“That’s dramatic,” my sister says, rolling her eyes. “They needed to hear the truth.”
“And what’s that?” I tease, looping my arm around her neck and pulling her into a half hug.
“That our mom’s the psychopath, not you,” she retorts, wrapping her arms around my waist.
“I love you, kiddo.” I bend over and briefly press my lips to her head. “I’m sorry she’s not a better mom.”
“Don’t be,” she replies solemnly. “I’m happy right where I am.”
I smile at her. “Me too.” My eyes move past her to Veronica, standing a few feet away next to Clarke. “Very happy.”
Veronica finds me staring at her and gives a blushing smile.
“Hey, hey, hey,” someone yells above the chatter of a hundred patrons. “Quiet down.”
More calls for people to be quiet, and we look around to see what’s happening. A loud whistle gets people’s attention, causing most of the remaining noise to halt abruptly.
Someone hits me on the arm. It’s Jett, and he points to one of the numerous flat-screens along the walls. The screen is split in half, the left with a female reporter looking very grave. It’s dark outside wherever she is, but behind her is an orange glow far in the distance.
On the right side of the screen is an overhead shot—presumably from a helicopter—of a massive fire on the ground. I have no clue what I’m looking at as it’s far too dark.
“Smitty, turn the TVs up,” someone bellows, and within seconds, the sound comes across all the televisions.
“We have received confirmation that the aircraft that crashed on its descent into the Pittsburgh International Airport is the team plane for the Pittsburgh Titans hockey team. We are unclear if there are any survivors, but looking at this unbelievable video of the wreckage, it’s hard to imagine a miracle like that happening.”
My entire body goes cold, then unbelievably numb as I struggle to comprehend what she just said. My arm falls away from my sister, and I move like a zombie toward one of the screens.
Someone takes my left hand, and I look down briefly to see Veronica at my side. Janelle moves to my right, slipping her arm around my waist, and we watch—along with everyone else in the Sneaky Saguaro—as the reporter passes on more details.
The Pittsburgh Titans had been playing the Columbus Hawks and were on their way back to Pittsburgh on the chartered team plane.
It seemed to be making a smooth approach.
When the landing gear touched down, a catastrophic failure caused it to buckle. Witnesses said the nose of the plane went down, and it somersaulted on the runway before bursting into flames and breaking apart.
The video zooms in closer on dozens of fire trucks and ambulances around the wreckage, but fuck, I don’t see how they’ll find anyone. It’s all scattered in pieces.
Luckily, the video isn’t close or clear enough to see any people, either in the rescue efforts or potentially those on the plane.
A wave of nausea hits me, and I choke it down hard. A small sob sounds, and I turn to see tears pouring down Veronica’s face. I pull her in close, an arm around her waist, and do the same to Janelle. My throat is tight, and tears pricks at my eyes.
This is horrific.
There were people on that plane I knew personally.
Had been to their homes.
Met their children.
Two of the players—Brandon Garris and Chase Torrey—played with me in San Diego before going to Pittsburgh. Fuck… I was at Chase’s wedding two years ago.
But it’s not only me. Everyone on the Arizona Vengeance will have had some personal relationship with someone on that team.
And then, my stomach bottoms out.
I release Veronica and Janelle, my gaze moving frantically as I look around the room.
And then I see him, sitting at one of the tables, staring at the closest TV screen with a blank face.
Baden.
His best friend Wes Hollyfield was on that plane.
“I’ll be back,” I say to Veronica who nods and moves closer to Janelle.
Everyone is transfixed by the news story, the mood darker than midnight. Most have moved closer to the screens, small groups of players talking in hushed voices as more information comes in.
I move to Baden’s side and pull out the chair beside him. As I settle into it, my hand goes to his shoulder and I squeeze. “I’m so sorry, man.”
He nods mutely as his eyes stay riveted to the screen. “They’re looking for survivors.”
“It’s totally possible there are survivors,” I say confidently, although in my gut I’m thinking it’s a long shot. But that plane made it to touchdown. It’s not like it fell three miles out of the sky. Passengers were strapped in.
It’s possible.
Just not probable.
?
It’s close to 3:00 a.m. when we get back to the condo. I insisted Veronica come with me and Janelle, and she didn’t argue. The Sneaky Saguaro stayed open to accommodate our team as we continued watching the coverage. We sat with Baden, who had little to say, but his expression was tortured. I honestly don’t know the story between him and Wes, but I know they were incredibly close. Wes came to visit Baden routinely after his injury and whenever he could during the season. They didn’t play on the Wolves together, so that’s not where they became friends. I don’t ask him, though, because now isn’t the time.