by Vicki Tharp
Alby whooped and high-fived Santos. Boomer hugged Sidney and Pepita. Dale held Lottie as tears streamed down her face. Relief formed a lump in Quinn’s throat so thick he had trouble drawing air.
The doctor started explaining how the bullet had damaged her liver and part of her intestine, and had nicked an artery, which accounted for the long time in surgery. But Quinn let the words wash over him and focused on the bottom line—Mac and the baby had pulled through.
While everyone started celebrating, Quinn quietly slipped out the door, needing some space, some air, some perspective.
He found a dim, quiet alcove next to a supply closet a little way down the hall. Through the window into the waiting room, he watched the celebration, the tears, the relieved laughter that rang a key off pitch. He slumped against the wall, let his head fall back with a light thump, and closed his eyes. So goddamn tired.
Elation, but also an overwhelming emptiness.
The time he had left with Jenna was down to minutes from hours and days and weeks. He’d always looked forward to his deployments. Loved the challenge. The long days, the adrenaline-filled flights. Pushing his body and his mind to their limits.
But this time his heart wasn’t in it, because he’d given his heart to Jenna when he wasn’t looking, and it left the biggest, baddest hole in the center of his chest.
“Hey,” Hank said.
Quinn startled, and his eyes flew open. He hadn’t heard anyone coming. “Great news about Mac and the baby. Congratulations.”
When Hank gave him a quizzical look, Quinn added, “On being a father.”
“I’m forty-two,” Hank said, with a candor he’d never shared with Quinn before. “I’m not quite sure how I’m going to manage.”
“I don’t know.” Quinn flashed a smile. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. After all, your first one turned out pretty damn good.”
Hank chuckled, then the smile wavered and slipped from his face. When he looked back up, his eyes were watery. He held out his hand and said, “I want to thank you for saving my daughter. I hope you never know how much that means to a father, but I’m thankful you were there, that you fought for her. You have my eternal gratitude.”
Emotion thickened Hank’s words, and the utter conviction with which he’d said them made Quinn’s chest tighten. It had been easier to breathe in the smoke-filled cockpit. “Well, failure wasn’t an option.”
“It’s not often that I’m wrong about a person.” Hank rested his hands on his hips, a dyspeptic look on his face, as if the admission didn’t quite sit right with his stomach. “But I was wrong about you.”
Quinn didn’t know what to say. Turned out, he didn’t need to say anything because the surgeon emerged from the waiting room and Hank dashed after him. “Take me to my wife.”
The surgeon stopped and turned. “I’ll have a nurse come for you once she’s out of recovery.”
“That’s not going to cut it.” Hank didn’t yell or threaten or stand over the man or do anything that was obviously intimidating.
But the surgeon took one look at Hank and must have realized that short of calling out the SWAT team, no one was stopping Hank Nash from seeing his wife. Being an obviously brilliant man, the surgeon said, “Follow me.”
The double doors swung closed behind them. Jenna came out of the waiting room, glancing around until she spotted him.
“There you are,” she said as she walked over to him.
He held out his hand, and she stepped between his legs. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he linked his fingers behind her back and rested his forehead against hers. Their warm breath mingled, and they drew strength and comfort from each other.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked.
“I needed a minute. I—” He cupped her face. The scrape on her cheek made his stomach turn thinking about how she’d gotten it. If he’d been a fraction of a second later—Stop. Don’t go there.
He couldn’t go down that dark spiral of ifs that stole the glory from what had been. She was alive. She was safe. That was what was important. He rubbed a hand through her hair. It was stiff and stuck against her head, and nothing had ever felt better in his life. “You sure you’re okay?”
She smiled, but swiped a hand at the tears that started to fall. “I will be.”
He leaned in and kissed her cheek, tasted the salt on her skin, smelled the rain in her hair, the smoke. He moved on to the tip of her nose, the corner of her mouth. Afraid if he really kissed her, he’d never be able to let her go, when he knew at any moment—
“Lieutenant?”
Quinn grumbled in the back of his throat and tore his gaze away from Jenna. Lieutenant Sterling stood a few feet away, a cup of coffee in each hand. “One of those mine?”
She nodded. “I can give you a few more minutes. How about I meet you out at the helo pad?”
“Sure.”
Sterling continued down the hall, and all Quinn wanted to do was call her back, to tell her to forget it. That he wasn’t going. That he’d rather—
Jenna snagged her hand in the drawstring of his scrub pants, and all higher-brain function ceased firing. When he glanced down at her, her eyes glinted, full of frisky intent.
* * * *
In the alcove of the hospital, with no one around, Jenna slipped her hand to the drawstring on Quinn’s scrub pants.
“We don’t have that kind of time.” His words were low and gruff, and yet the inflection rose on the last word as if he was asking a question. He swallowed. Hard.
“What’s an extra minute here or there?” She pressed her mouth against his, and he immediately opened for her.
She traced the edge of his teeth with her tongue and explored as she eased her hand lower. She cupped his balls. He was already hard. His hand darted out but didn’t touch her. There came the click of a door latch, and before she realized what was happening, he’d tugged her into the supply closet.
