Not a big deal, she says. This is a very big deal. My palms are sweating knowing that she’s on this plane and not next to me. I want Rachel next to me. I want Rachel.
2B is still empty. Why can’t she move up here? I’ll gladly pay. As I reach for the flight attendant call button, a man comes around the corner and I know he’s about to sit in the empty seat. He’s a businessman—golf shirt, slicked back hair, Rolex watch.
He looks right at me, dismissing me as he drops into Rachel’s seat. “Uh-huh. No—Chuck—I said, tell Danny I sent the specs on Friday.”
He’s on his phone, talking loudly into his earpiece. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin. Once they close that door, and we push back, there’s nothing I can do.
“I told you they’d go for it. Uh-huh.” My seat mate wordlessly accepts a mimosa from the flight attendant, not even looking up at her.
I politely wave her away.
“Well, just tell Danny that I’ll take care of it when I get back.”
With a groan, I lean in. “Excuse me.”
“Yeah—” He turns to look at me, dark brows lowered in annoyance at being interrupted. “Yeah—hold on, Chuck. No—hold on, Chuck. Can I help you?” he says at me.
“My travel companion and I got separated,” I explain. “Would you be willing to switch seats with her?”
He glances around. “Is she in first class?”
“No.”
“Then no, pal—Yeah, Chuck, I’m still here—” He chatters into his phone as I feel my anxiety mounting.
“I’ll pay you $500 to move,” I say, interrupting his call again.
“Hold on, Chuck,” he growls. “Dude, what’s your problem?” he says at me.
“I said I’ll pay you to switch seats with her,” I repeat. “$500 cash.”
He scoffs. “Look, guy, I make $500 an hour. It’s a short flight. Finger your girl in the bathroom if you’re that hard up.”
My shoulders tense. I don’t like him talking about Rachel that way. If he was a player, he would have just earned himself a punch to the jaw. But this isn’t hockey. I have to speak the language he understands.
The flight attendant asks him for the second time to hang up his call. I’m running out of time. Any moment they’ll say we’re pushing back.
“I’ll give you $1,000 to move,” I offer, talking over him for a third time.
“Jesus—no, asshole,” he snaps. “Keep harassing me, and I’ll have you booted from this flight.”
Swallowing my growl of frustration, I snatch up my bag from under the seat. “Then move.”
“What?”
“Let me out. Move.”
“Look, I gotta call you when I land, Chuck. The guy next to me is being a total dick.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and stands.
“Sir, you need to sit down. We’re about to push back,” calls the flight attendant.
“Tell that to this guy,” he says, jabbing a thumb in my direction.
“Sirs, you both need to sit down,” she repeats.
But I’m not listening. I slip past the asshole and move down the aisle into coach, my eyes scanning the seats looking for Rachel.
The flight attendant follows behind me. “Sir, you have to return to your seat—”
I spot Rachel. She’s looking down at her phone, probably texting her pushy red-headed friend.
“Sir, I said you need to sit—sir!”
I approach Rachel’s row and she spots me, eyes going wide. “Mars, what are you doing?”
There’s a young man sitting next to her. He’s wearing a backwards baseball hat and a Buffalo Sabres t-shirt. His eyes go just as wide as Rachel’s as he sees me approach. “Whoa—holy shit,” he cries, grinning like a fool. “Mars Kinnunen? For real?”
Rachel groans.
“Hello,” I say at her seat mate. “Would you like to sit in first class?”
“Mars, this is ridiculous,” Rachel cries at the same time that the kid just glances between us and says, “Uhhh…”
“Sir, please take your seat,” the flight attendant says again. “Now. Or you’ll be removed from the flight.”
“This is my seat,” I say, pointing to the kid. “He’s going up to 2A.”
“Oh my god,” Rachel mutters, shaking her head.
“I mean…yeah sure,” says the kid, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Hey—can I get a picture with you really quick?”
“Sirs, find your seats now,” the flight attendant orders.
The kid climbs out of the narrow seat, unafraid of the flight attendant’s threats as he pulls out his phone and leans in, snapping a selfie with me.
I sit down, folding my large frame into the impossibly narrow space.
“Jesus, Mars,” Rachel mutters. “Are you happy now?”
I am happier, yes.
“Ouch—god—hold on, you big tree.” She elbows me sharply as she shimmies the armrest up between us. It buys us two spare inches. “This is why I got you the first class seat. Professional hockey players aren’t meant to fly coach.”
I reach for the end of my seatbelt.
“Mars, stop grabbing my ass.”
“Then get off my seatbelt,” I mutter, tugging it loose from under her thigh. I do my best not to elbow her too aggressively in the process.
“God, we’re only an hour into this trip, and you’re already determined to drive me crazy,” she mutters, leaning away from me as I get the buckle fastened.
The plane starts to move, and the flight attendants begin their safety demonstration. I settle into my seat, letting out a low breath.
“Mars, why the hell did you do that?” Rachel murmurs, her dark brown eyes gazing up at me, all flecked with gold.
“Because I wanted to sit next to you,” I reply. Taking her hand, I weave our fingers together, balancing them on my knee. “No one sits next to you but me, Rakas.”
“Rakas?” she repeats with a raised brow. “What—is that Finnish for Rachel or something?”
“No.”
She hasn’t tried to take her hand away, which I’m taking as a good sign. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. Ilmari Kinnunen is methodical. I watch and I wait. I weigh my options. But with Rachel Price, there is no plan. I just do.
