Chapter 18: Altitude Adjustment
The private jet’s engines thrummed, a deep, constant vibration felt more than heard through the plush leather seats. Outside the oval window, Cincinnati’s grid of lights had dissolved into an inky expanse punctuated by distant, scattered clusters far below. Inside, the cabin glowed with soft, recessed lighting, casting long shadows and creating an intimate cocoon high above the earth. Whitney shifted in her seat, her fingers tracing the condensation on her chilled water bottle. The cool plastic felt grounding against the low-grade buzz of anticipation humming beneath her skin. Going home. With Joe. To Utah. The reality still felt slightly surreal.
Across the aisle, Joe stretched his legs out, careful of the bulky brace encasing his left foot. Turf toe was a persistent bastard, even after playing on it for a couple months he wasn’t fully healed. His gaze drifted to Whitney. She was staring out the window, her profile illuminated by the dim cabin light. The soft curve of her cheek, the way her dark hair, pulled into a messy bun for travel, escaped in wisps around her temples. She looked pensive, maybe a little nervous. He understood. Meeting Krisette and David officially, as her boyfriend… it was a big step. If only they knew the real step planned.
His right hand, resting casually on his thigh, clenched almost imperceptibly. Beneath the soft fabric of his joggers, nestled deep in the pocket, was the small, velvet box Liv had thrust into his hand just as they were boarding. Her eyes had been fierce, triumphant. "Don't lose it, Burrow. Don't drop it in the damn jet toilet. And don't let her see it before Bryce Canyon." The ring inside felt impossibly heavy, impossibly significant. Liv’s jeweler had delivered. The vintage diamond, ethically sourced, cut in an old European style, was set low in a delicate rose gold band etched with tiny, almost invisible leaves. It was elegant, timeless, unique. Perfect for Whit. Exactly what he’d hoped for. They’d spun her a story about a shipping delay, that the ring hadn’t made it in time. Her slight disappointment had been genuine, quickly masked by her usual pragmatism. "Plenty of time after Utah," she’d said, squeezing his hand. If she only knew it was burning a hole in his pocket right now.
He watched her take a slow sip of water, her throat working. The cabin was cool, almost chilly, but his palms felt damp. He wiped them surreptitiously on his thigh. This wasn't game day pressure. This was… forever pressure. The quiet hum of the jet seemed to amplify the frantic beat of his own heart. He pictured her face at sunrise, the canyon walls painted in hues of fire and rust, the moment he’d drop to one knee… hopefully without toppling over thanks to the damn brace. Would she gasp? Cry? Laugh? That warm, radiant smile he craved blooming across her face? The image was so vivid it tightened his chest.
Suddenly, the jet bucked. Not violently, but sharply enough to make the overhead bins rattle and the cabin lights flicker. Whitney gasped, her hand flying out instinctively, fingers clamping onto Joe’s forearm. Her grip was surprisingly strong. Her eyes, wide and startled, snapped to his, seeking reassurance in the sudden disorientation.
Time seemed to stutter.
Her gaze locked onto his, a deep green today and filled with a flicker of vulnerability instantly recognizable to him. In that unguarded moment, stripped of any pretense by the jolt of turbulence, he didn’t just see her fear. He saw her. The fierce teacher-to-be wrestling nerves about her practicum placement. The small-town girl returning home with the city’s golden boy. The woman who loved ceramic owls and terrible karaoke and his lemon chamomile tea. The woman whose quiet strength anchored him. And superimposed over her startled expression, clear as the diamond burning against his thigh, he saw the future. He saw her eyes crinkling with laughter, her head thrown back. He saw her hand, adorned with his ring, gesturing passionately while explaining a lesson plan. He saw her sleepy smile across a shared breakfast table in their expansive kitchen. He saw the promise, as solid and beautiful as the stone in his pocket.
