The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 187

"It's going to bring us luck."

*

Meanwhile, tens of thousands of feet above that tiny tent, lost in the churning clouds.

The small helicopter was being tossed around like a leaf in a washing machine.

Inside the cabin, the seatbelts dug brutally into Wyatt's shoulders. He was thrown violently to the left, then violently to the right, his head cracking hard against the window frame before he could even register the pain.

"We're dead, we're dead, we're dead—" he chanted, his knuckles turning stark white as he maintained a death grip on the armrests. "We're going down!"

Garrison grabbed Wyatt's arm to steady him. Just then, Cassandra's voice crackled through the intercom.

"Please ensure your seatbelts are securely fastened. We are currently passing through a severe storm cell. This is a common occurrence over the Antarctic continent. Do not panic. I will get us through safely."

Garrison exhaled a quiet breath of relief. He leaned over and yanked Wyatt's shoulder strap one notch tighter.

"Heh. A hardened MPD Captain, and you're reduced to this?" Garrison smirked.

Wyatt stiffened his neck, his face flushing bright red. "Who's scared?! This is—this is tactical vigilance! I've seen action, alright? I've survived shootouts—"

The helicopter suddenly plummeted into an air pocket. Wyatt's sentence twisted into a sharp, undignified yelp before he aggressively swallowed it down.

Garrison pulled a piece of chocolate from his pocket and offered it over. "Eat this."

Wyatt glared at it and turned his head away. "Why would I want chocolate? My blood sugar is fine."

"It's not for your blood sugar. It's to prevent—"

"I don't need it," Wyatt cut him off stubbornly.

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