Chapter 3 #3
She shakes her head with a snicker just under her breath and leaves me with the smallest grin before moving on to check another player. I’d take the concussion twice to see it again.
After media, and a team dinner that I just happen to end up sitting next to her…
by complete coincidence… or so I sell it to her, we’re herded toward the buses in the thin mountain air, Hawkeyes duffel bags hanging off shoulders, and beanies pulled low.
The plan is simple: quick flight home, sleep in our own beds, regroup for the next game against Colorado at home.
Tight schedule, tighter nerves, and a date for me with a neurologist that will decide my fate for the next day.
Except the plan doesn’t care about us.
Coach Haynes is already on the phone with operations when the announcement filters through: mechanical issues. The jet grounded until morning, maybe longer.
The bus is headed for the commercial airport instead. Slade mutters a word that makes the rookies blush, and there’s a collective groan of annoyance throwing the bus. Then we all start pulling out phones and argue with flight apps and shitty reception.
“Commercials only. We’ll all have to split up to get home. Book your flights, travel will have to reimburse you, just get home before morning skate.”
Which means chaos. Hockey players are not built for airports.
Within twenty minutes, the bus pulls up to the airport terminal and hockey players and families are spilling out and into the lobby of the airport.
Duffles being hurled out of the belly of the buss, while players are grabbing and running to the desks to check bags and get their tickets in order to make it through TSA to make whatever flight they booked to get out of here.
I’m near the back of the group, scrolling flights with one thumb and checking for my passport with the other, when Theo jogs up beside me.
We’re the last two people from the team to get to the front desk.
Coaches booked too. Everyone’s scrabbling through the TSA line.
“Hey, I’m routing through Chicago,” he says, turning to me, only a few feet away.
“I’m trying to get Kendall on too, but…” He grimaces.
“But?”
“She’ll be waitlisted in case someone misses the flight. They’ve only got one seat confirmed for me.”
I look to the side and behind him and realize there’s no Kendall anywhere near him.
“Where the hell is she?” I ask, turning, frantically looking around for blonde hair and a frown.
We sat together on the bus ride over since she said that she’s sticking with me tonight for observation but I thought she was right behind me when we got off the bus.
“I don’t know. I thought she was with you.” he says.
I look over the lobby terminal again to find her outside next to the bus, still trying to wrangle a stuck medical bag strap from the belly of the bus. The bus driver is helping her and finally he makes one large pull and releases it.
“Waitlist isn’t going to work. We’re not leaving her in Denver by herself.”
She moves like she’s trying to keep her world from falling apart in public view—methodical, contained, not asking for help as she pulls her bag strap over her shoulder and jogs towards the automatic doors.
“I can reroute you through LAX and then up to Seattle,” the ticket agent tells him. “You’ll get in three hours later.”
Theo scrubs his jaw. “Perfect. Because what I really wanted tonight was LAX flight delays.”
I turn to my agent who’s trying to find me a flight out of here. “Do you have two seats anywhere to Seattle?”
She types on her keyboard quickly, looking for anything she can find.
“Everything’s booked solid except a Vegas connection with two first-class seats. That’s it.”
“I’ll take them.”
She hesitates. “It’s about three thousand for both.”
I pull my card from my wallet and slide it across the counter. “I don’t care about the cost. We go together or not at all.”
Her brows jump. “You sure?”
“Yes.” I lean forward slightly. “Print fast.”
“I’ll take her,” I say to Theo before I think about it.
Theo gives me that grin that knows too much. “You sure, Romeo?”
His desk agent slaps his newly printed ticket in front of him. “Sir, they are boarding. You have to go now if you’re going to make it through security in time.”
“Do you have a better plan?” I ask him as he stares at the ticket now in his hand.
He doesn’t. He just takes two steps towards me and claps my shoulder with his hand. “Then she’s all yours. Try not to let her hyperventilate during takeoff. Let her have the window seat, it helps if she can see out the window.”
“I know what I’m doing,” I tell him. And I hope to God I’m right.
“Yeah,” he says, walking off, “that’s what I’m afraid of,” he says over his shoulder.
When the tickets hit the counter, I sign the receipt, stuff them into my pocket, and glance over my shoulder. Kendall’s just coming in, still juggling two med bags and her own carry-on. She looks like she’s ready to collapse and keep going anyway.
I jog toward her, weaving between other passengers, duffel banging my hip. “Doc!”
She looks up, startled. “Aleksi. What are you—”
“Here.” I hold out one of the boarding passes. “We have a flight.”
Her forehead creases. “We?”
“I got two seats. Vegas connection, first class. It starts boarding in ten minutes. We have to go now.”
She blinks. “You bought me a ticket?”
“You said that you weren’t leaving my side tonight.” I grin, even though my head still throbs. “I’m making sure you keep your word.”
Her mouth opens, closes. “Aleksi, that’s… that’s insane. You didn’t have to—”
“Come on,” I cut in, catching one of her bags and tossing it over my shoulder before she can protest further. “We’re going to miss it.” I say, spinning around and start jogging towards TSA.
“Wait. What about Theo—” she says running after me.
I can hear her still struggling with her bags and keeping up. I yank another bag off of her and slide my hand into hers to pull her along with me.
“He’s rerouted. I’ve got you.”
Hearing myself say that last sentence to her outloud feels right. Feels like I’ve been holding it in for too long.
“Aleksi, you can’t carry all of that weight. Give me something back,” she demands, but she doesn’t pull her hand out of mine.
“Not a chance. I can handle it. We just need to get to our flight.”
She glances down at the ticket in her hand. “Vegas? You’re routing us through Vegas?”
“It was that or tomorrow morning,” I say over my shoulder. “You hate flying. I figured you’d rather get it over with, and I need to get back for morning skate.”
