Page 23 of Ice Ice Maybe
The intercom crackled to life with Captain Jack’s voice. “Miss Dalton, Mr. Reid, welcome aboard. Our flying time to Las Vegas this morning will be approximately fifty-five minutes. Current weather there: clear skies and already a very toasty one hundred and five degrees. We’re currently second in line for takeoff, so please sit back, make yourselves comfortable, and enjoy the flight.”
A surge of excitement bubbled up inside me. “That’s the first time a pilot has ever talked directly to me on a flight. Pretty cool.”
Zena turned to me, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “It looks like you have transitioned from Maya Angelou to channeling your inner child. I half expect you to ask for a tour of the cockpit after we land.”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that, is there?” I countered.
She softened, a genuine smile spreading across her face. “Not at all. In fact, it’s kind of adorable.”
The acceleration pressed us into our seats as we lifted off. San Diego quickly disappeared beneath us, making way for the glittering Pacific Ocean before turning back in the opposite direction toward Nevada.
“Look, you can see Mexico down there,” she said, pointing out the window.
I smirked. “Should we stop for tacos?”
“Tempting, but maybe next time,” she replied, shaking her head with a smile.
After we got to a cruising altitude of 35,000 feet, the flight attendant returned with another round of mimosas.
“I still can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said, clinking Zena’s glass again. “Is this how the other half lives? What a stress-free life.”
“Not even close,” she said without hesitation. “The rich people I know, especially my dad, have much more stress than most average folks.”
“Why is that?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“First, I should say that it is usually self-induced stress, not stress that comes from external sources,” Zena said. “It’s the mentality of ‘it’s never enough.’ Always chasing the next big thing, the next million, the next acquisition, or the next vacation house. All of thatmore, more, moretakes its toll on the body. Now you know why I’m worried about my dad’s heart.”
I frowned, trying to wrap my head around it. “Seems counterintuitive and a horrible way to live. I’d rather have less money if it means having more peace in my life.”
“Money can’t buy happiness—there’s a reason people say that all the time,” Zena said.
I nodded. “Because it’s true.”
“Anyway—enough about rich people’s problems,” she said. “How are you enjoying your first private flight?”
“It’s unreal,” I admitted, glancing out the window at a plane in the far distance going in the opposite direction. “Do you always travel like this?”
She shook her head. “If Dad plans it, yes. I have little choice since it’s been the norm since birth. But when I plan myowntrips? I book commercial flights.”
I nearly choked on my mimosa. “Seriously? First class, though, right?”
“Usually,” Zena nodded. “The only time I’d take a private jet is if I’m treating friends to a trip. Sometimes it’s even cheaper to charter a jet than buy first-class tickets for everyone.”
“Huh,” I mused, filing away that little tidbit of rich-person knowledge. “Have you ever flown with the team anywhere?”
Zena shook her head. “For one, it would be a distraction, which is the number one thing the coach wants to avoid whenthe team is traveling. The players need to be focused, and they have rigid schedules and rules when they’re on the road. And typically, chartered team flights are reserved for players, coaches, and essential staff. Besides all that, would you reallywantto fly with Mitch?”
“Not really, but speaking of Mitch?—”
“You want to know how I ever could have dated someone like him?” Zena said.
“Well, yeah,” I said with a shrug.
She nodded, her expression turning thoughtful. “Fair question. The simple answer is, he’s not the man he used to be. We met when he was a rookie, fresh out of college, and we had become friends. Mitch was different back then. Hungry, yes, but also humble. He’d stay late after practice, always asking the veterans for advice. He volunteered at local hockey camps for kids, not because it was good PR, but because he genuinely loved the sport and wanted to give back.”
“What changed?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Success, ironically,” Zena sighed. “A couple of months after we had started dating, he signed his first big contract. It was like a switch had flipped. Suddenly, he was all about the celebrity lifestyle, the parties, the endorsements, the flashy cars.” She shook her head. “The final straw was when he blew off a children’s hospital visit that I had organized because he was out with another woman. He was a completely different person, like night and day.”
