I regret agreeing to this as soon as John pulls the car into the Sunday afternoon traffic. People are all over the roads, clogging the way into and out of Long Island, and the longer we sit in traffic, the darker my mood gets.

I have no idea why Kennedy wants to see me at this random address on Long Island. It’s probably some kind of trap, some kind of revenge.

My heart aches even to think that about her. It’s not going to be revenge. It’s going to be worse. It’s going to be worse, because I have a sense that this will come to begging, or pleading, or some kind of breakdown, and I don’t want to be in that situation.

I want to be on my jet, destination anywhere but Long Island.

Halfway there, I toss my phone to the side. There’s only so many times I can review emails from the office and check social feeds that have nothing to do with me.

The next time we’re stopped in traffic, John catches my eye in the rearview mirror. “I can always turn around.”

I shake my head, once, decisively. There’s definitely a side of me that wants to turn the hell around and never answer any texts from Kennedy’s number again, but the bigger part—the part I won’t give voice to, even to my own driver—is aching to see her, even if it’s to put an end to all this.

I don’t know how much it matters that we’re late. She’d mentioned a specific time, but after traffic, we’re half an hour past it.

It doesn’t seem to matter to the man standing outside a nondescript pole barn.

What the hell has she gotten me into?

He’s got a smile on his tan face, dark hair, and a firm grip. “I take it you’re the famous Gideon Hawke. Hank Taylor.”

I give him a wry smile. “That’s me. But I’m only famous to some people.”

He turns away from me, leaning into the car to tell John where he can park, then straightens up. “I’ve heard you have some experience in this kind of adventure, so the training we’re required to do beforehand will be old hat.” Then he sweeps a hand over his shoulder, like I’m going to follow him inside without any further explanation.

When I don’t follow along, he turns back, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“What kind of adventure is this?”

His face melts into a pleasant smile, and then he laughs out loud. “She really wasn’t kidding.” I shake my head. “Your girlfriend planned a little surprise for you. Come on in. Welcome to Sky’s the Limit.”

It’s a stab through my heart—your girlfriend—but now I’m intrigued. Now I have to know why Kennedy wanted me to come to this place. Maybe it’s some kind of apology—a last thrill? 

“All right.” I fall in step with him as he moves toward the building again. “I’ll bite.”

It’s a skydiving place, that much is clear, but there’s absolutely no sign of Kennedy. Hank runs me through the typical forty-five minute safety orientation and asks me if I’m fine wearing the dress shirt and tailored shorts I’m wearing. Then he’s strapping me into the harness.

“It’s a tandem dive package,” he says, pulling the straps tight. 

“Fine by me.” I haven’t taken the time to become dive-certified, so that’s the only option, although the farther I get into this day, the more I’m considering jumping from the plane myself and seeing how the chips fall.

There are a few more minutes of back and forth, Hank going over the final instructions. “Once we take off, it’ll be about ten minutes to diving altitude, which is about 14,000 feet,” he says, hands double- and triple-checking the straps on my harness and his. “When the green light goes on, we’ll jump. We’ll be in free fall for about a minute, and then I’ll deploy the parachute. You’ll have four more minutes to appreciate the sights of New York City from above, and then we’ll land in the drop zone.” His mouth quirks in a smile, but he doesn’t add anymore. He reaches up with one thick hand and claps me on the shoulder. “All set?”

I give him a look. “It’s not my first time in a plane like this, Hank. I’m ready to go.”

I’m more than ready. If Kennedy’s not here, I want this to be over with. At the same time, excitement is thrumming through my veins. I love skydiving, though I’m not sure I would have chosen to go over New York City if it was up to me. I could be doing this on any continent across the planet.

But this is what’s in front of me, and so I’m going to grab it with both hands.

But not literally. 

Hank leads me to the airfield behind the building where the aircraft is waiting at the end of the runway. It’s a King Air twin engine like the ones I’ve jumped out of before, and from across the field, I can see the pilot doing final inspections, and then climbing in. They’re ready to go, which is good, because I don’t want to spend another minute thinking about this, thinking about Kennedy, thinking about anything. I want to be in free-fall. For the first time in a week, I’ll get to match my actual experience with my mood.

“There she is,” Hank says, and for an instant I think he’s talking about Kennedy. But he nods at the plane, then hands me a pair of goggles. “Get those on snug before we take off. Don’t want to think about too much once we’re climbing.”

I take the goggles, but I don’t put them on. I don’t have a problem with take-off, and I’d rather not deal with them right now when I’m walking across an open field with no reason to protect my eyes.

Hank climbs into the plane before me, and I take one last look around before I step onboard, my hand on the doorframe. Don’t think about her. Not anymore. Try to enjoy this.

I take in a deep breath and climb in, my eyes taking a minute to adjust to the relative darkness inside.

When they do, my heart nearly bursts out of my chest.