Chapter 3

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"I'm not sure I understand, sir." The airline representative's voice was somehow both nasal and tinny, and Seth was fairly certain he was going to throw his phone against the wall soon, but that would just add to his list of problems.

"I want to change my flight," he repeated for what felt like the tenth time. It probably was. Between being on hold, explaining his issue to three different people, and being bounced to several different departments, it seemed like he had been having the same conversation for an hour. His match had been first and his promos for the night were done, so he didn't have to worry about being late for a segment, but he did want to track Becky down before she left.

"I understand that, sir. But from what I can tell," the agent continued, "you already have the most optimized flight plan available. Everything else has more connections and layovers."

Seth pinched the bridge of his nose and hissed out a breath. "And I understand that. But I want to connect in Los Angeles. What are my options?" Before the agent could speak again, Seth took a folded piece of paper from his jeans pocket and squinted to read the numbers there. "I'd prefer Flight 927 if possible." Then he read off the section Becky was sitting in, leaving out the seat number; if he gave too much information, the agent might think he was a stalker or something. "I have friends in that section and would like to be seated near them if at all possible." When he could finally get off the phone, he was going to swear a blue streak. Ever since the last California leg, he and Becky had only hooked up a couple times and it was making him antsy.

"Let me look into that for you, sir. One moment, please." Thankfully the agent didn't transfer him to the horrible canned music; even the rapid click-clacking of the keyboard was better than listening to perfectly good songs from the 1970s being butchered. "Are you sure that's the flight you want, sir? If you're trying to get back to Davenport, there wouldn't be a flight from Los Angeles until next afternoon at the earliest. Your current flight truly is the best opt—"

"Is there space on 927?" Seth interjected. He didn't want to sit in economy, but if there was anything up further, he'd take it just to be finished with the agonizing back and forth.

"I—well, yes, sir." For the first time in the conversation, the agent's professional demeanour was starting to waver. "And in your preferred section, but I really should reinforce that your current fli—"

Thank fuck. He was finally getting somewhere. "Good. Thank you. Which seats are available?"

As the agent listed off some numbers, Seth was grateful that he had spent so much of his WWE career on planes: it gave him a decent idea of the general layout and seating plans. If he was right, Becky had a window seat. When the agent read off one that sounded like it would be across the aisle, he almost jumped on that one, but then she read off another one. "Is that an aisle seat?" he asked. The seat number was one off Becky's.

"Yes, sir. There are no window seats left on that flight, I'm afraid." The agent sounded incredibly relieved and Seth had no doubt she would be just as glad as he was when the call was completed.

"That one, please, and then the afternoon flight you mentioned. The payment information is the same." At that point, he didn't care about penalty fees or paying more; he just wanted to be done. "The ticket will be at the desk?"

"Yes, sir." The agent gamely read off the total, which Seth barely acknowledged. "Is there anything else I can help you with today, sir?"

"No, that's everything. Thank you." Disconnecteng before the agent could launch into the Thank you for choosing us spiel, Seth headed to the locker room to grab his bag. Halfway there, he realized he would need to arrange a rental car in Los Angeles as well, but he shrugged that off. The important thing was that he changed the flight. Now he just needed to get his bag and find Becky.

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