Her Airman

by Allyson Lindt

  Her artwork lacked polish?

  “Hey.” Sleep lined Zane’s greeting.

  She didn’t look up. Holy hell, this hurt. Part of her knew rejection was inevitable, but she hadn’t even been able to bring it on herself. How had this happened?

  “Shit, Riley. What’s wrong?” The bed rustled some more, and seconds later, Zane knelt in front of her. He brushed a thumb over her cheek. “Talk to me?”

  Her throat was raw, and she couldn’t make her voice work.

  “Riley?” He grabbed his shirt from the floor, where it had been tossed aside the night before, and tugged it on. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  She swallowed, still unable to form words, and handed him the phone.

  He glanced at it and sank back onto his heels. “Oh. Shit.”

  The shift in his tone cut through her confusion. That wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. Her question was a dry croak. “What?”

  “That’s horrible.” He set the phone on the coffee table, then took her hands in his, concern etched on his face. Something else was there too. She’d gotten far too familiar with it, since he came home. The way he didn’t quite meet her gaze. The catch in his voice that meant he was hiding something. “They’re morons. They don’t know what they’re talking about. Unpolished, my ass. You’re more talented than anyone else ever,” he said.

  Something wasn’t right. “I don’t understand how she got my work. I only finished touching up the lines a couple of days ago. I haven’t scanned it yet.”

  His jaw worked up and down for a moment, before any sound came out. “You’ve got a Deviant Art page. Maybe you’ve got a reputation.”

  No. Dread crawled through her. That couldn’t be right. She hated herself for thinking it. There was no way he’d betrayed her trust like that. “Literary agents don’t go crawling the Internet to have an excuse to reject random people. How did she get my artwork?”

  He stood and took a step back, his gaze anywhere but on her. He rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t know?”

  He was lying to her, but why? “What did you do?”

  He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts, watching his toes trace lines in the carpet. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. You’re skilled and fantastic, and you were getting cold feet, and she was supposed to see how talented you are, and it would be perfect.”

  “Zane.” Please let it be anything but that. A deep, gouging ache of pissed-off started in the center of her chest and spread. “What did you do?”

  He finally looked at her again. “I sent her your story, from your email address.”

  Holy shit, he hadn’t. Fury coursed through her, stemming from his nerve—the assumption he had a right—and she clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. He’d lied to her about this and gone behind her back, after she told him what she wanted. “That’s why you kept my sketchpad for so long.”

  He shrugged. “I tried to give it back before you missed it.”

  She rubbed her face, so much happening in her head, she didn’t know what to focus on. “You went behind my back.” She stood. “I told you I was working on it. I laid out exactly how I felt.” She took a step toward him. “After everything we talked about, what made you think you had the right?”

  “You deserve this. You weren’t taking any steps, and you’re better than that. This is motivation. I did it because you deserve better. You need to believe in yourself.”

  “But that’s not up to you.” No matter what he said, it couldn’t make this better. “All this does is humiliate me. It shows the world how completely and totally untalented I am.”

  “You’re none of that.”

  “I’m all of that.” She was toe to toe with him now, anger flooding her. “You told me no more secrets. You said you were done going behind my back. I thought we covered this last night. It’s not up to you to decide what is and isn’t good for me.”

  “You covered this last night.” A mask slid onto his face, carving his features in stone. “I didn’t agree. Not before, not now. If you can’t make up your mind, you’re going to miss out.”

  “And that’s on me.” Frustration lodged in her throat. “Besides, I have made up my mind. I know exactly what I want.”

  “Really? Enlighten me.”

  “You.”

  His impassive expression faltered for the briefest second before hardening again. “That’s not an option.”

  His rejection dug deep inside, and left an empty pit. But she promised herself and him this was the last time she’d do this. She made herself clear, and he wasn’t interested. Except she couldn’t find it in herself to walk away graciously.

  “Fuck you.” The brush off was easier than giving into the tears stinging her eyelids. She stormed from the apartment and slammed the door behind her, rattling the windows. It took everything she had to make it to her car before the sobs threatening to escape racked her body. Her chest ached, and her throat was raw from biting back the sobs.

  Was she more upset with him, for pretending this didn’t hurt him as much as her, or with herself, for reading into things that weren’t there? Fuck. And why did she want to go back inside and make things better again?

  No. They both made their decision. She’d be there for them for as long as he wanted, but if he didn’t, she couldn’t help that.

  It took all her focus to make it home, get inside, and lock the world on the other side of the door.

  A cry tore from her throat the moment she made it to her bedroom. Tears spilled down her face, and she clutched her sides, trying to keep the shuddering from getting out of control. It wasn’t supposed to hurt like this. It wasn’t supposed to hurt at all. That was the point of promising no strings. It was the reason any of the teasing was okay. It had never been simply teasing, though. It always meant more, despite what they called it.