The terminal is loud, a mess of delayed flights and boarding calls. Every few seconds, a voice on the PA threatens to close the gate. I thread through the crowd and feel her nerves kick in causing her to grip onto me like a lifeline, her fingers weaving in between mine, our fingers locking.
It’s for balance, maybe. Stability, or safety. But her palm fits against mine like it’s been there before, our fingers weaving together.
We reach TSA, both out of breath. The agent behind the podium has the personality of a tax audit. “Tickets and IDs,” he barks.
I hand over both. The man barely glances before snapping, “You’re with her?”
“Obviously,” I say, then soften it with a grin. “She’s the doctor. I’m the patient.”
Kendall shoots me a warning glare but the corner of her mouth twitches. The agent hands back our tickets with a grunt. “Gate B17. They’re boarding now.”
We scramble through security—me tossing my bag into the tray, her trying to explain the array of medical scissors and wraps she’s carrying. TSA waves her through once they recognize the team logo. I shoulder both duffels before she can argue.
“Give me those,” she huffs, jogging behind me to keep up.
“Negative.”
“You can’t carry all of it with your head injury,” she demands.
“You can’t carry it with your tiny arms or short legs. Just keep up, Doc.”
She knows I’m bigger and stronger than her. There’s no argument she can make that will cause me to give up anything. She’s just going to have to deal with it.
She might be the doctor that gets to make up the rules when we’re in the stadium, but out here, I’m in charge of her safety and I take that very seriously.
We sprint through the concourse, dodging rolling suitcases and late-night travelers.
Every few steps she mutters something about professional boundaries; every few steps I pretend I don’t hear.
Her hand finds mine again when the crowd thickens near the gate.
Not flirty this time—it’s instinct. Like she’s trying to anchor herself to me in motion, making sure we don’t get separated.
She doesn’t have to worry about that. I’d never let it happen.
“Gate B17!” the agent calls as we round the corner. The final group is boarding. I quickly scan my ticket and Kendall scans hers next, while the agent waves us through.
Kendall slows down halfway down the jet bridge now that we’re in the clear, breathing hard and I match her speed. “You really didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.” I shift the duffel, glancing at her over my shoulder as we get closer to the airplane’s open door. “And if you think I’m letting you panic alone in coach with strangers, you’re wrong.”
Her voice is softer now, almost lost under the hum of the vent. “No one’s ever done something like that for me before.”
I shrug, trying to play it off. “Then you’ve been around the wrong people.”
Her eyes lock onto mine, and then I turn my head back as I take the first step into the airplane to board, “Don’t make me regret this,” she says as we pass by the stewardess and into the first class cabin.
Inside the plane, the lights are low, the air stale with recycled sleep. First class means wide seats and plenty of legroom. It’s perfect for someone who feels claustrophobic and needs a little extra space.
I shove our bags overhead, slide into the aisle seat beside her, giving her the window like Theo suggested. She’s already buckled in and gripping the armrest. The engines whine, and she goes rigid.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “Remember the podcast lady?”
“She’s not here,” Kendall mutters, eyes closed.
“Then you’re stuck with me.”
She cracks one eye open. “God help me.”
I offer her my hand. “Better grip than the armrest. Squishy and softer too.”
For a long moment, she stares at it like it’s a test. Then she slides her fingers into mine. Her palm is warm, pulse fluttering fast. I keep my thumb against her wrist. Not enough to make it weird, just enough to say I’m here.
The plane lurches, the kind that sends everyone’s stomach to their throats. She squeezes.
I don’t let go.
“Want to hear a fun fact?” I offer, trying to get her mind off of the take off.
I see her shut her eyes and chuckles under her breath. “Yeah sure, Mak. Let’s hear it.”
“Finland has more saunas than cars.”
She glances over at me like I made that up. “Honest truth. Over 5 million saunas in the country,” I tell her. “Also, we invented Santa Clause… you’re welcome. And we are also known as the happiest country on earth. See, I’m full of fun facts.”
"You're full of something, that’s for sure. I’m just not yet sure what that is,” she says but I know she’s teasing. I like to think of it as our love language, though she doesn’t know it yet.
Then she turns to me. “You grew up in Finland, right?”
“I did… yeah. I spent most of my life there until I got drafted with the AHL.”
“So, after college?”
I nod.
She lets out a yawn. It’s been a long twenty-four hours but I’m glad she’s starting to settle in and is feeling safe enough to feel sleepy.
“Do you mind if I ask how your English is so good? Sometimes I hear your accent, and then other times, I really have to listen to catch it.”
I don’t tease her about listening carefully to hear my accent, or ask her if she’s into foreign guys because I can tell she’s genuinely interested and I want to keep this conversation going like that.
I want her to be interested in knowing more about me like I am interested in knowing more about her.
“In Finland, kids are required to learn a second language in school. Not very many parts of the world speak Finnish. Most kids study more than one. Swedish and English are the most common.”
“So you started speaking English as a second language really early?”
I nod. “My parents were both fluent in English and Swedish so me and my sister were brought up speaking all three, which made it easier since they were also study requirements as we got older. I picked up conversational German while I lived there for surgeries, and I know a little French, but only enough to curse at JP.”
She lets out a snicker, her head falling back against the head rest but her eyes still on me. “Okay, that explains alot.”
Outside the window, Denver dissolves into dark clouds and pinpricks of city light. Inside, her breathing evens out, slow and steady, the same rhythm as takeoff from Seattle.
We lost tonight.
We’ll fix it at home.
But somewhere between altitude and silence, I decide that maybe—just maybe—the universe threw us this detour on purpose.
And if the stars aligned for just one flight with Kendall?
I’ll take it. Every mile.