Rescue Me

by Mia Ford

  “All right, a drink then,” she said. “I’ll have to go to bed eventually, seeing as we’re hopefully going to be flying tomorrow, but I don’t think a drink will hurt any.”

  The euphoria that shot through me at receiving her yes was fucking ludicrous. It was just one more thing I couldn't make sense of. So instead of trying to, I ignored it. I had other things to think about, anyway, like the way Jess's ass looked as I followed her down the hotel hallway.

  Sweet Jesus, had I just promised not to make a move on her? Had I really? I had, and that made me a stupid, stupid man. Even in her relatively simple dress, a dress not made to make a man think the dirty things going through my mind, she was clearly smoking hot. Her body was thick in all of the right places, the kind of body I wanted to grab with both hands and throw down on my bed.

  When she looked over her shoulder and smiled at me, I could feel my dick start to grow instantaneously hard. I had fucked plenty of women in my life, and most of them had been hot, but I couldn't think of one that had looked better than Jess did. And I was the dummy who had promised not to touch her. If there were medals being handed out for stupidity, I deserved to be in the running for one of them.

  “This is me,” I said gruffly, clearing my throat and pulling myself out of my filthy thoughts for long enough to stop Jess in front of my room. “Hold on.”

  I let her inside and told her to make herself comfortable. Secretly, I wished that she would decide to make herself comfortable by planting herself on my bed, but when she took one of the room's overstuffed arm chairs, I wasn't all that surprised. There were the women who told you they would come in for just a drink and tried to take your pants off the minute you got them into the room, but Jess had never struck me as one of those kinds of girls.

  “What’s your poison?” I asked.

  “That depends,” she said. “What are you having?”

  “I’m deciding between a glass of wine or a whiskey neat. I’ll let you decide.”

  “Yikes, not to the whiskey neat,” she said. “I can’t stand whiskey, especially when it’s by itself. Glass of wine it is.”

  I poured us two healthy servings of red wine. My body felt like a live wire in the momentary silence. Sexual tension was something I was used to. It was even something I had learned to use to my extreme advantage. But this was something else. I couldn’t have even said what kind of tension this was. All I knew for sure was that it was making me fucking nervous.

  “Here you go,” I said, handing her a cup. “Cheers.”

  “What are we toasting to?” she asked.

  “To an unexpected night off?”

  “Sure, I could drink to that.”

  She smiled at me as she took a sip, but there was something about the smile that struck me as being a little sad. It was something I could easily have blown off and ignored. Ignoring it was exactly the kind of thing I would usually have done. Instead, I found myself gearing up to ask her about it. Not that I should have been surprised. Nothing about the way I had played tonight had been like my usual pattern of behavior. So why should this be any different?

  “Not your favorite toast?” I asked.

  “Hm? What do you mean?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “It’s just your expression when I said that. You looked a little bit sad, that’s all.”

  “I’m not sad. Not really. It just gets hard sometimes, you know?”

  “Which part?” I asked.

  “The traveling,” Jess said. “So, I guess all of it, really. I love this job. Don’t get me wrong, but I won’t lie and tell you it isn’t a strain sometimes. Every night like this one is a night when I’m not at home with my daughter.”

  “Who is she with?” I asked.

  "My sister, Sophie. It's always Sophie, which is awesome. The two of them have a fantastic relationship, and I'm grateful for it, but I feel like I miss so much."

  “I can only imagine how hard that must be,” I said.

  "Honestly? It sucks. It sucks enough that I think about just throwing in the towel with the whole flying thing and getting a normal job. Except I know that if I did that, a huge part of me would regret it. There's no job like being in the air all of the time. I would miss it. I know I would."

  “I would, too,” I agreed, sipping my wine and watching her face closely as she spoke. “Not a doubt in my mind.”

  She laughed softly, blushing prettily as she did so. “God, I don’t know why I got so morose all of a sudden. You’re right, nothing wrong with a night off to do something adult, right? It’s just too bad Stevens had to get sick for us to get the forced night off.”

  My face must have looked as hard as it felt when she made that comment, because her brow furrowed in concern. It wasn't like I was trying to make a big deal of it or anything, but even the mention of Fred’s name made me want to put my fist through a wall. Even if I'd wanted to, which I did, that was something I couldn't easily have hidden.

  “What is it?” Jess asked. “Did I say something wrong? Is Fred sicker than they told me?”

  “No, definitely not.”

  “Then what’s the matter?”

  “He’s not sick at all, Jess,” I said. “At least, not the kind of sick you’re thinking about.”

  “I don’t think I understand what you’re getting at,” she said, frowning.

  So, I told her. Even talking about it made me sick to my stomach, but I told her about it anyway. Call me a vindictive son of a bitch, but I couldn’t let the lie of him just being under the weather stand. I told Jess about the drinking, which didn’t appear to surprise her much. I told her about him refusing to turn himself in after I confronted him, and that was when the surprise began to register.

  “Good Lord,” she breathed. “So even after you said something to him? Nothing?”

  “He tried to lie to me about it, but come on. I know what it smells like.”

