Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
PENELOPE
T he drive from the bar to the airport is sure to take at least three years off my life. I don’t remember so many winding roads driving to the rink for the game earlier. In fact, if my memory serves, the streets were fairly straight. Yet Julien, our cab driver, is sliding around these roads like nothing I’ve ever seen. I bet we’ve spent more time off the road than on it.
As I stare from the back seat out the front windshield, there isn’t anything resembling a street in sight. Nothing is visible but blankets of white. “Is he even on the road?” I whisper to Iris.
The car fishtails, and Iris gasps, reaching out to grab my hand as my shoulder hits the back passenger door.
“Oh, don’t you worry, ma’am.” Our driver lifts his chin and smiles at me through the rearview mirror. We’re on the road alright.”
Cade turns around and looks back at us from the front passenger seat. He gives us a reassuring look. “The airport is less than a mile away.”
I know he meant it to be encouraging, but considering the way Julien drives, I’m not at all comforted.
“It must’ve snowed a good fifteen centimeters since we’ve been driving,” Julien says.
“That’s around six inches,” Cade says over his shoulder.
“Thanks, smarty-pants, but I don’t need a math lesson.” I sigh, annoyed that I’m not already home safely in my bed.
Julien bobs his head. “They’re predicting this will be the biggest storm since 1996. I wasn’t born then, but I’ve heard stories of how we got over forty-five centimeters in one night.”
Cade looks back and quirks a brow.
“Fine, tell me,” I grumble.
“Around eighteen inches.”
My eyes go wide. “You guys are supposed to get more than eighteen inches tonight? How did we not know about this? We need to fly out before we’re stuck here.”
“Oh, yeah, all the commercial flights are already being canceled,” Julien states.
“Why didn’t we leave earlier?” I look at Iris. The question is rhetorical. She doesn’t have any more control over the schedule than I do. It just seems crazy that we didn’t fly out right after the game.
Cade clutches the handle over the window as Julien slides around another corner. “I think we knew snow was coming, but for some reason, I don’t think anyone realized it’d be this much.”
“My grandma’s been talking about it for days. She could feel it in her knees.” Julien slows the vehicle as the airport comes into view.
“If only your grandma’s knees could’ve communicated with our pilots.” Iris attempts a joke, but her laugh falls flat when Julien plows over something, causing us to bounce in our seats.
“Did you just hit something?” The question comes out in a shriek.
Our driver shrugs. “I’m fairly certain it was nothing alive.”
I lean my head back against the seat, close my eyes, and release a deep breath. Meditating seems like a solid plan. Surely, after a few deep breaths and some Zen, we’ll be at the plane.
A yelp leaves my mouth and my butt lifts from the seat as Julien hits something else.
“Nothing to worry about,” he reassures us.
I’m not convinced, but it doesn’t matter because the team’s plane is in view.
Oh, thank you.
I sigh in relief.
Julien pulls his car up next to an SUV parked several yards from the steps that lead up to the plane. I grumble a thank you and open my door as Cade no doubt gives Julien an excessive tip. In fairness, I couldn’t drive much better, given these conditions. I’m just grateful to arrive in one piece.
A couple of the guys exit the SUV beside us and hurry up the plane steps. It’s hard to make out who they are. With the amount of snow coming down, I can only see a few feet in front of my face.
Head down, I speed up the steps as fast as my three-inch heels allow. Cade and Iris follow me.
We board the plane to see Coach Albright, the pilot, and Jaden and Max talking in front of the cockpit.
“We have to go right now, or we’ll be stuck here for the night,” the pilot states.
I step toward them. “What is it?”
Jaden turns toward me. He and Max must’ve been the players in the SUV as snow still rests atop their shoulders. “Dreven is still at the bar,” he says.
“What do you mean.” I shake my head. “Why didn’t he come back with you two?”
Max speaks up. “They called the cops. He punched a guy.”
“He punched a guy?” I shriek. “What the hell? We were all walking out at the same time. How did something escalate to violence in five seconds?”
“I don’t know. We were following you three, and the next thing we knew, Dreven’s fist was in some guy’s face,” Max says.
I shake my head. “I can’t believe this.”
“This isn’t a good look, Ms. Stellars.” Coach Albright looks at me with a frown. I know his frustration isn’t with me but with the situation. Yet I feel as if I’ve let him down in some way.
“I know. I’ll fix it.”
Iris steps up behind me. “But the plane’s going to leave.”