Right now, the thing I’m doing is holding her hand. And it feels fucking good.
She’s looking up at me, those dark eyes searching me, knowing me. I can’t get this woman out of my head. I’ve been trying for days. Weeks. Everything in me is telling me to walk away. She’s my doctor. To ask for more would be unprofessional. And I am not unprofessional. I do my job. I put in the work. I leave it all out on the ice. I don’t let emotion cloud my thinking.
Yet, here I am, flying on a plane on my off day, because she asked me to. Traveling to a strange city to meet a doctor I don’t know because she trusts them to help me. Offering a man $1,000 to move seats because I can’t be in the place where she is and not be by her side.
And now I’m holding her hand and she’s letting me. I don’t dare look down. I don’t move. I just breathe. Next to her. Her hand is so small in mine. I fight the urge to lean in, dropping my face to that place at her neck where I know she’ll smell sweetest.
What is this perfume she wears? The scent is soft and warm. It makes me think of lichen on rocks warming in the sun on a summer’s day. You put your hand on it and feel a heat that doesn’t burn. But it seeps through your skin, warming you all the same.
“Mars?” she says again, her free hand brushing down the bare skin of my arm. “You alright?”
“No,” I reply, giving her the honest truth.
I’m not alright. Nothing is alright. I’m at war with myself. Part of me wants to jerk my hand free and move away. No more Rachel Price. How many times have I said it? This needs to be finished. I need to put distance between us. But the idea of distance aches like a physical pain. No more distance. I want closer. I want touch. I want to drag her down the aisle of this plane and fuck her in the galley. I want us to sink to the floor, utterly spent, my cum sticky between her legs. I’ll wrap her in my arms and hold her tight, blocking out the rest of the world.
She sighs, leaning back against her seat. “Yeah…I’m nervous too,” she admits, giving my hand a little squeeze. “But it’s okay. We’ll get through this together, yeah?”
She thinks I’m worried about the scans. She thinks I’m worried they’ll be bad, that I’ll be out for the season and lose my chance at the Winter Olympics. I am worried. Of course, I am. But what’s wrong with me that now I’m more worried the scans will be clear?
Without this to bind us together, we have nothing. Without her caring about my physical health, I have no point of connection to Rachel Price. No reason to call, no reason to seek her out. I’ll have to watch her drift away, giving her full attention to other players.
Saatana, it makes me angry just thinking about it. I can’t watch her laugh with another man or share her smiles as he shamelessly flirts with her. I’m already within an inch of flattening Compton. He looks at her like he’s seen her naked. I’ve watched them together. He’s so obvious with his intentions, the way he finds excuses to touch her as he brushes past. He wants her too.
I finally let myself glance down at our joined hands. She hasn’t tried to pull away. Not once. At this angle, I can see the tattoos on the inside of her forearm. One is an electric guitar with a signature tattooed along the neck. She likes tattoos. She likes talking about them. Maybe she’ll talk to me…
“What does this one mean?” I mutter, the finger of my free hand brushing over the signature.
She glances down, and I don’t miss the way she shivers slightly at my touch. “Oh, um…okay, well this is my dad’s favorite model of Gibson Les Paul,” she explains. “And this is his signature,” she adds, tracing over the jagged script.
“Is he a musician?”
She fights a smile. “Yeah, Mars. He’s a musician.” She turns to face me more squarely. “Actually, my father is Halston Price. He’s the lead singer of—”
“The Ferrymen,” I finish for her.
Her smile curls up on one side. “Yeah…you know them?”
Know them? The Ferrymen are my favorite rock band. I grew up working out to their music. I’ve seen them in concert in different venues across Europe over a dozen times. Rachel Price is Hal Price’s daughter. How did I never put that together?
“Listen, Mars.” She shifts in her seat. “There’s something else I’ve been meaning to tell you. Something I think it’s only right that you know before we—before we land,” she finishes.
We both know that’s not how she ended that sentence in her mind.
“Tell me,” I say, not letting go of her hand.
“I’m with Jake Compton,” she says on a breath, her dark eyes wide and hopeful and she gazes up at me. “We’re together, Mars.”
Her fingers go like ice in my hand as I pull away, leaving her open hand resting atop my knee. She’s with Compton. They’re together. And now everything makes sense. He laughs with her, teases her, looks at her like he’s seen her naked…because he has. Jake Compton kisses Rachel. He fucks my Rachel. And suddenly my world is crashing down. She’s taken. Of course, she is. She was never going to be mine. I was deluding myself.
“Mars—”
“It’s fine.” I drag a calloused hand over my face, stroking my beard. “It’s not my business. Please, let’s not discuss it.”
“I think it is your business,” she replies. “You deserve the truth, Mars. I don’t want to hide anything from you or lead you on when I can’t offer you what you want.”
Why the hell is she still talking?
“And Jake and Caleb agree with me,” she goes on. “You deserve to have all the facts. If you really think you’re interested in me, you better know what the heck you’re walking into. Because I can’t offer you exclusivity, and the guys are pretty sure that’ll be a deal-breaker for you. You know, because of the whole ‘goalies work alone’ thing—”
“Caleb?” I say, cutting her off. “The equipment manager? You and Compton spoke to him about me?”
She nods, biting her bottom lip as she holds my gaze. “Yeah…cause that’s the other thing. I’m sort of with Caleb too.”
