by KB Winters
I rolled my eyes as she wrapped me in a gentle embrace. “Lana, it’s okay. Relax.”
She shuddered as her sobs poured out and I pat her back. When she finally pulled away, she took a few steps back and sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry…I just…” She didn’t finish her thought before dissolving into tears again. Holly—still looking confused—ran around to comfort her.
“How are things up at the museum?” I asked, looking at Jack, as Lana clearly wasn’t going to answer—her wails only getting louder.
Jack tore his questioning gaze from Lana and Holly and leveled his eyes with mine. “There are some agents from the Federal Aviation Administration up at the museum, asking questions, looking around,” he answered, lines of worry creasing around his eyes.
I groaned and dropped my head back on the pile of pillows behind me. “That’s just great. I’m sure all my staff will love being interrogated by the FAA. They weren’t even there when it happened!”
“I know. I’m not sure how much info they’re gonna get, but you know the drill, they have to ask their questions, get the scope of the situation. You know, just doing their job.”
Just what I needed. I couldn’t wait to get back to a mountain of government paperwork and red tape.
I’d be lucky if they didn’t shut me down until the investigation was over.
“I’m sure they’ll be over to interview you soon enough,” Jack added.
Lana blew her nose as loud as a cannon going off and jerked everyone’s attention back to her. “Mr. Rosen, I’m so glad you’re all right. When I heard about the crash, I—I thought—” she buried her face into Holly’s shoulder before she could continue.
I rolled my eyes. It was no secret that Lana had harbored a long-term crush on me, but even considering that her reaction was over the top.
“I don’t know what I’ll tell them…I wasn’t exactly doing things…” I glanced at Lana. “…by the books.”
Jack shot me a dark look. I’d just confirmed his suspicion.
“Holly, can you take Lana back to the museum?” Holly nodded and started to extract herself from Lana’s clinging hands. “Lana,” I barked, hoping to snap her out of whatever she was so worked up over, “—I need you to be strong, okay? We can’t have this affecting business. Keep the FAA people away from the visitors. Make sure the staff is all friendly and happy. Let them know I’m okay. No stress. No tears. Business as usual. That’s the only way we’re going to make it through this. We have to keep confidence high and keep on trucking. Got it?”
She nodded, her face pink and swollen. “Of course.”
“Thank you.”
Holly took her by the shoulders and steered her out of the room. Jack shut the door behind them and pocketed his hands, planting his feet wide, at the end of my bed. “Okay, flyboy, what is it you’re not telling me?”
I raked my uninjured hand through my dark hair. “It’s nothing, it’s a little…complicated.”
He rounded the foot of the bed, sat down on the chair beside me and said, “I’m all ears.”
As I started telling him the whole story, starting from the charity auction where I’d beat O’Keefe out of the F-4 jet, the resulting brawl in the parking lot, and meeting Talia at the club that night, he just listened. I rattled off the facts in a bullet point fashion, the offer O’Keefe made me, his attempted blackmailing, and then Talia coming to me the night of the crash, telling me she’d been threatened and was scared for her life. When I got to the part about the friend who could smuggle things in and out of Mexico, Jack sighed, his only reaction to the entire story.
“God, that’s pretty fucked up, Player.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. And now…Talia is dead. The plane is history. And it’s all my fault,” my voice was hollow and emotionless.
“It’s not your fault. Don’t put yourself through that.”
I scoffed. “I was the pilot. I should have caught the problem before the wheels even left the ground. And if I couldn’t have caught that problem ahead of time—I should have had the sense to land—well, crash—in a way that we both walked away. I mean, for fuck’s sake, we were hardly off the ground! Talia should still be here.”
Jack shook his head. “Buddy, you’re gonna have to let that go. That kind of guilt will only eat you alive. Pilots—even good ones—have situations that are out of their control. I get that you’re messed up over this. I get it. Trust me. But I’d hate to see you let this freak accident destroy your career.”
“I don’t know if I’m gonna have much of a choice. The FAA could take away my license.”
Jack leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He nodded, “They could, but I don’t think they will. They’ll look over the plane and figure out what went wrong. It’s not like you were drunk or high. I don’t see how the blame could be on you.”
I didn’t answer. In my mind, the blame lay on my shoulders, and there wasn’t anything Jack—or anyone else—could say to take it away.
The following day dawned earlier than I would have liked, with a visit from Gemma.
“Aaron, there’s some people here to see you,” she said, stepping into the room. “They say they’re with the FAA.”
I groaned. “Can you get rid of them? I’m not ready to go over everything yet.”
Gemma considered me for a minute, then nodded. She pivoted on her heel and left the room without another word. I sank back against the mountain of pillows—each nurse that came into my room had brought another one—and shut my eyes.
A part of my brain knew it would be better to talk to them, give my statement, and let them get on with their investigation. I wasn’t doing myself any favors by shutting them out. It would only prolong the waiting period. But the other part of my mind wasn’t ready to face the truth I knew they were bound to uncover.