  "I smelled it, too, if that helps any."

  He nodded. "I thought you probably had,” he said. “I mentioned the possibility to Fred, and he blew that off the way he blew everything else off. So I turned him in. That's the kind of thing I can't tolerate, you know? I can't sit back and pretend it's okay for a man to do something like that. I want to kill him for taking those kinds of liberties with other people's lives."

  “You kind of hate him, don’t you?” she asked.

  “I want to say no, but I do. I despise him. I despise all people who think it’s okay to operate machines that can kill while under the influence. The negligence with another person’s life is sickening.”

  “You’re right, it is.”

  “Because it doesn’t just hurt the other person involved, does it?” I asked. “There’s the person they hurt, maybe even kill, but then there’s also the people who get left behind.”

  “Drew, I don’t want to pry, but—”

  "Yes. The answer is yes. You were going to ask me if I had personal experience with this, right? I do. I wasn't the one driving drunk, but that doesn't matter in the end, does it? No, because it's not only the one who did the bad thing that gets punished. I was stone cold sober and so was the girl I loved. Alice. Her name was Alice. Neither one of us had had a drop to drink, and that didn't mean a fucking thing. The guy who swerved across three lanes of traffic had had enough to drink for all three of us."

  “Jesus.”

  "No,” I said bitterly. “I'm pretty sure he wasn't there that night. If he had been, it would have been me that went instead of her. You want to know the weirdest part? I don't even know what happened to him. Her body is buried six feet under ground, but I don't have a fucking clue what happened to him. I don't even know if I would recognize him if I saw him on the street. For all I know, he's been a passenger on one of my flights. Pretty fucking funny, right? Pretty fucking hilarious."

  I didn't notice when she put her drink down, nor did I notice when she rose from her seat and slowly approached me. It was only when she wrapped her arms around me that I came back to where I was and wh
at I was doing.

  I had never intended on telling anyone that story, let alone some random woman I’d only just met, but now I had. She was on her knees in front of me and hugging me to her so tightly that I could feel her nipples through her dress. Part of me wanted to push her off of me and tell her not to make it into a big deal, but for that moment, I allowed myself to acknowledge that it was a big deal.

  I hugged her back, and when she turned her face up toward mine, I kissed her deeply and hungrily. I kissed her as if she could take away these shitty memories I'd never been able to get rid of, and some crazy part of me believed that she might be able to do that very thing. I felt her mouth move beneath mine, felt her lips begin to part so that my mouth was filled with her sweet taste, and then she was gone as quickly as she had made her approach.

  “‘I’m sorry,” she gasped, her face flushed and her body trembling. “I’m sorry, Drew. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Don’t be,” I said slowly, trying to keep the aggravation out of my voice while simultaneously rearranging the throbbing erection in my pants. “I was the one who said no hanky panky, right? I shouldn’t have gone back on my promise.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to, Drew. Believe me, I do.”

  “What is it, then?” I asked.

  “It’s just, I don’t want to be some one-night stand. I’m sure a lot of girls say that, but it’s true.”

  “They don’t, actually. Or rather, they say it and don’t really mean it.”

  "But I do,” Jess said. “I mean it. This is our first date, and it was a fantastic one, but I've never been the kind of girl to sleep with a guy on the first date. I don't want to change that now. Even if a really big part of me wants it a lot."

  “I can respect that,” I said.

  "Can you? Because you look pretty unhappy."

  “I’m not going to lie to you and tell you I’m thrilled, but yes, I can respect it. I guess there’s something to be said for not being like every other girl.”

  “Thank you for being kind about it,” she said.

  “You’re welcome. Now let me ask you something.”

  “Do I have a choice?” she asked.

  “No, not about the asking,” I said. “But about the answer, you do.”

  “Okay, lay it on me.”

  “Will you let me take you out again?” I asked.

  “Seriously? Do you mean that?”

  “I do, although your answer isn’t all that encouraging.”

  “No!” she said quickly. “I mean, I’m just kind of surprised. I figured the no sex thing would be a deal breaker.”

  “It doesn’t look like it. You’re based out of Seattle, right? Isn’t that what you said?”

  She nodded. “That’s right.”

  "Good. So am I. When we're home, and things have calmed down some, let me take you out. We'll get to know each other better and see what happens."

  “That sounds wonderful. Really, Drew. It sounds perfect.”

  She stood and kissed me once on my forehead before letting herself out of my room. I sat in my chair for a long time after she’d gone, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. Even by the time I fell asleep, it was something I couldn’t figure out at all.

  Chapter 9: Jess

  “Mama, come on!”

  “Come on?” I asked. “What are you talking about, sweetie?”

  “I mean come on and pay attention! It’s no fun when you aren’t really trying. I don’t want to just be playing by myself.”

  I looked at Emma across the coffee table, feeling more than a little bit sleepish. She was right. The two of us had been taking advantage of one of my rare days off by spending the time playing board games. It was one of those rainy days that made you want to stay inside forever, and Emma had always been a huge fan of anything competitive.

