Chapter 2 — Emergency Landing
Michael
The plane’s descent was announced with a quiet chime, followed by the captain’s calm voice explaining the medical emergency and the necessity of an unscheduled landing in Keflavík, Iceland. Michael Hayes leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on the frost-covered window. The sharp contrast of white against the endless gray sky mirrored the tension that had settled between him and Claire. Beside him, her fingers gripped the armrest with a white-knuckled intensity, as though it was the only thing tethering her to control.
He kept his voice light, testing the waters. “Iceland wasn’t on your itinerary, was it?”
Claire’s eyes snapped to him, her hazel gaze sharp enough to cut glass. “Neither was sitting next to you for five hours, but here we are.”
Michael smiled faintly, though her words hit their mark. “Fair point.”
Her sharp retort should have been familiar by now, yet it still carried an edge that stung. He shifted in his seat, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the compass pendant beneath his shirt. For reasons he couldn’t quite name, the weight of it felt heavier now.
The plane landed smoothly, the runway blanketed in a soft haze of snow. As the engines powered down, passengers stirred, reaching for bags, checking phones, and murmuring about the impending delay. Michael stayed seated, watching Claire as she immediately began scrolling through her phone with laser-focused efficiency, her lips pressed into a thin line. She was always like this in moments of uncertainty, fighting to reassert control.
“Let me guess,” Michael said, his voice tinged with humor. “You’re Googling how to bend Icelandic weather to your will.”
Claire didn’t look up. “I’d have better luck with that than waiting for someone else to fix this.”
Her tone was clipped, dismissive, but Michael caught the faint crease between her brows. He knew that expression too well—frustration masking something deeper. Helplessness, maybe. He glanced back out the window, the faint outline of the Icelandic wilderness stretching into the horizon. The stark beauty of it felt strangely calming, though the tension between them remained as sharp as ever.
When they finally disembarked into the terminal, the cold air seeped in through the crevices, a bracing contrast to the stale warmth of the plane. The small airport buzzed with stranded travelers, their collective impatience filling the space like static electricity. Announcements crackled over the intercom, barely audible above the din of voices.
Claire strode ahead, her heels clicking against the polished floor, her leather carry-on swinging with each decisive step. Michael trailed behind, watching the way her shoulders stiffened as they approached the customer service desk. She always carried herself with a polished air of confidence, but he could see the cracks forming beneath the surface.
The attendant, a young woman with a kind smile, explained that arrangements were being made for overnight accommodations. Michael noticed Claire’s jaw tighten as the woman continued, “Unfortunately, we’ve had some issues with luggage. If your checked bag is missing, we’ll do our best to locate it by tomorrow morning.”
Michael saw the moment Claire’s composure strained, her lips pressing together into a thin, controlled line. “My luggage is missing?”
“It seems so, ma’am. I do apologize—”
“I don’t need apologies. I need my things.” Her voice was calm but icy, each word cutting through the attendant’s explanation like a blade.
Michael stepped closer, his tone gentle but firm. “Claire, it’s not her fault.”
She turned to him, her hazel eyes narrowing. “I don’t need you to defend anyone, Michael.”
He raised his hands in surrender but didn’t drop his gaze. For a moment, it felt like the weight of their unspoken history pressed between them, but Claire exhaled sharply and turned back to the attendant. “Fine. Just… let me know when it’s found.”
The attendant nodded, relief flickering across her face as she handed them their hotel vouchers. Michael took his without comment, glancing at Claire as she turned away, her frustration radiating off her in waves. He knew how much losing control—of anything—chipped away at her carefully constructed armor. It was one of the many things he’d learned about her during their years together, though he hadn’t yet figured out how to help without making it worse.
By the time they reached the shuttle bus, the snow was falling in thick, lazy flakes, coating the ground in a pristine layer of white. Claire slid into a seat by the window, her posture rigid as she stared out at the stark, endless landscape. Michael hesitated before sitting beside her, even though the bus was nearly empty. He wasn’t sure why he chose to sit there—maybe it was the set of her shoulders, the way she seemed to fold into herself despite her usual confidence. Or maybe it was just the pull she always seemed to have over him, no matter how much time had passed.
They rode in silence, the hum of the engine and the occasional murmur of other passengers the only sounds. Michael glanced out at the snow-covered plains, the sparse trees bending under the weight of the wind. There was a strange beauty to the desolation, an unspoken quiet that invited reflection. He wondered if Claire saw it too, or if she was too preoccupied with the chaos that losing her luggage had thrown her into.
The hotel was a modest structure nestled against the icy expanse. Inside, the warmth of the lobby was a welcome reprieve, with its crackling fireplace and the earthy scent of pine. Michael felt his shoulders relax slightly, though he could sense Claire’s tension hadn’t eased.
The receptionist, a tall man with a thick Icelandic accent, handed them their room keys with an apologetic smile. “Ah, it seems a mix-up has occurred,” he said, tapping at his computer. “You are in adjoining rooms. I trust this will be acceptable?”
Michael glanced at Claire, whose expression remained unreadable. She took the key with a steady hand, but as she turned toward the hallway, he caught the faintest tremor in her fingers.
In the corridor, Michael paused outside his door, watching as Claire fiddled with the lock on hers. “You need help?” he asked, unable to resist.
“No,” she said curtly, though the lock clicked open a second later. She disappeared inside without a backward glance.
Michael sighed, stepping into his own room. It was small but cozy, with wooden beams and a thick quilt draped over the bed. He set his bag down and pulled out his notebook, flipping through the pages aimlessly. The compass pendant felt heavy around his neck, a familiar weight that grounded him. He traced its edge absently, his thoughts drifting back to Claire. The way her anger at the desk had masked something deeper—something he recognized but couldn’t name.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He opened it to find Claire standing there, her arms crossed, her scarf loosely draped around her neck.
“Do you have toothpaste?” she asked, her tone begrudging.
Michael blinked, then smiled. “I knew you’d need me eventually.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t leave. Michael retrieved a travel-sized tube from his bag, handing it to her with a small flourish.
“Thanks,” she muttered, retreating to her room without another word.
Michael closed the door, leaning against it for a moment. There had been something in her tone—something almost hesitant, as if asking him for help had cost her something she wasn’t prepared to lose.
As the snow continued to fall outside, Michael wondered how long they could keep avoiding what lay between them.
