Too Sweet (Hayes Brothers #3)(42)

“You make it damn near impossible not to when you blush like that. What’s your safe word?”

“Um...” She looks around, biting her lip. “Red.”

“Good girl. Use it if you have to.”

Half a minute later, we’re on the plane. I sit Mia between my legs for take-off, my arms around her even before the instructor straps the pretty little blonde to my harness.

Nothing ever felt as natural as holding her close.

“Talk,” she pleads, wiggling her fingers like she’s typing a long essay. “Please, just talk.”

And so I do.

I talk all the time.

I tell her I expect she’ll play one song for me at the Ball and that I want a dance. I tell her I know her dad, and that he sent me VIP tickets for the Austin GP in September. It’s a given Mia will be attending, so I promise to drive her there since she’s afraid of flying. I’d fucking carry her there on my back just to spend time with her.

Her pulse accelerates along with the plane, reaching its limit when we start ascending. I knot our fingers, wrapping our arms around her tiny frame.

“The first time I jumped, I was twenty-four. Nothing compares to the first jump, so take in the views.”

“Sixty seconds!” the pilot shouts.

“I’m scared,” Mia wails, clutching my fingers hard enough to cut off circulation. “I changed my mind. I want to go back! Please, I don’t want to do this anymore! I feel sick. Oh God! Yellow! Orange! Please, I’ll do anything you want, just—”

“The word is red, and you’re doing great. Don’t think.” I haul us up, gripping the handle. “Close your eyes, Mia. Breathe in for me.”

I can’t see if she followed the first instruction, but she’s definitely breathing.

She’s fucking hyperventilating.

“Please, we don’t have to do this! It’s so far down. What if the parachute doesn’t open? What if we crash? What if...” She chokes on the words.

My arm curves around her middle. “We won’t crash. The parachute will open, and you’ll love this. I promise.”

“Thirty seconds!” The instructor opens the door, and Mia starts trembling so hard I wonder if she’s crying.

Still, no red.

“You’re such a good girl,” I say in her ear, leaving a kiss there. “Breathe. Don’t think. You’re safe with me.”

“Fifteen seconds!”

“Oh, no, no, no, no!” Mia shakes her head, leaving angry, half-moon marks in my arm with her nails. “No, please! I don’t want to do this! Let me go!”

“Red, baby. Say red, and we stop.”

But instead of the safe word, she chants no on repeat like it’s a coping mechanism.

The instructor gives me a hand signal as if he knows it’s better not to yell jump, or Mia will freak out. Not that she isn’t already... I fucking love that about her. She’s not pretending, not hiding her feelings. She’s fighting the fear.

I grip both of her hands, knotting our fingers, and step toward the edge of the plane, nothing but open space as far as the eye can see.

“No, please, please, I can’t do this, I can’t...”

I stamp a kiss on the crown of her head and outstretch our hands to the sides, tilting us forward. We’re out of the plane the next second, and Mia’s screaming.

The high-pitched wail cuts through the air like a scalpel. I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be a very long e in red, but too late.

“Open your eyes,” I yell over the sound of air going by us at a hundred and twenty miles per hour, even though I shouldn’t talk in freefall. “Look around!”

The screaming ceases instantly, and Mia’s fingers tighten their hold around mine. She’s excited. I can tell. I fucking know her so well by now that I read her reactions with ease.

I remember my first jump, the sensory overload, and I’m so glad Mia’s experiencing this in my arms—the earth from an angle she’s never seen before, the feeling of weightlessness as we fall, the smell of the freshest air you can get.

This is my six-hundred and thirteenth jump, but except for the first, none compare to this one. I hold Mia’s hands in mine and steer, bending her elbows and forcing my body into an arch until we do a three-sixty flip in the air.

“Again!” she cries, the word barely reaching my ears.

This time she arches with me, making the flip easier. We’re getting closer to five thousand feet, so I let go of her hand, showing her the signal for pull.

I glance around, checking the position of the two instructors behind us before I pull the line. We’re jerked in the air when the white canvas takes the strain.

Mia lets out an ecstatic cheer that makes me feel weightless. There’s no fear left in her petite body: just adrenaline and happiness.

“We jumped!”

I steer the parachute toward the field far below, where my family is, nothing more than a few dots scattered around the grass and tarmac.

“That wasn’t so scary, was it?”

“We jumped out of a plane!” She bounces in the harness, swinging us from side to side.

“I know you’re excited, but you need to stay still, or we’ll land in the river.”

She stills, but her fingers pump around my wrists like she’ll explode if she doesn’t let the emotions out somehow.