“Without me they are alone. There is nobody else,” I say. “My husband is dead.”
Chapter Six
Promises
Drew
I gape at Breanne who has doubled over in hysteria, holding her head in her hands. Wide-eyed with shock, I blink repeatedly. Holy shit. Her husband is dead? Damn. Well, that explains a lot…sort of. I wonder how he died and if it was recent, but I clearly can’t ask her that. I feel like I should say something but I am literally speechless.
Since meeting Breanne this morning my life has undoubtedly been turned upside down. Prior to the plane crash I went from seeing this woman as a conquest to having a connection with her that quickly grew deeper…at least for me. Since then, I have held her unconscious body in my arms twice and found it unnerving how truly painful an experience that was. I wanted nothing more than for her to be awake and ok. But, holy shit. To think that on top of all that has happened today, she’s dealing with the loss of her husband too. She’s right; I have no idea what this must be like for her.
Her disclosure leaves me reeling and I feel a gut wrenching need to console and protect her. A gust of wind sweeps by, rustling the leaves around us into small cyclones. Whether it’s the biting air settling on my sweat drenched body, or Breanne’s reality sinking in, I’m not sure, but a bone-deep chill runs through me. As if its second nature, I pull her into my lap while she continues to sob uncontrollably. I wrap my arms around her, wordlessly conveying that I’m here for her. Feeling out of my element, and knowing that whatever I do right now won’t be enough, I settle on holding her and give her time to cry it out. The timing is off but I can’t ignore how perfectly she fits in my arms.
As I sit with her balled up in my lap, I try to think back to our conversation earlier today. I remember thinking that while we spoke on the plane there were times when her emotions didn’t match her expression. Like she was conflicted and her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. I couldn’t figure it out at the time, and I was actually starting to think she was considering cheating on her husband. But now I’m sure it must have been grief. Hmm, grief. This is something I unfortunately know about, though on a different scale.
My sister’s death has really been hard to deal with, but it can’t be the same as losing a spouse. To be a single parent…no, a widower with children, I can’t imagine. After losing my sister recently, my parents will be distraught by the news of the crash; they know I was on the plane. But, at least they will have each other. Breanne’s circumstances are completely the opposite. As soon as the media knows there has been a plane crash, I’m sure her kids will know. They will think she’s dead and that they are all alone.
Without thinking I squeeze her tighter. Shit, she must have other family… she has to. But what if she doesn’t? I inwardly consider this with a heavy, sinking feeling settling in my chest. Before I had this information my primary objective was to get somewhere safe and find out what happened and why. Now, I want to take away her pain.
“Hey,” I whisper. “You’re right. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But I am going to do everything I can to get you home to your kids. I promise.”
Sniffling, she lifts her head a fraction and I see the corners of her mouth slightly turn up, her lips pressed together and trembling. Her eyes are red and slightly swollen from the constant stream being released. She looks tired and vacant. She mouths the words thank you to me before curling back into a ball while her tears persist.
Resting my head against the rocky wall at my back, I again think back to our exchange on the plane and wonder how this topic didn’t come up. I know I asked her about her husband. I replay those first few hours of conversation and the questions I asked. How did they meet? How long had they been married? I guess most of my questions had been past tense. But I did ask other questions that were intended to be taken as present tense. How else would she have answered these questions, I guess? How would I have answered? I suppose I could have told her about my sister when she asked why I was going to California. I had told her I had business to take care of, which in a sense I do.
I shake my head. I have to laugh a little at myself for thinking a woman I have known for a few hours should have told me more about her personal situation, or that I could have somehow pieced it all together. Especially when I was coming on to her pretty strong. Shit. I feel like such an ass. She must think I’m such a jerk. Maybe I missed an important part of the conversation while I was mentally picturing being between her legs. Or maybe it was when I thought horrible things about her dead husband. I am such a dickhead. I immediately promise to God or whoever to be on my best behavior from here on out. No more hitting on her. No trying to get in her pants. After what she’s been through she deserves better…though I’m not sure how to contain my attraction to her. This will severely limit our conversation. Keep it to the basics, I tell myself.
Her breathing has slowed to long, rhythmic inhales and exhales. I drop my head to the side to get a look at her. She’s fallen asleep, and for a moment I watch her. Her face looks peaceful and her body is relaxed aside from the tight hold she has on the pendant of her necklace, something I’ve noticed she holds a lot. Given her concussion I’m conflicted about her sleeping but decide it’s probably best to let her rest a little. I could watch her sleep for hours if I got to hold her. Maybe I have a concussion.
