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“There you go, Elliot. You’re doing great. Just keep breathing.”

I nod, not yet trusting myself to speak. We sit quietly for a few minutes, breathing together. Once I’m calm, I pull my hand out of Gerard’s and rest it in my lap.

The pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is your captain speaking. We’ve been cleared for takeoff. Please make sure your seatbelts are securely fastened and that all electronic devices are in airplane mode. Flight attendants, prepare for departure.”

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.

All the calm I managed to gather vanishes without a trace. My heart races, my palms sweat even more, and the breakfast burrito I ate a couple of hours ago threatens to reappear. Without thinking, I grab Gerard’s hand tightly. My fingernails dig into his skin, making him wince. But he doesn’t pull away. He squeezes my hand back, though more gently.

The plane starts to move slowly at first, then faster as it hurtles down the runway. The sudden change in direction presses me back into my seat, and the world outside the window gets tinier.

This is it. We’re taking off. We’re leaving the ground and soaring into the sky like a bird. Except birds have wings and hollow bones and are built for this shit.Ihave a delicate constitution and a penchant for panic attacks.

As the nose of the plane tilts up, I gasp. A quick flash of that scene fromFinal Destinationhits me, and I nearly cry out in fear. I think it’s safe to say that I don’t love this flying thing. Not one fuckingbit.

Right when I’m about to share this concern with Gerard, the plane levels out, and the engine’s roar softens to a more tolerable hum. The pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom again, announcing that we’ve reached our cruising altitude, but he might as well be speaking Greek for all I care. My mind is still fixated on the fact that we’re no longer on the ground.

The seatbelt sign turns off, and Gerard pries his hand from my grasp to unbuckle his. He extends his arms over his head, pulling up his T-shirt ride to expose a glimpse of his toned abs. Under normal circumstances, I would find it distracting, but I’m currently preoccupied with my impending doom.

I make the wise decision to keep my seatbelt firmly fastened. Call me paranoid, but I’m not taking any chances. With my luck, the moment I unhook the buckle, we’ll hit a pocket of turbulence, and I’ll fly into the ceiling.

“You know you can take that off now, right?” Gerard chuckles.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a pair of headphones. He slips them over his ears and closes his eyes, content to lose himself in the music of… I peek at his phone screen and smile. Gerard would spend the flight listening to an audiobook version ofOn the Road. Ever since I explained to him how much I loved the book, he’s taken great interest in it.

I decide to do the same and pull out a book from my carry-on. It’s Oliver’s copy ofThe Catcher in the Rye. The spine is cracked, and the pages are dog-eared from countless rereads.

I open the book to a random passage near the middle and read. It’s the part where Holden talks about how much he hates phonies.How everyone at his prep school is fake and only cares about stupid things, like what kind of luggage they have or what clubs they belong to.

As I read Holden’s words, I find that I can relate. At times, I feel like such an outsider looking in at the bizarre world of hockeyculture. The obsession with sticks and pucks and stats. The weird rituals and superstitions. The larger-than-life personas the guys adopt when they hit the ice.

It’s all so foreign to me. And yet, here I am, dating the star player and living at the Hockey House. If someone had told me a few months ago that this is where I’d end up, I would’ve laughed in their face. Me, Elliot Montgomery, shacking up with a bunch of jocks? Please. I’d rather eat glass.

But once I met Gerard, everything changed. He sees past my prickly exterior and has taken the time to get to know the real me. The me who loves old books and indie films and can stay up late arguing about philosophy. The me who dreams of traveling the world and writing the next great American novel.

With Gerard, I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. I can be myself—my grumpy, sarcastic, overthinking self. He accepts me for who I am, including my flaws and neuroses.

I think that’s why this passage resonates with me. Weirdly, Holden’s struggle to find his place in the world mirrors mine. We’re both misfits trying to navigate a society that values superficiality over substance. The only difference is that I managed to find someone genuine amid all the phoniness.

I glance over at Gerard, who has drifted off to sleep, his head lolling against his shoulder. The morning sun slants across his face, turning his hair into spun gold. He appears peaceful and content. As if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than thirty thousand feet in the air with me by his side.

My chest tightens, but this time, not from anxiety. It’s from a swell of intense emotion that takes my breath away.

Love.That’s the only word for it.

Sometime between our first encounter and now, I’ve fallen head over heels in love with Gerard Gunnarson.

Gerard expertly maneuversthe sleek rental car through the winding mountain roads. The scenery around us is breathtaking. There’s no other word to describe the place where Gerard grew up.

Towering evergreens stretch toward the sky, bending slightly under the weight of fresh snow. Eagles soar above us, and deer sprint between the trees lining the road. However, not even the majestic beauty of nature can distract me from the growing knot of anxiety in my gut.

Gerard hums along to the radio playing Ellie Goulding’s “Love Me Like You Do.” He’s the picture-perfect definition of happiness, and why wouldn’t he be? This is his home turf, where everyone knows his name and story. But for me, it’s uncharted territory. I’m the outsider here, the interloper. The city boy who knows nothing about small-town life.

I press my head against the cool glass of the car window and watch the world pass us by. Soon enough, I see a large wooden sign, weathered and worn but still standing tall.

Welcome to Elk Valley. Population 3,085.