Page 117 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
She’s back in her element, and hell if I’m not going to help her to stay there . . . whether it kills me or not.
Literally.
The growl of the plane’s engine roars in my ears and vibrates beneath my ass, but it has nothing on the absolute terror owning my every nerve. Fuck yes, I’m a pussy.
But this is a plane.
And a nylon parachute is about to be responsible for preventing me from falling to my death.
And Jesus . . . I’m about to willingly jump out of an airplane door.
All for a woman.
For Emerson.
To prove to her she’s just as fucking strong as she thinks she is. As I think she is. As everyone around her thinks she is.
Trust is an important thing . . . and I’m about to put one hundred percent of mine squarely in her hands.
How fucking stupid am I?
I go to run a hand through my hair but stop when I remember my helmet. I bounce my knee, close my eyes, and berate myself for not calling my mom to tell her goodbye and that I love her.
All of the things Emerson showed me in the classroom downstairs run on repeat through my mind. The initial jump at thirteen thousand feet. The belly-to-earth fall rate of one hundred fifteen miles per hour. Sixty full seconds of free fall. The arch of my back. The yank of the ripcord at twenty-five hundred feet above ground level. And then, of course, there is Emerson’s reassuring refrain—if in doubt, whip it out—about the reserve chute in case the main doesn’t deploy.
I’ve seriously lost it.
My ears pop, and I shift my jaw how she told me to equalize the pressure, but holy fucking shit am I nervous.
I can’t hear what she’s saying, but she’s joking and laughing with the pilot as if she is headed to the park to walk the dog. As if she’s not even giving this a second thought.
I try to be as calm as she is—which is pretty fucking impossible—and remind myself why exactly I’m doing this. For her. I took the one thing she knew I was absolutely terrified of losing—my life—and put it in her hands, telling her t
hat I trusted her implicitly with its safety.
But doubt still reigns in my mind. Skill is one thing. Equipment failure is a whole other.
There’s a nudge against my arm, and I turn to look right into her eyes. They are alive, and I realize in that moment that she needs this like I need my work. She needs the high from jumping just like I need to be the hero.
I guess we both thrive off endorphins and adrenaline but obtain them in extremely different ways.
“You ready?” she mouths, grin wide, eyes animated as she stands so that Leo, who is sitting on the other side of her, can hook the two of us together.
Ready?
No.
I’m not.
I swallow over the lump of fear lodged in my throat and force a smile. My legs are wobbly as I stand, the plane ride rougher than I had expected, but then again, that could be because the door is currently open and wind is rushing into it like a chamber.
The next few seconds are all a blur. My fingers gripping tightly on to the ropes fastened to the ceiling so I can steady myself. Emerson’s body pressing against mine as Leo slowly begins attaching our harnesses so that we can tandem jump. The trembling of my hands as I look at the altimeter on my wrist to tell me we’re almost at the point of no return. The churn of my stomach as I want to hurl but know there’s no way I will be able to save face or my masculinity if I do.
Somehow, as I’m standing unsteadily, her hand finds mine. She links our fingers together and squeezes in silent assurance. It’s a simple gesture, but fuck, if it isn’t the lifeline I need to take those few steps forward to the open door.
Holy shit.
Holy shit, I’m doing this.
