Carry Your Heart Read Online Free PDF

insane and irrational reason. And, even though the Denver Airport is the country’s central hub for traveling skiers and snowboarders, they think every ski bag is full of machine guns.
    In other words, it’s no place to seem nervous or emotional. I bite my lip and head to the JetBlue counter, check my bags and get my boarding pass.
    One hurdle down and one to go. I cast a wary eye at the security line. It’s short—on a Monday afternoon, there aren’t many travelers—but the woman who appears to be in charge reminds me of a bulldog: defensive, fierce and ready for a fight.
    She seems to run a tight ship, sending a hunched-over woman in her seventies after a young-looking snowboarder to the partitioned-off area for further screening.
    I hand her my boarding pass, and start fumbling around for my ID. I never get through security unscathed, but, like a clueless idiot, I always believe if I just smile wide enough, they’ll wave me through.
    Today is the day it works. Just smile. Smiling is the secret to life. Just ask Miss America.
    I hate Miss America. There’s no way you don’t make something beep.
    Smile anyways.
    No.
    Shut the fuck up and smile.
    “Hayyy,” I say like the drunkest idiot at a frat party, and then I flash her a toothy smile. Probably look like a shark on acid, but it’s still a smile.
    She glowers. “Philippa Baker?”
    “Yup,” I hand her my driver’s license.
    “Going to Salt Lake City?”
    “That’s right.”
    She arches an eyebrow, like I’m not going to Salt Lake City at all and my name isn’t Phillipa Baker either, and I’m a threat.
    She motions roughly with one arm to a security line.
    Shoes off. Laptop out. Coat in the bin. Really, you forgot to wear socks? Okay. Go with it. It’s fine. I’m sure the floor’s clean. Okay, now breathe and walk.
    For half a second, I think I’m home free, but the metal detector senses something it doesn’t like and goes off.
    I sigh, feeling my wrists for bracelets and my ears for earrings and my jeans for change.
    No dice.
    There’s no metal on me.
    I fail round 2 with the metal detector. Must be something in my bones, or my bloodstream, or my brain.
    “Is there anything else you can take off?”
    My clothes? Not fucking happening, dude.
    “No, I—I really don’t know what’s going on. I don’t have any metal on me.”
    “Ma’am, will you come with us?”
    I sigh heavily and turn to follow her into a small section of the airport that’s mostly partitioned off.
    A tall twenty-something guy is resting his hands on the counter with his back facing me. He’s a real piece of work, obnoxiously lecturing a bored-looking TSA agent. “There is no fucking way I’m letting you toss my board into the bottom of an airplane. You know how many times I’ve lost my snowboard? Zero. You know how many times JetBlue has? Four. Four fucking times. How is that level of incompetence even possible?”
    “Sir, I understand you’re frustration, but you need to check the bag. Or else you can have it shipped to the destination…”
    “Why can’t I carry it on? Look, it’s perfectly safe—I’m perfectly safe. I’m a normal person just trying to get his snowboard…”
    “Mr. Dawson, it’s against security regulations. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we can’t accommodate your request.”
    “Fine. That’s fine. I’ll drive then.”
    “Sir, you’ve checked a bag already. We’d have to unload the plane in order to do that.”
    He sighs.
    “I promise you—I will personally see to it that this board gets on the airplane.”
    He snorts. “Fine. Whatever. Check it.”
    Snowboarders can be real assholes. So can everyone, but there’s something about the way snowboarders pull it off that exacerbates the effect.
    “We’ll be very careful with it, Mr. Dawson.”
    He turns around and I get a good look at the douchebag.
    Okay. He’s unexpectedly cute. Unexpectedly gorgeous, if I’m really being honest. Long-lashes, green eyes, soft, dark hair