Page 1 of Worth the Rush
“Flight 877 to Denver is boarding now. All passengers on Flight 877, please proceed to gate sixty-five for boarding,”a woman's voice announces over the intercom.
Finally.As little as I want to be here at all, we’ve been delayed twice. Which puts me two and a half hours behind schedule. I stand and grab my carry-on bag before getting in the A line. First class would have been much more enjoyable, but apparently, I’m on a “budget” until I learn to “make it on my own.” What Sullivan Rutherford,dear old dad,fails to acknowledge is that I’ve been on my own from the time I could walk. Probably before then, but that’s a story for another time,preferably in therapy,and I have a plane to catch.
I say a quick hello to the neatly dressed attendant behind the desk, swipe my phone over the red scanner, and hear it beep.
“Have a nice flight,” she tells me with a smile.
“Thank you,” I reply. She doesn’t need to know this flightwas not my idea, and as much as it looks like I’m willingly getting on this plane, I didn’t have much choice in the matter. No, telling herthatwould probably lead to either a very uncomfortable silence or a call to Airport Security. Neither sounds like something I want to deal with at the moment. I’ll keep all that frustration inside until it gets to be too much, and I end up making an impulsive decision.No, Ivy. We aren’t doing that anymore.I scold myself silently and take a deep breath.
“I’m sorry?” The woman in front of me turns and looks at me.Okay, not so silently.
“I didn’t say anything,” I tell her with a polite smile, gaslighting the shit out of her. She gives me a confused look before turning to face the front of the line again. I really need to work on keeping those inside thoughts—inside.
“Speaking to yourself out loud is a completely normal reaction to trauma. About 25 percent of adults participate in it.”
At least that’s what my therapist said when I told her I was alone a lot growing up and then again during my failed marriage. So here we have it—a trauma response? Check. A failed marriage at twenty-seven and enough baggage from it to last a lifetime? Check, check. Enough room in this overhead compartment to fit my bag? Probably not, and I doubt all my emotional baggage would fit either.
“Hello, welcome aboard flight 877. We’re so sorry for the delay, everyone,” one of the flight attendants greets us as passengers step onto the plane.
“Hello,” I tell them with a small wave and try my best to smile. I know it’s not their fault we’ve been delayed or that I’m here in the first place.I am practicing being patient.I make the long journey back to my seat. My seat must be in the last row of the Pacific Ocean instead of the LAX tarmac because I standin the aisle with my ass in everyone's faces for what feels like forever. As I inch my way through the cabin, I search until I find my assigned seat. Right next to the bathroom.Great.I roll my eyes and barely fit my bag in the overhead compartment. I double-check my ticket, and dear lord help me, I’m in the middle seat. Sighing, I address the man in the aisle.
“Excuse me, sir, I’m right in the middle there,” I say, pointing at my seat. “Would you mind if I squeezed past you?” I pour the last bit of patience into my tone. He looks up at me from the TV show he’s already playing on his phone, removes his headphones, and takes a little too long raking his beady eyes up the rest of me before reaching my face.
“Not at all,” he tells me, leaning back in his seat and spreading his legs further apart. “Go ahead,” he encourages with a condescending smile, and I swear he fucking winks at me.Gross.I stare at him. I may notpersonallyknow this man, but Iknowhim. The men who get handsy when their flirting attempts fail, with their heads so far up their asses that they think there must be something wrong with me if I’m not ready to jump into bed with them. His mother probably told him he wassuch a handsome boyone too many times in his formative years. Unfortunately for him, he’s about to find out that even on a good day, this isn’t behavior I tolerate, and the patience I have worked so hard to maintain throughout today has run out.
“We need to land. Now,” I say into my headset, sitting in the cockpit beside my co-pilot. The sound of the blades overhead and classic rock fade into the background as we turn all our attention to the task at hand. Dispatch received a call this afternoon that a man had decided to hike up the mountain without checking the weather. Now, he’s stuck up here, and the storm is bearing down on us ruthlessly as Nate, Griffin, and I focus on getting him home safely.
“We can’t land,” Griffin surmises.
“We don’t have the clearance, and we don’t have the time before things really start whipping up here,” Nate tells me.Shit.I make a split-second decision.I’m going to have to rappel down to him.
“Take over,” I tell him, already moving backward to let him grab the control.
“It’s not a good idea, Alder,” he tells me while I unbucklemyself from my seat and make my way into the cabin. He sighs, moving into my now-vacant seat.
“It’s all we’ve got. Get me as close as you can,” I say, clipping into my harness and securing it to the aircraft. I connect my rescue strap for our patient and run through my mental checklist twice. My supply pack, which will be our lifeline in case things go south, is secured on my back.
Our patient was able to make a call for help eleven minutes ago, so we’re operating on the assumption that he’s still unharmed. “All clear, Nate! Just a little closer!” I yell, and Griffin slides open the door until we hear it lock into place. Blinding light and air so frigid it steals my breath mixes in with the snowy mountains in the distance.
Feeding myself some slack, I swing my legs out into the wind and onto the slippery tops of the skid. Taking in a lungful of freezing air, I swing my body out until I’m facing Griffin. Leaning back into my harness, I wait for his all clear. Nate positions us just above where I need to rappel.
“Go.” I hear Griffin’s order, and as I look down, I feel muscle memory take over. Bending my knees, I push myself away from the aircraft while letting my line slide through my hands, sending me toward the ground. Years of training, experience, and discipline combine as I lower myself. The wind has picked up significantly in the last fifteen minutes. I’m descending swiftly while adjusting to the force of the wind and the sway of the helicopter.
The sound of crunching snow fills my ears as my feet plant into the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement; turning toward it, I see a man crouched over. He’s only wearing a long-sleeved tee and a pair of jeans. His shoes are basic tennisshoes. He isn’t prepared for this kind of hike or the harsh weather at all.
“I’m s-ss-so sorry,” he says through chattering teeth.
“It’s alright. You did the right thing by calling for help,” I tell him because he did do the right thing. Should he have prepared more before setting out? Yes, but he realized he was in a potentially dangerous situation and made the call. Some men would have been too prideful and decided they could find their way down on their own. “We’re gonna get you out of here, and you’ll be back at the resort with a hot drink in no time. What’s your name?”
“Th-that sounds good. I’m Shh-Sean,” he says, walking closer.
“Okay, Sean. Nice to meet you. I’m Alder, and we’re about to get to know each other real well. I’m going to slip this over your head and strap you into the harness. It’s going to feel like you’re sitting in my lap, and that’s exactly what we want. Once we’re secured together, we can get the hell out of here,” I instruct him. “Ready?”
“Ready,” he confirms as I slide the sling up and around him, settling it over his hips and tightening the straps of the harness over his shoulders. I ratchet him up off the ground and get myself into position. “Alright, boys. We’re locked in and ready to come up,” I say into my headset.
“Copy. Starting the pulley system now. Hang tight,” Griff responds.
“We’re going up, Sean. Hold on,” I tell him as we’re lifted into the air. Immediately, there’s too much movement. Sean glances around nervously. We’re swaying. A lot. More than usual. More than I would like. I remain calm as we lurch withonly fifteen more feet to go. We lose a couple of feet, and our ascent comes to a standstill.
