My Hockey Nemesis

Turbulence

By six the next morning, the team had gathered inside the private terminal. Players wandering between rows of seats with coffee cups in hand, coaches discussing line combinations near the windows, and members of the medical staff checking equipment cases before they were loaded onto the aircraft.

I stayed close to the back of the group.

I’ve always preferred being unnoticed.

Our head therapist walked over, handing me a thick folder. "Arthur's rehabilitation file. If his shoulder stiffens after the flight, assess it before tomorrow's practice."

"I will."

"Safe travels."

A burst of laughter cut us off.

Arthur had just walked into the terminal.

One of the defensemen pointed toward the strip of bright blue kinesiology tape peeking out beneath the collar of his T-shirt. "Look who's finally listening to medical advice."

Another player grinned. "Must've been one scary physiotherapist."

Arthur adjusted the strap of his duffel bag, completely unfazed. "I like using both arms."

"That's the only reason?"

"It's the only one you're getting."

The team laughed as boarding was announced. I waited until most of them had gone ahead before I even joined the line.

Once inside the aircraft, I found my assigned seat near the middle of the cabin and quietly settled beside one of the assistant coaches. Perfect.

I had barely fastened my seatbelt when a flight attendant approached me with an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry to trouble you."

I looked up. "Yes?"

"We've had a seating issue," she whispered. "One of the players isn't comfortable flying without sitting beside his roommate. He had a panic attack during our last away trip, and we'd rather avoid another incident."

"Oh."

"Would you mind changing seats? You're the only staff member traveling alone."

I smiled politely. "Of course."

"Thank you so much."

I unbuckled and followed her farther down the cabin. She stopped right beside Row Seven, and my smile instantly evaporated. Arthur looked up from the scouting report in his hands.

The flight attendant gestured toward the empty window seat. "This one's yours."

Arthur occupied the aisle. There was absolutely no escaping it.

I thanked the attendant, slid past him into the window seat, and buckled myself in. Neither of us spoke. The aircraft taxied toward the runway before lifting smoothly into the cloudy morning sky.

For about twenty minutes, the only sounds between us were the steady hum of the engines and the occasional turning of a page.

Arthur broke the silence first. "Did they force you to sit here?"

I kept my eyes glued to his rehabilitation file. "They asked."

"You could've said no..."

"I wasn't going to make someone else's panic attack worse."

He gave a faint nod. "I figured."

I closed the file, turning to face him. "Can we agree on something?"

"Depends."

"We don't have to talk unless it's about your shoulder."

"Alright."

When the meals arrived shortly afterward, I accepted mine and thanked the flight attendant, but left the plastic tray completely untouched.

Arthur noticed. Because of course he did.

"You're not eating."

"I'm aware."

"You skipped breakfast too."

I snapped my head around to look at him. "Are you stalking me?"

"You walked past me at the terminal with coffee."

"So?"

"So coffee isn't breakfast."

I let out a slow, frustrated breath. "You pay far too much attention."

"I notice things."

"I wish you wouldn't."

He didn't answer. Instead, he leaned over, picked up the unopened bread roll from his tray, and placed it firmly beside mine. "You'll regret skipping another meal."

I pushed it right back toward him. "I'll take my chances."

Neither of us mentioned it again.

An hour into the flight, the seatbelt sign finally switched off. I glanced toward the front of the cabin. "I'll be right back."

Arthur shifted his legs into the aisle to let me pass.

I had barely taken three steps when the captain's voice echoed overhead. *"Ladies and gentlemen, we've encountered unexpected turbulence. Please return to your seats immediately and fasten your seatbelts."*

I instinctively turned back. "I've got it," I muttered, reaching for the seat.

The aircraft jolted. Hard.

I stumbled, my hand gripping a nearby headrest to steady myself. Several players cursed around me as the overhead compartments rattled violently.

Then came another drop. This one was significantly worse. The cabin lights flickered, and someone shouted for everyone to sit down. I reached desperately toward my row, but I never made it. The plane lurched with enough force to throw me sideways, completely erasing my footing.

Everything happened at once.

A hand clamped around my wrist. Another wrapped firmly around my waist, pulling me forward with sudden, uncompromising strength.

Arthur.

He didn't use his good arm. His injured left shoulder took the entire brunt of my weight as he yanked me out of the aisle just as another violent drop rocked the aircraft. A sharp, involuntary hiss of pain escaped his teeth, but his grip didn't loosen by a fraction.

The lights went completely out.

For one terrifying second, the cabin disappeared into pitch blackness. I lost all sense of direction, and the only thing keeping me from crashing violently into the aisle floor was the unyielding clamp of his arm around me.

Then, the emergency lights flickered back to life.

The aircraft steadied. A heavy, suffocating silence settled over the cabin.

Arthur's arm was still wrapped around my waist, trembling slightly from the strain on his joint. I breathed in sharply, the sudden lack of motion bringing reality rushing back in terrifyingly high definition. I wasn't on the floor. I was sitting squarely across his thighs. I could feel the solid warmth of his lap beneath me, and my fingers were tangled tightly into the fabric of his shirt right over his chest. The rapid, heavy thud of his pulse was vibrating against my palm.

Neither of us moved or spoke.

I stared blankly at his collarbone, the sheer intimacy of the position completely short-circuiting my brain.

Then, the absolute, dead silence of the cabin finally registered.

Slowly, I turned my head.

Every single player on the plane was staring at us. The coaches. The medical staff. Even the flight attendants had frozen in place, their eyes wide.

A scorching wave of pure mortification rushed to my face.

"Oh my God..."

I shot to my feet so quickly that I nearly lost my balance all over again. "I-I'm sorry."

Without waiting for him to reply, I bolted down the aisle, threw open the restroom door, and slammed it shut behind me.

The latch clicked. I leaned against the door, burying my burning face in my hands, my heart thundering against my ribs.

Outside, I knew the cabin was dead silent. I could only imagine the knowing looks and the quiet, failed attempts to suppress grins. I just stared at the small mirror, wishing the plane would swallow me whole, completely unaware that out in the aisle, Arthur was gently rotating his left shoulder, his eyes still locked on the door I had just disappeared behind.