The turbulence eased as quickly as it came. The jet smoothed out, resuming its steady climb. The cabin lights steadied. Whitney’s grip on his arm loosened, but she didn’t pull away immediately. A faint blush crept up her neck. "Whoa," she breathed, her voice slightly shaky. "Guess the Rockies don't like visitors tonight."
"Yeah," Joe managed, his own voice rougher than he intended. He covered her hand where it still rested on his forearm with his own, squeezing gently. The contact sent a fresh wave of warmth through him, chasing away the lingering chill of the jolt. Her skin was soft under his fingers. "Just saying hello. We're fine." He forced a calm he didn't entirely feel into his tone. Quarterback voice. Steady the team.
She offered a small, grateful smile, her eyes searching his face. "You sure? You look… intense." She tilted her head, studying him. "More than just turbulence?"
He held her gaze, the image of her future smile still imprinted on his retinas. The ring box felt like a live wire against his leg. Tell her now. Right here. Forget Bryce Canyon. Just ask her. The impulse was fierce, primal. The intimacy of the cabin, the closeness after the shared scare… it felt ripe for it.
He swallowed hard. No. Bryce Canyon was the plan. The sunrise. The moment he’d envisioned, painstakingly orchestrated with Liv’s help. David and her mom nearby. It was her place, her magic. Stealing this moment in a jet cabin, however intimate, felt… wrong. Like cheating her out of the grandeur she deserved. He owed her the dawn over the hoodoos.
He squeezed her hand again, then gently disentangled his arm, letting his hand fall back to his thigh, close to the pocket. He offered her his most reassuring grin, the one that usually disarmed reporters and linebackers alike. "Just thinking about Brenda’s chicken and dumplings," he lied smoothly, the quarterback mask settling firmly back into place. "And whether your dad’s already got the grill fired up for my interrogation in July."
Whitney relaxed visibly, the tension melting from her shoulders. She chuckled, the sound warm and familiar in the humming cabin. "Oh, the grill is definitely fired up. Metaphorically speaking. For now." She leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes for a moment. "He likes you, Joe. Really. He’s just… protective. ‘She’s my baby girl’ Dad mode."
"I know," Joe murmured, watching her. The soft light played over her features, the curve of her lips, the relaxed line of her jaw. The frantic energy that had surged during the turbulence and the near-overwhelming urge to propose subsided, replaced by a deep, settled certainty. He knew what he wanted. He knew when he wanted it. The ring was safe. The plan was intact. Bryce Canyon awaited.
He let his own eyes drift shut, not to sleep, but to savor the quiet thrum of the jet, the faint scent of Whitney’s citrus shampoo, and the solid, comforting weight of forever resting against his leg. The Rockies were below them now, unseen giants in the dark. Soon, they’d descend into her world, into the crisp Utah air. And soon after dawn, he’d ask the only question that truly mattered. Until then, he’d hold the image of her future smile close, a beacon guiding him through the final hours of waiting. His thumb rubbed a slow circle over the fabric of his pocket, tracing the outline of the small, velvet box beneath. Almost there.
The jet touched down in Salt Lake City with a soft thump, tires screeching against tarmac under the vast, star-flecked Utah sky. Cool, dry mountain air flooded the cabin as the door opened, carrying the sharp scent of sagebrush and jet fuel. Whitney stretched, her joints cracking after the flight, her smile tired but genuine as she glanced at Joe beside her. "Welcome to my world," she murmured, squeezing his hand. "Prepare for wide-open spaces and zero traffic...eventually."
The rented Suburban swallowed their luggage whole, Liv navigating the GPS while Joe carefully maneuvered his braced foot into the passenger seat. The five-hour drive south unfolded through a landscape Whitney knew by heart – ochre cliffs giving way to high desert plateaus, skeletal juniper trees clinging to red earth, the sky stretching impossibly wide and blue. Joe winced subtly adjusting his brace against the dashboard. "Feeling the miles?" Whitney asked softly, her hand resting on his thigh. He nodded, rubbing his stiff toe through the brace. "Worth it," he said, gaze fixed on the distant, hazy outline of the Paunsaugunt Plateau. "Already feels different out here."
