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He placed a finger over my mouth. “I know, baby. I know.”
I’d gone over it with him twice now.
And four times yesterday.
He did know.
I blew out a breath and felt the familiar zing of exhilaration as Tom got us up into the sky.
It took no time at all before we were at our jump point.
“Ready?” I asked him, touching my helmet.
He caught my hand, then maneuvered us until he was right behind me. “Let’s go.”
We jumped, me in his arms.
The rush of adrenaline hit me like a mainline straight to an artery.
The moment we went weightless as he all but walked us out of the plane, all was right with my world.
I needed this—the outlet.
I loved this.
I loved even more that he was doing it with me.
We started to separate in the air as planned, knowing the correct distance we needed to be away from each other before we were to deploy our parachutes.
However, just as happy as I was that he was with me, dread and horror overtook me as it came time to pull the cord for the parachute, and it didn’t pull.
I yanked harder, and it did nothing.
Harder.
Still nothing.
Horror like I’d never felt before started to burrow into my heart and lungs, seizing them up.
Panic overtook me.
Quinn’s parachute deployed, and he was sailing up high above me before my next breath.
I switched to the emergency parachute, and again, nothing.
Heart seizing in my chest, I prayed like I’d never prayed before.
Before long, tears were streaming down my face and into my goggles, but I still continued to pull.
“Fuck!”
Every single possible troubleshooting solution went through my mind, and I tried them all.
Nothing worked, though, and the ground got closer and closer and closer.
Just as I resigned myself that I was going to meet a bitter end, a body hit me so hard that it knocked the breath out of my lungs.
Quinn.