Glancing at my watch I’m amazed that it’s only 11:19AM. It feels like a week has passed since I left Boston. I turn on my cell phone again hoping like hell that any of those five little bars will appear. No such luck, there is no reception. I look around at the sea of trees hovering above and sigh again. Did I really think there would be a cell tower in the middle of the forest? That would have been far too convenient.
This still doesn’t seem real. We need to get back. I want to know what happened and why. Who the hell would take down a plane full of innocent people? Why would they kill passengers before the plane even went down? What even killed them? And what was up with the field and what was the drilling noise I heard?
I think about the gunmen. They sounded American and formal, like they were in the military. Could there really be homegrown terrorists who were responsible for this? I can’t think of what they would have to gain. And the pilot; was he part of this? Who knows, but if I’m going to attempt to piece any of this together, I need to wake her up. More importantly, we need to make a plan. She’s only been out for maybe ten minutes or so but that’s better than nothing.
“Breanne, you need to wake up,” I call to her gently. She really is beautiful.
There’s no indication that she’s awake so I lower my head so that my nose is against her temple and my mouth beside her ear. “Hey, sleepy head,” I say, nudging her with my nose and gently kiss her as if it’s second nature. Ignoring my instincts with her is going to be hell. “We need to figure out a plan. You have to wake up now.”
This causes her to stir and as she stretches, her face presses against mine. The smell of her now dry hair is intoxicating and the warmth of her cheek against mine causes a warm quivering to travel through my body. Selfishly, I take a moment to enjoy this sensation and then quickly set her on the ground beside me, acknowledging that this is not the time or place. There’s just something about her that makes it possible to push this horrific situation from my thoughts. And while I don’t have a ton of experience in the romance department, I have enough common sense to know that it would be a gross misuse of the position we are in if I tried anything.
Just as she lifts her head I hear a helicopter pass overhead and my heart starts racing. I look at my watch and am surprised that we haven’t heard any sirens or any other indication that anyone knows about the crash. That can’t be true. Maybe we just didn’t hear anything over the sound of our hearts racing, our thoughts, or just running. Maybe she did hear something I missed and hasn’t told me yet. Turning my attention to her I watch her expression closely as she looks in the direction of the passing helicopter. She looks pe
rplexed.
“Did you hear sirens or other helicopters before now? Anything to indicate help was coming?” I inquire.
She shakes her head no but is clearly lost in the thought, maybe still thinking thoughts about her family. Somehow, I need to get her to focus so we can make a plan. Shifting slowly, I crouch in front of her and tip her chin up with my finger so it’s clear to her that I need her attention. She raises her gaze and focuses on my eyes. Despite what she might be feeling, I can tell she’s a fighter, and right now that is what I need.
“Listen, I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’re going through.” Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m going through…or what I’m trying to say, for that matter. “You have every right to cry and freak out. This is a shitty situation on top of the shitty hand you’ve already been dealt.” I take a deep breath and try to get my thoughts together. Please don’t cry or freak out again.
“I’m not going to tell you to push it to the side. I know you want to get back to your kids and I want to help you do that. I want to be able to tell my family that I’m alive too.” Maybe if she thinks that I need her she’ll come around quicker. “If we’re going to have any hope of getting home I need you to help me.” I pause to make sure she’s following the conversation. She nods so I continue.
“Whoever did this didn’t think there would be any survivors.” Get her focused back on the present. We survived for a reason and she needs to fight to get back to her kids. “We are the only ones who know what happened and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let them silence us. We need to forget about how fucked up this is and get moving.”
She clears her throat and nods her head as she wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her suit jacket. She takes a few cleansing breaths and starts to resemble the woman I met a few hours ago. “Ok,” she mutters. “What should we do?”
I stand to get a better view of where we are. The middle of fucking nowhere, I think to myself as I visually comb the landscape. I see nothing but trees. Out of the corner of my eye I see her try to stand and turn in time to catch her by her arms as she stumbles. She grabs hold of my arms and slowly rises.
“Are you ok?” I ask, knowing full well that she isn’t, but not sure what else to say.
“I still feel a little light headed,” she groans as she cautiously straightens.
Stepping closer I grasp her head in my hands to get a better look at her head wound. “The gash on your forehead is still bleeding a little but it’s starting to clot. I’m sure the running hasn’t helped.”
Half of me wants to kick myself for not noticing how out of it she was, while the other half, the logical half, knows we had to get out there. She raises her hand to touch it but I grab her hand, stopping her mid-motion.