The Best Western Plus Bryce Canyon Grand rose like a sandstone mirage against the pine-studded hills. Nostalgia washed over Whitney as they pulled in – the familiar rustic lobby smell of pine cleaner and coffee, the towering fireplace she’d stoked countless winter mornings. Her mom, Krisette, stood waiting just inside the glass doors, her wave frantic, eyes instantly bright. "Baby!" she called out, pulling Whitney into a fierce hug scented with vanilla and woodsmoke. "Oh, and Joe!" Krisette enveloped him next, her warmth palpable. "Look at you! Welcome, welcome!" Liv received a slightly more reserved but equally warm greeting. "So lovely to finally meet you, Liv. Whitney talks about you constantly."
Liv flashed her professional smile, already thumbing her phone. "Likewise, Krisette. Thank you for having me. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a mountain of emails threatening to avalanche." She hefted her sleek carry-on. "Jet lag and contracts wait for no woman. See you all at dinner?" She headed for the elevators, leaving Whitney beaming beside her mom.
"Right," Krisette clapped her hands, eyes sparkling. "You two drop your bags upstairs – you’re in the South Tower, Whit, room 214, – then meet me at Ruby’s." She winked at Joe. "Time for you to meet the real welcoming committee."
Ruby’s Inn buzzed with the low hum of tourists and the clatter of plates. Across the crowded dining room, Whitney spotted them instantly: Irina, her mom’s best friend since high school, waving wildly, and beside her, a small dynamo with bouncing blonde curls. "Winnie!" The shriek cut through the noise. Caitlyn, her five-year-old niece, launched herself off the booth seat, tiny cowboy boots clattering on the floor as she barreled towards Whitney.
Whitney dropped to her knees just in time, catching the whirlwind in a hug. "Caitlyn Bug!" she laughed, burying her face in the girl’s hair, smelling sunshine and bubblegum. "Look how tall you got!" Caitlyn squeezed her neck tight. "Missed you, Winnie!" Irina approached, her smile wide and warm, enveloping Whitney next. "There’s my girl," she murmured, then turned curious, friendly eyes on Joe. "And you must be the famous quarterback."
Joe extended his hand. "Joe Burrow. Nice to meet you, Irina." His smile was easy, disarming. Caitlyn peered around Whitney’s legs, suddenly shy, pressing her face into Whitney’s sweater. "That’s Joe, Bug," Whitney whispered, smoothing her hair. "He’s a friend." Caitlyn peeked up, her big blue eyes fixed on Joe’s face. He crouched slowly, mindful of his brace, putting himself at her level. "Hey there, Caitlyn," he said softly, his voice warm and unhurried. "I’ve heard you’re an expert on Bryce Canyon. Think you could show me the best spots?"
Caitlyn studied him for a long, silent moment, her gaze serious. Then, a slow, radiant smile spread across her face. She nodded vigorously, a curl bouncing on her forehead. "I know all the spots," she declared, her shyness evaporating. She tentatively reached out and poked his arm. "You’re big." Joe chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I am." He held out his hand, palm up. "Want to show me where Winnie used to work?" Caitlyn placed her tiny hand trustingly in his. "Okay!" As he stood, carefully holding her hand, Caitlyn looked up at Whitney, her expression pure delight. "I like Joe, Winnie."
Whitney watched them, Joe listening intently as Caitlyn chattered about hoodoos, his large frame bent attentively towards the small girl. Irina slipped an arm around Whitney’s waist, leaning close. "He’s got a way with her," she murmured, her voice thick with approval. "Gentle. Kind eyes. You chose well, sweetheart." A lump formed in Whitney’s throat as she watched Joe’s genuine smile, the easy way Caitlyn now clung to his free hand. The diamond hidden in his pocket felt suddenly more real, more possible, reflected in the trusting gaze of a child and the knowing warmth of her mother’s best friend. The canyon walls outside seemed to lean closer, holding their breath for the dawn.