I’d been the pilot in a fatal plane crash. I didn’t see how that could end well for me. Especially if they found out that I was helping smuggle someone into Mexico with a fake passport. The whole thing sounded insane, ridiculous and terribly illegal.
“Okay, I think you’re in the clear for now,” I looked back up at Gemma’s smooth, confident tone. She floated into the room, her white coat billowing behind her. “Has Dr. Andrews been in this morning?”
I shook my head and closed my eyes again, content to let her voice roll over me.
“Hmm. Okay. Well, let’s see how things are going.”
I let her work, answered her questions, and when she was done, I opened my eyes again and was surprised to find her standing over me, a puzzled look on her face. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” she brushed a lock of her brunette hair behind her ear. “Is there anything you need?”
I started to shake my head, but then stopped and rolled my gaze back to her. “Can I have coffee?”
She smiled. “Sure. I think that would be all right.”
“I’d offer to be a gentleman and go get us a couple of cups, but, you know,” I dropped my eyes to my side that was still sore and bruised, making anything longer than the walk to the latrine impossible.
Gemma laughed. “I’ll go see what I can find.”
She returned a few minutes later, a Styrofoam cup in each hand. She handed me one and then dragged the plastic chair at the foot of my bed up to the head of the bed and sat down. I took my first sip of the steaming beverage and groaned. “Oh my God, that’s good.”
Gemma leaned in conspiratorially. “Nurse’s lounge always has the good stuff.”
I laughed and took another long sip. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” She leaned back and took a drink off her own cup. “So, can I ask, how you’re doing with everything?”
I found her eyes and couldn’t bring myself to feed her the line I’d given everyone else. Her steady gaze silently demanded the truth. “Honestly? I feel like shit.”
She nodded. “Was the woman in the crash your…girlfriend?”
I shook my head. “No. Just a friend. We hadn
’t really known each other that long. I was helping her get out of town for a little while.” Gemma tilted her head but didn’t ask whatever question was brewing in her mind. “It was the first time—outside of war—that I’ve seen someone die.”
“Navy, right?”
I nodded. “Not anymore, obviously, but yeah. I was a fighter pilot. Just like Boomer.”
“Boomer?”
“Jack McGuire.”
“Oh! Right. I don’t know why I didn’t make that connection. So you were a fighter pilot, and now you run the museum?”
“Actually, I own it. It was my father’s business. He started it after his own Navy career ended. He passed away a little over two years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” Gemma placed a hand on the top of my fingers that stuck out from the hard cast around my broken wrist. Her touch was soft, almost like a tickle, and yet, it sent warmth all over my body.
“Thanks. Uhm…when he passed, Boomer and I were overseas. I flew home, buried my father, took over the museum, and moved into his house. Kinda took over his life, I guess.”
“I think that’s really admirable.” Gemma kept her hand on mine. “I can relate actually. My old man was Army, and so I followed his steps too. Well, kind of. I spent four years as a trauma nurse with an aviation unit. I did two tours in Iraq before I got out. Spent a year after that in an ER up in Chicago.”
“Wow. Impressive. How’d you get from Chicago to Holiday Cove?” I asked with a laugh. I couldn’t think of two more opposite cities.
“To be honest, I finally figured out that while I thrive under the pressure and chaos, it was taking more out of me than I was willing to give. At least, long term.”
“Makes sense.”
“What about you? Do you miss being in the Navy?”
“Yes and no. I miss my buddies. That feeling of belonging is hard to replicate. Or at least that’s been my experience. When Jack lived at the base, about an hour from here, it was a little easier. But now, he and Holly, his girlfriend, live in Germany for another two and a half years. They promise they’ll come back and stay in California after that, but who knows. People change their minds on stuff like that all the time.” I paused and shrugged at her. “But it’s all good. The museum keeps me working like a dog, so I usually don’t have enough downtime to get too bored.”
I left out the part about how I usually spent all my free time…in between a different pair of thighs every other night. And hers were looking pretty tasty.
“I haven’t been up to check it out yet,” Gemma confessed. “I’ll have to remedy that soon. Maybe you can take me up, when you’re all healed up,” she said, pointing at my wrist.
My chest tightened at her suggestion.
Gemma must have noticed my dark expression because she quickly added, “I know that right now you’re probably thinking you’ll never fly again. But, from experience, I’m sure you will.”
“Yeah.” I dropped my attention to the swirling contents of my cup.
Gemma patted the back of my hand. “I see it all the time with people involved in traumatic car crashes. They get out of here, and the last thing they want to do is get behind the wheel. I mean, sure, there are probably some that’ll never do again. But I think that’s a small percentage. Most of them drive again once they get over that initial fear.”
“Yeah? Well how many of them killed someone in their car crash?” The sharpness in my tone startled me as it echoed back.
Gemma wasn’t fazed. “More than you’d think.”
“Well, they’re different than me.”
She didn’t argue, but she stood from her seat beside my bed. “You’re right, they are different. I have to go make my rounds. Call if you need anything, okay?”
“When can I get out of here?” I growled at her retreating form.
“Probably another twenty-four hours.”