  Personally, I had never been all that into competitive games, but for her, I would do pretty much anything. It wasn’t like it was her fault that board games weren’t so much my thing, and it definitely wasn’t her fault that she had such a competitive streak in her. She was exactly like her father.

  That man had been able to turn everything into something competitive, even seemingly normal things like going to the grocery store. In that way, Emma was exactly like him, which made my heart both heavy and light at the same time. Even after five years, I was still being surprised by the ways in which Emma could still bring me back to Matt. It had been five years already since his death, and I was past the part of mourning where every little part of everyday hurt. But there were still so many surprises.

  Emma was growing up more and more every day, and from everything I could see, she was almost a perfect blend of her two parents. It was hard sometimes, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  “What’s with you, Mama?”

  “What’s with me?” I laughed, reaching over the coffee table and ruffling Emma’s blonde hair. “That’s a very grownup question, little girl.”

  “I’m not so little. And you’re acting funny. Are you sad?”

  “No,” I answered with a frown, surprised to have such an astute, if not completely accurate, question coming from a ten-year-old. “I’m really not. What makes you ask that?”

  “I told you,” she insisted, her own frown mimicking my own. “You’re acting funny. You’re acting kind of far away.”

  “Am I? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to. I guess I’ve just got something on my mind.”

  “Duh. What is it?”

  I laughed and wondered to myself if I was ready to tell her. Drew had told me that night in the Dallas hotel that he wanted to take me out again, but I hadn’t really believed him. It had seemed more likely that he was trying to find a polite way to get me out of his room as quickly as possible after realizing that I really wasn’t going to sleep with him that night.

  Imagine my surprise, then, when a couple of days after we had returned to Seattle, I received a call from him. I hadn’t even answered it because I never answered numbers I didn’t recognize, but when I had listened to the message he left me, I had actually squealed with excitement.

  It hadn’t even occurred to me that I’d never given him my number, something that would have put an end to the possibility of dating with most men. Drew just wasn’t most men. He had convinced somebody, he still wouldn’t tell me who, to give him my number and had asked me to go out with him again just the way he’d promised.

  Finding the time to go on those dates wasn’t exactly easy for two people with such strenuous, strange schedules, but somehow, we had made it work. We had gone on two dates since that first strange evening, and each one had only made me like Drew more. I knew things were getting to the point where I would need to tell Emma that something was going on. I just wasn’t sure how to tell when that point really was.

  In the five years since her father’s death, I had never dated a man seriously enough to want to tell Emma much about him. Now that I was pretty sure that Drew was different than the other men, I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to proceed.

  “It’s about a boy, isn’t it?” Emma asked.

  “What? What makes you say that?”

  “Because, Mama, it’s always about a boy. Am I right? I’m totally right, right?”

  “You might be,” I said.

  “I knew it! That’s how come you’re acting so squiggly all of the time.”

  “Squiggly, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that used as an adjective for a person before.”

  “That’s how you’ve been acting, though,” she insisted. “What’s his name?”

  “Who?” I asked, teasing her.

  “The boy, silly!”

  “Oh, you’re right, silly me. His name is Drew.”

  “Does he have a last name?” she asked.

  “What are you, my mother?”

  “Come on! I just want to know!”

  “Yes, he has a last name. It’s Larson. His name is Drew Larson.”

  “Is he
a good one?” she asked seriously.

  I stared at my daughter, wondering where on earth she had learned to ask that. This was exactly the kind of thing I’d been worried about having to talk to her about, although I hadn’t realized it. It was a good question, but it was one I wasn’t sure how to answer.

  I wanted him to be a good one. I knew that. I’d wanted that badly enough to break my cardinal rule about dating pilots before I had even known him at all. The more time I spent with him, the more I wanted that, but I still couldn’t be sure. I wasn’t sure how long you had to know a man to know if he was a good one or not. There was a part of me that thought that after the loss of Matt, I would never know if a man was a “good one” or not. It was certainly not the kind of question I felt up to answering on the fly, while my ten-year-old watched me with narrowed, skeptical eyes.

  “He’s a pilot, so that means he’s not a loser,” I said. “So yes, I guess you could say he’s a good one.”

  “No, Mama.” She rolled her eyes before looking at me like I was the most foolish woman on the planet. “That’s not what makes a boy a good one. It’s not the kind of job he has.”

  “No?”

  “Nope. Not the job.”

  “What is it, then?” I asked.

  “It’s about whether or not he wants to put a ring on it!”

  My mouth dropped open, and Emma broke into a massive fit of giggles. She jumped up, our game momentarily forgotten, and broke into the whole Beyonce song and dance. It was another one of those things I’d never suspected she’d picked up on at such a young age, and the shock of the comment had startled me badly.

  “Emma! Emma, sweetie, hold on. Stop that for a minute and sit down.”

  “Okay, but just so you know, that song’s awesome,” she said, grinning.

  “I’m not saying anything about the song, but it’s not always about putting a ring on it. You know that, right?”

  “Sure, it is. Why else would you want to date a boy?”

  “Are you going to be looking at every boy as a maybe husband when you’re allowed to start dating?” I asked.