It was pitch black, except for the thin slice of white that leaked in under the door. Not enough to see him, or the room. He backed her against the door, the air scented with bleach and damp mops and whatever kind of disinfectant that gave hospitals that hospital smell.
He tugged the string on her scrubs, and they fell to her ankles. She stepped out of them and pulled the string on his. He lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Then he paused, the head of his cock slick at her entrance.
“Do it,” she said, the sound more whisper than words.
He didn’t question or ask whether she was sure. He kissed her. Thank you, God. And took her. At her word. The heat, the intensity, the ecstasy filling her as much as he did. He stilled when he was deep in her. She arched against him, encouraging him to continue, craving the power, the release, the—
He broke the kiss. “Look at me.”
She huffed out a laugh. “It’s pitch black.”
“You don’t always need your eyes to see.”
Pressed up against the door, she pulled her hands from behind his head and traced his face with her fingertips. The strong, stubborn outline of his stubbled jaw—which refused to give up on finding her. The half-lidded eyes, which looked at her the way no other man ever had, like she mattered. The dimples on his cheek—which always grew bigger and made her heart tumble a beat when he smiled at her. Those lips, so firm yet so gentle. The wrinkles on his brow, the worry. For him? For her? For them?
“This isn’t a quick good-bye fuck, is it?” Jenna asked.
“No.” Simple truth. No hesitation.
“You heard me. Over the intercom?”
“Yes.” His voice cracked. “I heard you.”
Her heart slammed against her chest, a fast, erratic beat. Lucky for her, she was in a hospital. She might need medical intervention. He didn’t say anything else, his breathing hard as he held her. The silence mocking. We
ll, what did he think? She was almost afraid to ask. “And?”
“And I wish we had more time. I wish we had a bed. I wish we had more privacy. I wish I could make love to you the way I want. The way you deserve.”
Her heart cracked. Not because of what he’d said, but because of what he hadn’t. She’d said, “I love you.” No pre-crash law required him to say it back.
Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
Didn’t mean she loved him any less.
“Then let’s make the best use of the time we do have.”
* * * *
Fucking idiot.
Quinn shook his head and huffed out an incredulous laugh at himself as Lieutenant Sterling piloted them toward Miramar. Couldn’t even tell Jenna he loved her. She’d been open and honest and truthful, and he’d been a chickenshit, selfish jerk.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Oh no, buddy.” She banked to the left, leveled out, followed the California coastline south. “You sit over there brooding for four hours, not saying a word, then laugh and say, ‘It’s nothing.’ That won’t fly any better than a rotorless helo. Spill.”
It wasn’t like they’d meet again, so he might as well be truthful. “I’m an asshole. And a coward. I don’t think I like that about myself.”
“The asshole thing, as far as I’m concerned, is yet to be determined, but the coward thing?” He glanced over at her as she shook her head. “That flying you did last night, a coward wouldn’t have done it.”
He shrugged. “Has nothing to do with flying.”
She chuckled. The edges of her lips tipped up behind the mic boom in front of her mouth. “A girl, then.”
He stared out the windshield of the task force’s Sikorsky S-70. Basically, the civilian version of the army’s Blackhawk. Sans guns and missiles and armed crew. The helo was more set up for search and rescue, with medical supplies, litter, and a winch system. But it was still badass. And as he ghosted his hand over the cyclic between his legs, feeling Sterling’s minute adjustments, an interesting mix of tight control and a light touch, he said, “Isn’t it always a girl?”
“Unless it’s a boy.” She tossed him an offhand smile, but there was something in her eyes that told him that she might know more of what he was talking about than he did. “And you’re deploying.”
“Bingo.”
“And she loves you, and you…couldn’t? Wouldn’t? Refused? To say it back?”
“No point.”
She barked out a laugh, and it stung his ears. “You are a fucking asshole.”
He didn’t deny it. “I’m here. She’s there. Better this way.”
“For who?”
He didn’t have the answer for that. The anger started to build. He didn’t need a backseat relationship driver. “Drop it.”
“Suit yourself.” She was silent for a few minutes, and Quinn had started to cool off when she said, “I understand wanting to fly at the tip of the spear, but there are other ways you can contribute.”
It was his turn to laugh. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the disdain from creeping in. “By flying tourists through the Rockies or celebrities to their mountain hideouts?”
Sterling shook her head again. Probably even more convinced than previously of his fuckheadedness.
“Oh wait,” he said, his words pregnant with sarcasm, “I could be the eye in the sky during rush hour traffic. Impress the peons with my wit and colorful commentary.”
“Or you could join the task force and help us keep these drug-smuggling, gun-running, human-trafficking bastards in check.”
“Not the same,” he said. Not by a long shot.
“Then I owe you an apology.” He glanced over at her, but her focus remained on the horizon. “You were right all along. You are a coward.”
* * * *
Back from his month-long deployment for a week, Quinn sat in the pilot’s seat of his squadron’s oldest 53 after completing his preflight check. Guess his CO didn’t trust him yet with the new helo.