“I’ll take a flight out in the morning. I can’t just leave one of our players in a Canadian jail.” I blow out a breath of annoyance.
Max points toward the exit door. “Try to catch our taxi before he leaves. He was brilliant navigating these streets.”
Come to think of it, Jaden and Max left after us due to the punching detour, and they still beat us here. Yes, I definitely want their cab driver.
“I’ll come with you,” Iris offers.
“No. It’s fine. Go home with your husband. There’s no reason for us both to be stuck here.” I don’t miss the look of relief on her face. Let’s face it, who wants to be stuck here? Although a nice hotel room to myself, a hot bath, and a glass of wine isn’t a horrible way to spend my birthday eve.
I give Coach a reassuring smile and step out of the plane. My heart sinks when I see the taillights of the SUV disappearing in the snowfall.
“Wait!” I shout, waving my arms, but it’s no use. I can no longer see the vehicle, which means he can’t see me. I dip my eyes to see Julien’s car still sitting beside the plane.
Great.
Jacket wrapped tightly around my waist and my purse in the crook of my arm, I approach the car and open the back door. “Hey, Julien. Any way you can take me back to the bar?”
He looks up from his phone with what can only be described as a grimace. “Um, I’m not taking any more rides today, ma’am. The roads are too bad. Plus, my girlfriend is waiting for me.”
“Please?”
“Aren’t you leaving? Why do you want to go back?”
“I have to take care of a problem at the bar. They’re leaving.” I motion toward the plane. “And I’m going to be stuck here if you don’t. Please, Julien? I promise to leave you an amazing tip.”
“Fine. Get in.” He tightens his grasp on the steering wheel.
“Thank you,” I say as I slide into the back seat. “You’re the best.”
I internally take back that last sentiment as soon as he starts driving. His car is fishtailing all over the tarmac. It’s only been a couple of minutes since I last left this car, but it feels like the snowfall has tripled in that short amount of time. “Julien, are we going to be able to make it?” I ask, knowing that his answer holds no bearing because regardless of what he says, he’s my only option.
“Oh yeah. Piece of cake.” He nods as he takes a corner, and the car thumps against something hard, sending me flying in my seat. At least this time, I’m pretty sure it was the curb.
Any annoyance I have toward the weather, Julien’s driving ability, or my present situation transforms into anger for Gunner freaking Dreven. After all, this is his fault—all of it.
As Julien drives toward town, the feeling that I’m going to die here in Vancouver, Canada, becomes stronger. I should be flying back to Michigan, where my condo and warm bed await. Instead, I’m practically off-roading through this snowstorm in a vehicle that has no right to be driving in such weather on my way to clean up the mess of an adult hothead. Truthfully, if it wasn’t my sole job to keep the team on the good side of the press, I’d let Gunner rot in a Canadian jail cell.
“Just a couple more kilometers, ma’am,” Julien calls back, wearing an easy smile that certainly doesn’t befit the situation.
His reassurance does little to ease my nerves. The ride back to the bar seems twice as long as the ride to the plane. I press my hands to the back of the seat in front of me in an attempt to keep steady as we bounce and swerve over what I can only hope is the road. I stare at a singular piece of lint on my skirt, focusing on the cream-colored speck in an effort to block out the weather outside. Outside these car windows is nothing but a furious flurry of snow. Raging white snowflakes and a sea of nothingness beyond are all that can be seen. I have no idea how Julien keeps the car on the road, and I’ve realized falling into a state of total avoidance is my best bet.
Looking out the windows made me feel as if I were trapped inside a violent snow globe being shook by a crazy person. It caused my heart to beat at a level that made me feel as if I were having a heart attack despite knowing it was anxiety. Breathing deeply and focusing on the lint while ignoring the outside world is my survival tactic at this point.
Julien starts shouting, and my body presses against my seat belt, momentum wanting to whip me to the side as the car speeds across the earth in a way I know the driver is not controlling. They say the moment before you die moves in slow motion, and visions of your life flash before your eyes. For me, this isn’t entirely true. Time slows, and I’m very aware we’re about to crash. Yet no nostalgic visions of my life surface. I expect a few of the good memories I had with my mother to come to mind, but they don’t. At the very least, I should be thinking about Tucker—the love of my life—and some of the beautiful times we shared…but nope. Good times in college? Friendships? The taste of a pumpkin spiced latte? Anything?
No.