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you. We don’t have anything to clean it with. I don’t know how long it’ll be before we can see a doctor or find anyone else for that matter so try not to touch it for now,” I instruct her. “Can you stand on your own?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says, and I slowly release her.
She has some color coming back to her face but she still looks unsteady. My stomach growls and I recall it’s close to noon. I can’t remember but I don’t think I’ve eaten anything yet today.
“Are you hungry? Maybe we should eat something before going further,” I suggest trying to remember what food she grabbed from the plane.
Shakily, she kneels down next to her purse and opens it. It’s average size and typically I don’t get why women need them but it has come in handy today. She pulls out the bags of food we stuffed in there earlier and I count them, mentally assessing what we have and how long it will last. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven; we have seven bags of food. Or should I say seven small bags containing about ten chips each. It’s mostly chips and one bag each of cookies and peanuts. She pulls out a handful of bottled water and one soda, the blanket and then my crumpled up red jersey.
“That’s it. That’s all I grabbed from the plane,” she admits, sounding disappointed.
“You did great. All I got was the blanket,” I say in encouragement.
“And me,” she adds, with gratitude so hushed that it is barely audible.
“Don’t thank me for anything yet. We are still in the middle of nowhere and probably still in danger.” I’m struck by how saying these words out loud has heightened my fear, and I glance around and lower my voice.
She mirrors my actions, scanning the woods, and I watch the color that has just returned drain from her face. Dropping to my knees next to her, I place one hand on her shoulder and gently squeeze. Breanne releases an anxious sigh and focuses on the food laid out before us on the blanket of leaves.
“Ok. So we have enough food to last us a couple of meals or so if we ration ourselves.”
She momentarily pauses then jerks her head up as her eyes rapidly search mine, probably hoping that I’ll tell her we won’t be out here that long. I wish I could but it seems unlikely. Not leaving her gaze, I think back to those last seconds before the crash and remember I saw the map around the time she was knocked unconscious.
“Before the plane went down I got a look at the map showing our current location along the planes route. It was switching between the map and the live view. I didn’t see exactly where we are but I think we are somewhere in Ohio,” I recall.
I lean forward to pick up a bag of the cookies and hand it to her. “You should eat this. The sugar and carbs might help with the dizziness,” I explain.
She takes the bag and offers me some after eating a few. I politely refuse and tell her I’ll have some of the chips. She shrugs and continues eating but I can tell she’s deep in thought.
“All I can remember seeing even before the pilot announced trouble and the masks fell was forest. Miles and miles of forest,” she describes.
I visualize the forest that I also saw and recall another detail.
“I remember watching the live video feed as the plane was going down. It looked like we were landing on a road, but it wasn’t wide enough to be a road. When I looked out of the plane window I noticed it didn’t lead anywhere. The area was about twice as long as the plane and a few yards wider. It looked like it was dug up on purpose,” I say recalling the site. “I had hoped the pilot had used it to land on and bring us to safety, but when he took off with his briefcase without a word only to be shot it should have been clear to me then that he was in on the plan.”
I snort in disgust. I had actually thought he was just in shock and felt bad for the guy. Now, however, I hope the asshole burns in hell for whatever part he had.
Breanne narrows her eyes and bites her lip as she considers this. “So this was obviously done intentionally,” she states like saying it out loud will help her come to terms with the fact. “I mean, gunmen don’t randomly show up at crash sites or shoot people who are trying to escape to safety.”
She eats another cookie and stands. While she paces I watch her intently as the wheels of her mind turn. “They must have planned for the plane to go down at that exact location. But why? Why here?” she asks, extending her arms out at her sides. “Why would they dig up the ground?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe they wanted it to look like impact. Maybe it was so the pilot had a visual for landing,” I say, but I have no idea why anyone would do that.
“What happened after I was knocked out?” she probes.
I pick up a few rocks, wind up as if I’m on the pitcher’s mound and fire them off in rapid succession, hitting my target perfectly each time. I am so pissed. I roll my neck from side to side as I recap as much detail as I can remember, my body tensing at the memory. I tell her how moments after we landed I looked at her, only to see her slumped, motionless and bleeding from the head. The relief I felt when I found her pulse is evident in my voice even now as I recall the scene. I tell her how the pilot, dripping with sweat, looked at me before making a run for it, all the while holding a briefcase that was taken into the possessi
on of the gunmen after he was shot. Just the thought of him causes my blood to boil and it takes Breanne calling my name a few times to break me from my mental brooding. I shake my head to refocus as she patiently waits for more information.
Curveball Page 9
