My luck.
Luck.
The word still feels so foreign on my tongue. If Huxley, freshly out of prison, could hear me now. He’d laugh in my face. But I refuse to feel embarrassed by a younger, more broken version of myself. I’ve earned this luck. I deserve this life.
“That’s totally normal.” She pats my knee. “Deep breaths, remember.”
I nod and breathe deeply from my nose while Connie leans back into her seat.
“Who knows, maybe you’ll love to fly — and besides,” she says, smirking playfully. “Nothing a few glasses of champagne can’t fix.”
I snort. “Do they have beer at least?”
Connie laughs and nods. “Yeah, they have beer.”
A few minutes later, we’re ready for takeoff. Connie keeps her arm outstretched, holding my hand while the plane rumbles loudly under us. I swallow hard, my heart beating even harder, but it’s mostly from excitement.
I can’t believe this is happening.
I can’t believe I’m heading to Brazil with my dream girl.
The love of my fucking life.
Our seats are in the middle aisle, and from over Connie’s shoulder, I look out the window. I don’t feel it when the wheels lift from the tarmac, but my eyes widen when the scenery starts to shrink.
Holy shit.
I’m flying.
I don’t hide my reaction when I look back at Connie. I’m grinning like a fool. And she is, too. Something about this moment feels like an important turning point. Like I’ve finally left my old life behind. I still don’t know if I believe in fate like Connie does.
But right now, I believe in myself.
And that’s a powerful fucking thing.
