Sergio glanced up at me, his eyes clear, so bright and blue that I let out a little gasp. “Do you trust me?”
Yeah. I really did. He may not particularly like me, but he’d protect me, he’d said as much. He would never let anything happen to me. So I gripped his outstretched hand and managed a weak “Yes.”
“Great.” His smile was easygoing — not dark or irritated. “Then all the training you need is to trust me and hold on tight while I take care of us and give you one of your honeymoon wishes.”
It felt like mere minutes before we were up in the air, and I was in some sort of weird suit, getting strapped to Sergio.
I was shaking so hard I thought I was going to puke.
“You’re Russian,” Sergio whispered hotly in my ear. “Don’t embarrass your country.”
“Easy for you to say.” My teeth chattered. “You’ve actually done this before.”
“No, he hasn’t,” the pilot called back.
My eyes widened.
Sergio burst out laughing. I hadn’t heard his laugh often, but it was deep, sensual. I leaned closer to his body. “He’s kidding.”
“Hilarious.” I flipped off the pilot behind my back. He probably didn’t see me, but I felt a lot better knowing I’d shown my irritation.
“At altitude,” the pilot called.
Sergio pulled the goggles over my face.
My back was pressed against his front. Everything was snug. I could feel his body heat. I wondered if he could feel my heart rate going off the charts.
“You ready?” Sergio yelled above the noise as the door to the airplane opened.
“No.” My teeth chattered.
“Trust me,” Sergio called. “Alright?”
I had no choice but to nod my head back.
“Jump when you’re ready, Andi.”
“But…” I couldn’t turn around. “…shouldn’t you jump?”
“I’m attached to you. Jump, Andi.”
“But—”
“It’s your choice… to jump. It has to be your choice, Andi.”
I was empowered in that moment. I’d never been in control of anything in my life, and he was offering me a small part of it.
A small part.
But it was there.
All I had to do was jump.
So I did.
My breath rushed out of me as air hit my face, making it hard to breathe and think all at once.
It was loud.
So loud that I knew even if Sergio was saying something to me, I probably wouldn’t be able to hear him.
I tried to enjoy the scenery of Chicago.
I closed my eyes and then spread my arms out wide, like I was flying. My face broke out into a grin as I opened my eyes and felt, for maybe the first time in my life, completely free.
We fell.
My smile turned into laughter.
And then I felt movement behind me. The chute was pulled; it tugged our bodies hard, nearly hanging me in the process.
The rest of the ride was smooth. Sergio didn’t say anything as I continued flapping my arms like a crazy person. Laughter bubbled out of me once we hit the ground.
And it was like, in that moment, reality came crashing down.
I wasn’t free.
I wouldn’t be free until I was dead.
In those brief moments, Sergio had given me all I’d ever wanted — but had never been brave enough to admit.
Freedom from the thoughts of sickness.
Freedom from the thoughts of death.
Freedom from my physical body reminding me that it was soon.
My laughs quickly turned into sobs as Sergio unhooked us. I fell to my knees, tears dripping onto the ground, mixing with the dirt and grass.
Sergio didn’t yell at me.
He didn’t tell me to get up.
No, my husband, the man I wasn’t even sure I liked most of the time, sat with me in the dirt, and pulled my body into the protection of his chest and let me cry.
We sat there for at least fifteen minutes.
He didn’t say anything — then again, he didn’t need to. He held me, he let me cry, and when I didn’t think I had any tears left, Sergio tilted my chin toward his face and whispered, “You’re the bravest person I know.”
Nobody had ever called me brave before.
He may as well have said he loved me for the impact his words had on my life, on my very soul. I tried to avert my eyes.
He didn’t let me.
Sergio brought his mouth to mine. And kissed me.
Not because he was pissed.
Or because it was on my stupid honeymoon list.
But… I think… because he wanted to.
And I let him — because in that moment I realized one thing. I more than liked him. I was on my way to loving him — the way he fought with me, the way he teased, the way he let me be me without any judgment.
The way we lived — in a constant battleground.
“You did good, Russia,” he said when he pulled back.
“The kiss?” I teased.
“The jump…” He rolled his eyes then kissed me again. “But for the record… this was good too.” His tongue licked the seam of my lips before pulling back. “Family dinner?”
I nodded, my face felt sticky from crying.
We held hands the entire walk back to the building.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sergio
HER TEARS SCARED ME.
Because they represented what I already knew. She hadn’t fully grieved or come to terms with what was happening to her — what was going to happen.