I grunted my acknowledgment and she disappeared from the room, leaving me to stew in my self-loathing.
16
“Aaron! Help!” Talia’s screams wailed through the space between our seats like an air raid alarm. “Aaron!”
I jerked my head to look at her and my stomach plummeted at the panic in her dark eyes. She clawed her hands up my arm, clinging for a handhold, but just as she latched on, the side of the plane hit the bluff and split open and she was sucked right from her seat, falling into the dark night.
Her screams echoed through my mind.
“Aaron!”
The voice changed. It sounded far away now. And…softer.
“Aaron.”
A bright light flashed and I jolted awake. My eyes squeezed closed until the light faded.
“What the fuck!”
“Sorry.”
It was Gemma.
I opened my eyes again, this time finding the room around me softly lit with only the light from the bedside lamp on the wall. “Where am I?”
The answer came back to me before Gemma could explain. My head throbbed and my body was slick with sweat. I hadn’t been able to shower since the crash and I’d never felt grimier in my life. And that included the months overseas in the desert.
“Are you okay? Your heart rate and spiked and triggered the alarm on your monitor,” Gemma explained, her eyes studying the numbers on the screens for a moment longer, before dropping back to meet mine.
I sucked in a deep breath, willing things to stabilize. “I’m okay. I was dreaming. Well…nightmaring…to be more accurate.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I pinched my eyes closed. “Can I get some aspirin or something? My head’s killing me.”
“Yes. I can get you something.”
Gemma’s footsteps faded from the room and I got myself back under control in her brief absence. The dream had been so real and vivid. The only other time I’d had a dream that clear had been after I’d witnessed a street market bombing overseas. A suicide bomber had detonated his vest in the middle of a busy market. I hadn’t even been on the ground. I’d watched the whole thing from the feed a drone was providing over the site. But even then…it had stuck with me as though I’d been standing among the bodies and rubble. It had taken months to stop those terrors from coming for me at night.
“Here you go. “I opened my eyes to find Gemma holding out a couple of small, white pills. “It’s ibuprofen+. They won’t interact with anything else you’re taking.”
I nodded my thanks and took them with the small paper cup of water she held out in her other hand.
“You want to talk about it?” Gemma asked, sitting beside me.
“Not really.”
She nodded and folded her hands in her lap. “What do you want to talk about?”
I sighed. “I have no idea. You got any cracking ideas?”
Gemma smiled. “I think I’ve been brain dead for the last two hours.”
“That’s comforting,” I said, an edge of teasing in my voice.
She laughed softly. “It’s been a crazy day. Or, at least, crazier than most of the ones I’ve seen here.”
“Fair enough. I’ve got a question.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you live here in the hospital?” I asked.
She laughed softly. “Sometimes it feels like it. I’m actually off duty. I was using the gym.” At her comment, I looked over and realized that she wasn't wearing her scrubs with the white coat that she'd been wearing every other time she’d visited my room.
Instead, she was wearing a pair of tight black shorts, a white tank top, and a black athletic jacket, with long sleeves held over her hands with loops on each thumb. Before I could stop myself, my eyes roved down her shapely thighs, and I wondered how the hell I’d missed the fact that she was practically half-naked sitting beside me on the bed.
"Feeling better?" she asked, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she watched my wandering gaze slide back up her thighs.
"Much," I replied, feeling more myself since the crash.
"You kno
w, I'm not sure that ogling my legs is really an official therapy, but hey, whatever works.”
I laughed, her joke in stark contrast to all the other interactions we'd had so far. Gemma had always been polite and very attentive, but I hadn't picked up on the lighter side of her personality up until that point. And definitely not any flirtation.
Unlike several of the other nurses, who had paraded in and out of my room like it had a revolving door. There were two nurses in particular who’d made it their point to check on me—at least during my waking hours—every half an hour. They always came in as a pair and judging by some of their comments, I'd concluded that they did other things in a pair as well—and that was fine by me.
"Well, thanks for bringing them by,” I replied, holding her gaze with a raised eyebrow wondering when she’d break away. She didn’t. “Speaking of, what are you doing still hanging around if you’re off duty? You just had to see me one more time before leaving for the night, huh?"
Gemma rolled her eyes. "A decision I'm starting to regret."
“Now, now. That's cold, baby," I tossed back, grinning wider. "In all seriousness though, I appreciate you taking such good care of me."
Gemma nodded, and I waited, expecting her to call our time to a close. "Actually, there was something I wanted to tell you.”
“Shoot.”
“I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for before."
My eyebrows raised, not understanding what she was talking about. I’d only seen her once that morning when we’d shared the coffee. After that, the other nurses had been the ones to check in on me.
"For what I said about you flying again. I shouldn't have pushed you so hard.” She dropped her eyes to stare at her hands, twisting a silver ring on her middle finger. “Everyone processes traumatic events at their own pace and it's not my place to force my opinions on you like some kind of therapist. I was out of line and I want you to know I'm sorry. You've gone through something I can't even imagine and instead of letting you work through it, I tried to shove you ahead.”
