Page 73 of Mistletoe and Mayday

“After our emergency landing,” Sebastian’s saying, his voice carrying that polished, media-trained quality I never heard in our cabin, “we had to hike through treacherous conditions to find shelter.”

The reporters swallow his words whole, scribbling notes and thrusting microphones closer.

Rebecca leans into him, her practiced smile never faltering. “I never doubted he’d make it. Sebastian has always been exceptional.”

The nurse pushes my wheelchair forward, and we skirt the edge of the circus. Not a single camera turns our way. Not one reporter notices the actual pilot who landed the plane. I’minvisible—just another patient being discharged, not worth a second glance.

“Should we wait until they’re done?” Mom whispers. “The exit’s right behind them.”

“No.” My voice cracks like thin ice. “Let’s go.”

The nurse navigates around the crowd. We’re almost at the doors when I hear it.

“And what about the pilot?” A lone voice rises from the back of the pack.

I freeze, fingers digging into the wheelchair armrests.

Sebastian clears his throat. “The pilot showed remarkable skill during the emergency. Without her quick thinking and expertise, the outcome would have been very different.”

The reporter pushes. “Is she here? Can we get her statement?”

“I believe she’s been discharged,” Sebastian says. “And I’m sure she’d appreciate privacy during her recovery.”

The reporters lose interest, turning back to the more glamorous story of the billionaire CEO who survived nature’s fury with his perfect fiancée waiting faithfully at home.

“Such a shame,” Mom mutters as we push through the exit doors into the biting winter air. “You’re the actual hero.”

“Vultures,” Gabriel mutters beside me, his tall frame shielding me from the winter wind as he walks alongside my wheelchair. “They only care about the story that sells, not the truth.”

I shrug. “I’m the one who crashed the plane.”

“After the engine failed,” Dad reminds me. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“And you fought off wolves,” Gabe adds. “With a snow globe. That's badass, Bay.”

Despite everything, a small smile tugs at my lips. Havingmy brother's unwavering support has always been my safety net, even when I'm plummeting from thirty thousand feet.

Outside, my parents’ rented minivan waits at the curb, Dad having gone ahead to bring it around. The nurse helps me from the wheelchair to the backseat, where I can stretch my leg out.

“Ready to go home, kiddo?” Dad asks, sliding into the driver’s seat.

I tear my eyes away from the scene inside, from Sebastian’s straight spine and Rebecca’s manicured hand and the life I never could have been part of.

“Yeah,” I whisper, the lie bitter on my tongue. “Let’s go home.”

Twenty-Two

SEBASTIAN

Mother has arranged my welcome-home dinner with the precision of a military coup. Every fork gleams at perfect angles, every silence pulses with expectation. I stare at the chandelier crystals and imagine Bailey making explosion sounds each time someone drops another hint about Rebecca.

“Rebecca called non-stop after you disappeared,” Mother says, slicing her meat with surgical precision. “Poor thing was beside herself when she heard about the crash.”

I stare at the seared steak on my plate. Thirty-six days dry-aged, cooked to medium-rare, garnished with microgreens. The meat sits in a pool of reduction that probably took a chef three hours to prepare, yet I can’t eat any of it.

“Did you hear me, darling?” Mother’s voice slices through my thoughts like the knife through her steak. “I said Rebecca was so worried.”

“I heard you.”