Page 7 of Tough Guy
Ryan knew all of these things were true, but he couldn’t stop the intense dread that gripped him every time he boarded an airplane. He couldn’t stop thinking that he was the only one whokneweveryone on board was doomed. That they all needed to get off this planeright nowbecausecouldn’t everyone see how dangerous this was?
Ryan exhaled as he squeezed his large body along the narrow aisle. His suit felt too tight. Why did they have to wear suits on these plane trips? He tugged at his necktie as he searched around for an empty aisle seat.
“Pricey!”
Ryan looked toward the back of the plane and saw Wyatt Hayes waving at him from behind a seat. Ryan nodded in response, and moved toward him.
“How ya doing?” Wyatt’s tone was cheerful. Definitely not a man who was worried about dying today.
“Good as always, I guess,” Ryan said. He set his backpack on the seat next to Wyatt and opened it. He rummaged around and pulled out a crisp new paperback novel by one of his favorite authors, a small bottle of Tums, and a battered copy ofAnne of Green Gables. He stuffed the items, along with his phone, into the seat pocket in front of him, shoved the backpack under the seat, and sat down.
“That’s why I like sitting with you, Pricey,” Wyatt said. “You’re a reader.” He gestured to his own seat pocket, where Ryan could see the top of a thick graphic novel sticking out. Wyatt loved comic books and superheroes. Ryan didn’t know anything about them. Maybe Ryan could ask Wyatt for entry-level comic book recommendations. That would be a friendly thing to do...
“Should be a smooth flight. I was looking at the weather between here and Nashville.” Wyatt said this conversationally, but Ryan knew he was doing his best to help. Maybe it was because he was Toronto’s backup goalie and spent more time watching games than playing them, but Wyatt was remarkably observant and considerate. Ryan nodded in response. He wished he could find comfort in Wyatt’s weather report, but there was really nothing that would make his brain calm down. His anxiety meds helped a bit, and were probably what was keeping him from running screaming off the plane right now, but no amount of common sense would make him stop imagining worst-case scenarios.
It’s a short flight. You’ll be in Nashville before you know it.
Ryan longed for the days when NHL teams traveled mostly by bus. When he’d played junior hockey, all travel had been by bus. He knew he was in the minority, but he would take a fifteen-hour bus ride over a two-hour flight any day.
He removed his phone from the seat pocket and sent a text to his sister, as he did before every flight. He told himself it was only because he liked hearing from her andnotbecause he worried he may never see her again.
Ryan: Heading to Nashville.
Colleen: Who are you sitting with?
Ryan glanced over at Wyatt, who was pulling down the window shade in a gesture that was almost certainly for Ryan’s benefit.
Ryan: Wyatt Hayes
Colleen: He’s cute! You should date him!
Ryan flushed and angled his phone so Wyatt definitely wouldn’t be able to see the screen.
Ryan: Straight. Married. And shut up.
Colleen: Aw. He’s cute, though, right?
Ryan stole another glance at Wyatt, who caught his eye and grinned at him, all dimples and blond curls. He was attractive, no question, but...
Ryan: Not my type.
Wyatt wasn’t the one who Ryan couldn’t stop thinking about. It had taken a long time and a lot of distance for Ryan to almost forget about Fabian Salah. And now a chance reunion in a Toronto pharmacy, over thirteen years later, had opened a floodgate of memories.
Even as a teenager, Fabian had been stunning—far from macho, and even farther from apologizing for it. He’d always been short, and couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and twenty-five pounds at the time, but Ryan had been thoroughly intimidated by him.
He had also been thoroughlyinfatuatedwith him.
A flight attendant was shutting and locking the plane door. Ryan’s stomach clenched. He sent another text to his sister.Taking off soon. Gotta go.
Colleen: Do you have Anne with you?
Ryan smiled, and touched his fingers to the frayed edges of his ancient copy ofAnne of Green Gables.
Ryan: Always.
Colleen: Then you’re safe.
Ryan: I know. Thanks.