The extra month had bought him much-needed time to gain strength in his arm and for his skin grafts to finish healing over. He’d passed his annual the day before, and the flight surgeon had cleared him for flight. But his CO had insisted on taking him up and checking his readiness for herself. Probably to assure herself that his head was screwed on straight after surviving two helo crashes.
The sun climbed higher in the cloudless sky. Another perfect day in southern California. The interior of the helo heated, and sweat gathered along his hairline and slicked down his spine. He’d worked hard for this day for a very long time. His stomach knotted, though he wasn’t nervous about the flight. He had a decision to make about Jenna. About their lives together. He wanted to be sure that whatever he decided was for the best, for both of them.
His phone chirped. A text. He glanced toward the hangar to make sure his CO wasn’t on her way, then reached into a pocket of his flight suit and pulled out his phone. Kurt’s dog tags dropped at his feet. He bent over and picked them up, brushing a thumb over the heat-scorched rubber edges.
What he wouldn’t give to have Kurt grinning at him again from the copilot seat.
You were right all along. You are a coward.
Sterling’s words still rattled in his brain, and no matter how hard he’d tried over the last five weeks, he couldn’t shake them free. He didn’t know why. What did she know?
Flying for Uncle Sam, for the United States Marines, was what Quinn was meant to do. What he and Kurt were meant to do. If they couldn’t do it together, then Quinn would do it for the both of them. He owed Kurt that much.
His chest should have filled with pride. The way it normally did when he thought about his role. About what he did, what he was willing to sacrifice to defend his country. His chest didn’t swell. It caved in, as if his heart had shrunk and his chest had imploded with it.
His phone chirped again, and he was reminded of the incoming text. Jenna. Transport should have Kurt’s car there by the end of the day. Mac took the Harley out for a spin. She had given it to you as a gift, though. She didn’t expect you to give it back, but I think she missed it.
He replied. One vehicle is all I need, and I figured Mac 2.0 might need the bike in about sixteen years.
His phone chirped again. Good luck on your flight. xoxo.
Hugs and kisses. She didn’t give up. Didn’t press, either. She was just there. Supporting him any way she could. His parents were still distant, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a family. He had friends at the Lazy S. More importantly, he had Jenna. They were his safety net. Having them meant he didn’t have to do it all alone anymore. He knew what he had to do. He just had to pull the trigger.
The copilot door opened, and Quinn didn’t have time to answer. He scrambled to put away his phone as Lieutenant Colonel Kind climbed into the cockpit.
“Okay, Lieutenant, show me what you’ve got.”
He slipped Kurt’s dog tags back into his pocket. “Yes, ma’am.”
* * * *
At the end of the day, Quinn was back in Lieutenant Colonel Kind’s office. On the desk in front of her was the paperwork he’d requested.
“That was some nice flying. Especially for someone whose been out of training for as long as you have.”
A compliment. From his CO. Holy hell. Satan had better buy a parka, because hell would surely freeze over next.
But maybe it wasn’t a compliment. Maybe it had been the truth. He wasn’t a good pilot. He was a damn good pilot. With more time, more training, he could be the best.
And being up there today, on a beautiful SoCal day, the blue skies, the green ocean, the waves, the surf, the cyclic between his legs—the hum of the engine, the thump of the rotors as they climbed higher and higher—Up there. That was where he belonged.
<
br /> He’d known it all along. That was why he’d fought so hard to rehabilitate, to get back in the air. As he’d set the helo down after his test flight, he was convinced of that all over again.
Lieutenant Colonel Kind leaned back in her chair, looked him up and down, but didn’t comment. His hand shook as he reached for the papers. He might have been mistaken, but her lips shifted, and if he squinted hard enough, he could mistake it for a smile.
“For what it’s worth, I think you are making the right decision,” his CO said.
“You didn’t think I would do it.” It wasn’t a question, and she hadn’t been quick enough to hide the surprise on her face.
“No.”
He flipped through the pages he’d have to fill out later.
“You want to talk this over with your girl first?”
“She wants me to follow my dream.”
“You’re sure about this?”
He tucked the paperwork under his arm. “Never been more sure of anything in my life.”
* * * *
Jenna waited at the edge of the parking lot outside Miramar Marine Corps Air Station. The breeze was light, the sun mild. One of those perfect days that explained why so many people flocked to that part of the world. Jenna sat on the roof of the cab of her father’s truck, her boots resting on the top rail of the tail bed, the flatbed trailer with Kurt’s Mustang hitched behind her.
She hadn’t lied when she’d told Quinn the vehicle hauler would drop his car off by the end of the day. She’d just neglected to mention that she was the one doing the hauling. After five weeks of phone calls and texts and video chats, she was more than ready for the real deal.
And if there was one thing their harrowing experience with the cartel had taught her, it was to live life to the fullest. Trite. But that didn’t make it any less true.
When she’d been a kid, she’d had no control over who walked out of her life. But she was an adult now. And now, she refused to let one get away.
Jenna rechecked her phone. Nothing from Quinn. Surely his test flight was done by now. Had he gotten his wings back? Her stomach flipped and flopped like a piggy perch yanked clear out of the water.