I’m about to die, and all I can think about is Gunner and how I’m never going to get the chance to tell him how much I hate him. His stupid ass is the reason I’m in this predicament, and I can’t even yell at him about it. Not only is he going to be the cause of my death but images of him have stolen the highlight reel of my life that’s supposed to play. He can’t be my last thought. The summation of my life is so much more than keeping him in line. Isn’t it? While rage-inducing, thoughts of Gunner Dreven are also a reminder in my final moments that I failed. I couldn’t keep him in check.
A thousand questions and doubts surface. Maybe there is no beautifully touching string of memories because my life wasn’t beautiful or touching. It was cold and routine. I tried so hard to be successful and not be anything like my mother, and now, all I have to show for my life is a failed attempt at babysitting a grown-ass man.
My entire body clenches, waiting for impact, and Julien makes a sound resembling a rooster’s cock-a-doodle-doo. I’m lifted off my seat, the belt pressing against my thighs before I fall back and hit the side door with a thud.
And then…we’re still.
I breathe in deeply, waiting for more. But nothing comes.
Slowly, my muscles unclench, and I open my eyes. Hesitantly, I look out the window. The furious snow globe effect is still in full force, but I’m no longer moving.
“We’re alive?” The question leaves my mouth.
Julien laughs. “Of course we’re alive. We just slid into a ditch. You’re a dramatic one, eh?”
We slid into a ditch? I replay the motions of the last few seconds, and that reality computes. “We’re in a ditch?”
“Yeah.” Julien scoffs. “We’re in a ditch. Slid right off the road. It was to be expected really.”
“What?”
“Have you looked out the window, ma’am? These aren’t the best driving conditions. Just lucky we made it this far. No worries. We’ll just walk the rest of the way.”
“I have to walk the rest of the way?” I repeat his statement. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Not at all. It’s not that far. In fact, this was a good place to land. My girlfriend’s house is a block behind us, and the bar is a couple of blocks in front. Not a problem.” Julien zips up his coat and removes his keys from the ignition.
My toes move inside my heels, a reminder that walking through this storm in my current footwear is the definition of a problem.
God, I hate Gunner Dreven.
Pulling out the wad of cash in my wallet, I give it to Julien. I don’t have the energy to count it, but regardless of the amount, he’s earned it.
He thanks me, and we exit the vehicle. Julien extends his arm and points toward my destination, shouting out directions that I can barely make out above the roar of the wind, and then he’s gone.
I secure my purse in the crook of my arm, tighten my much too thin of a jacket, and on unsteady feet, I climb out of the ditch. What was I thinking, wearing high heels and a coat that wouldn’t protect me from a bitter wind, let alone the Arctic tundra of snowstorms?
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I thought I’d be whisked from the plane to the game and back in a nice warm vehicle?” I grumble to myself. “Not on some North Pole version of the TV show Naked and Afraid. ”
While not completely naked, I might as well be with all the warmth my polyester pencil skirt, satin blouse, and thin jacket are holding in. And afraid isn’t accurate either—more like furious. I’m in my own personal hell, in a reality show titled Barely Dressed and Furious in Vancouver. Admittedly, the title is not as catchy.
I make it out of the ditch and to what I can only assume is the sidewalk. The snow is up to my calves as I trudge in the direction Julien indicated. My teeth chatter, and my toes become more numb with each step until I can’t feel them anymore.
Tears roll down my cheeks, freezing on their descent. And while I feel like crying, the tears are less a result of my emotional state and more a side effect of the freezing winds whipping my face and eyes.
I hit a patch of ice beneath the snow and grab a light pole to stop from falling. The bitter wind burns my face as I cling to the frigid pole. Steadying myself, I question my life choices. How did I get here? Do I really care that much about a hockey team to deal with this?
The flicker of the bar sign catches my attention, and my chest swells with renewed confidence. I’m almost there. Twelve or so long strides and I’ll be out of this nightmare and into another. But at least that one will have a roof over my head and some heat.
I say a small prayer of thanks when my fingers grasp the handle of the entrance door, and it pulls open, bringing a wave of warmth with it. The journey to this place has tested me to the max, and if I’m honest—it’s not been a good look. Some self-reflection is probably in order. But, first, my problem at hand.
The bar has cleared out. The robust party of earlier has been replaced with less than a dozen people scattered about the dimly lit space. It doesn’t take longer than a second to find him. Bigger than everyone in this place, he stands out as he leans against the bar top, sipping a beer.
Still unable to feel my toes, I storm toward him with zero professionalism remaining. “You’re a fucking asshole.”