her neck to supply a Mardi Gras parade.
She has jerseys with the numbers of every guy on the team, but tends to wear Jaden’s number two the most.
Anna holds out the hem of her jersey and faces Mrs. Applebottom. “We’re twinning. Though I’m lacking in the hair and bead department.”
Mrs. Applebottom grabs one of her navy-blue extensions and twists it between her fingers. “Do you like them? I thought they looked young and hip.”
“Very hip,” Anna replies with a sincere smile.
The hairpieces would look silly on anyone but Mrs. Applebottom. She’s so authentically weird that it’s adorable.
She grabs some beads and pulls them off. “I wore extra to share. Here you go,” Mrs. Applebottom says, handing both Anna and me some beads. “Did you girls have a good trip?”
“Thank you,” I say, taking some beads and putting them on. “We did. It was very productive.”
“It was great,” Anna says. “Happy to be home.”
“Oh, I bet. There’s no place like home,” Mrs. Applebottom says as the lights in the arena dim. She claps her hands together. “It’s time!”
Hype music blasts through the arena’s speaker system, and the arena flashes with different colored lights as the men of the Crane hockey team skate onto the ice.
The fans cheer loudly. Anna, the Applebottoms, and I—who fill up the front row of the VIP box—jump and cheer as the guys skate around the ice.
I cup my hands around my mouth and yell, cheering on the guys.
And then they start stretching… I don’t know what it is about men dressed in full pads, a uniform, and a helmet stretching on the ice, but it’s intoxicating.
Logically, it shouldn’t be sexy. It really shouldn’t.
They’re so padded up with their gear you can’t see their bodies, but it does something to change my brain chemistry, and while I have no intention of getting with any of the guys, it makes me feral as hell. I scream louder.
When they get on their hands and knees and stretch their legs out and back in, thrusting against the ice, Anna, Mrs. Applebottom, and I raise our hands, cheer, and jump around like lunatics.
The thrusting stretch never gets old. I’m sure the motion alleviates injuries by stretching out some major muscle groups, but to me, it’s the best aphrodisiac.
Not that I need one, given that I’m doomed to be alone forever.
My gaze locks on Miles as his pelvis lowers toward the ice and lifts. My heart pounds, and my skin burns with heat. I grab my jersey and flap it rapidly, trying to circulate some of the arena’s cool air against my skin.
We’ve appreciated this stretching ritual every game, and—except for the first one, when I didn’t know any of the players and my eyes just took in the entire scene—my attention is always focused on Miles.
He’s the one I know best and my friend. It makes sense that my eyes would be drawn to him.
But this time, it feels different, as if I shouldn’t be staring so hard.
Now that we live together, the ogling doesn’t seem as innocent.
The way my body is reacting doesn’t feel friendly.
It feels like more. And it can’t feel like more.