  It hadn’t felt like this with Archer or anyone else. The pain of all the guys she’d ever broken up with, put together, didn’t ache as much as this. Sinking into depression was the exact opposite of what she wanted.

  She dropped down onto her mattress, pulled her knees to her chest, and cried until most of the hurt washed down her cheeks. Her frantic gasps slowed, and she forced herself to take a few deep breaths. Calm crept through her, slowly evicting the desperation.

  Life wouldn’t end because she couldn’t slide her nails up his back and hold him close any more. Forgetting what his lips felt like when they brushed her neck, the hint of five o’clock shadow scuffing her skin, was no big deal.

  Watching from a distance while Zane’s demons devoured him was far better than doing it up close and personal.

  Right?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Zane stared at the empty room, trying to smother his thoughts with the same all-encompassing absence of anything. Focusing on the numbness was easier than acknowledging how much every inch of him ached.

  Riley was gone. If she was smart, she wasn’t coming back. Acid surged in his throat and left a foul taste in his mouth.

  When he’d woken up and seen her near tears, then realized why, it slammed into him. He’d done that. He made the same mistake as last time. Let what he wanted—his own selfish wants—hurt someone else.

  It was true this was nothing compared to the pain he caused last time. On the other hand, this was Riley. The one person he specifically swore he’d never hurt.

  And saying the things he did to her, the way he forced her hand and made her leave, that hurt as much as any of it. He knew what he’d done. Said things meant to push her away. It was better this way in the long run, but it still sucked.

  Sabrina was right. Any excuses he came up with for why he couldn’t take the job, all the bullshit about morals, were him lying to himself. He grabbed his phone and dialed Sabrina.

  Each ring was another hammer blow against his eardrums. Loud, brash, and shattering. He didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed when her voice mail clicked on. “It’s Zane Petrov. Ca
ll me back.”

  He disconnected and let the phone fall to the mattress as he fell back. Fuck. The impulse to track down Riley and apologize raced through him. To take it all back and make her smile again. That would make them both feel better now, but it wasn’t the best solution long term. She’d recover from this and be happier for it.

  He couldn’t lie in bed all day, letting his thoughts chase themselves until he was so dizzy he wanted to scream. He needed to get out of here.

  Fifteen minutes later, showered, dressed, and no closer to finding his center, he pulled his truck onto the main road and pointed it in a random direction. He wasn’t sure where he was going, except south. There wasn’t a lot of choice, leaving The Aves.

  He followed the roads wherever they went. This time of the morning, there wasn’t a lot of traffic to contend with, so it was easy to pick and choose random routes. When he turned down a familiar street, nostalgia and regret hit him hard. How had he not realized he was so close to home?

  His old neighborhood looked the same as it had six years ago. And ten. And fifteen, and twenty. Sure, some of the cars and faces were new, but the feeling was still the same.

  Riley and Kenzie’s mother still lived in their childhood home. Archer and Jen’s parents owned the place next door. Granddad’s house was around the corner.

  Zane parked in front of the brick-faced home he grew up in. He made his way up the driveway but bypassed the front door. This time of day, Granddad would be on the back porch, enjoying the still of the morning. Zane wouldn’t have been certain, but he heard the familiar rustle of a newspaper.

  He’d stopped by a few times since he got back, but he never stayed long. He wasn’t sure why, but something held him back. Now this felt like exactly where he needed to be.

  The back yard wasn’t big. None of them in the neighborhood were. There was enough space for a clothesline and a deck with a fire pit. Zane and Granddad had built the deck years ago. It only sat six inches off the ground, and despite the worn wood, the stain was fresh and the area clean.

  Granddad didn't look up as Zane rounded the corner, but he did fold his newspaper and set it aside. He nodded behind him at the house. “There’s fresh coffee inside, and you know where the mugs are.” He spoke perfect English—it had been part of his KGB training—but hints of his Russian accent had slipped back in, growing stronger over the years.

  “I’m all right. Thank you.” Zane settled into the empty wicker chair a few feet away. He glanced sideways at Granddad. After years of denying it, he was about to follow in Granddad’s footsteps, as predicted. At least maybe he’d age as well, too. Granddad’s hair had grayed, but it was all still there, and while the man had developed a bit of a gut, it was evident from the way he held himself he was still fit and strong.

  Silence settled between them. Zane didn’t know what to say or even why he was here, but he didn’t feel pressure to fill the empty air.

  “Where’s your friend?” Granddad’s quiet words shattered Zane’s attempt at banishing Riley from his thoughts.

  “Gone.”

  “That explains why you look as if she just died. How’d it happen?”

  “What?” It took a few seconds for the statement to sink in. “She’s not dead. She’s probably helping Kenzie with last-minute wedding preparation.”

  Granddad sank back in his chair. “When did you become so melodramatic? Gone. Pft.”

  Zane almost smiled at the familiar jibe wrapped in sympathy. “Sorry about that.”

  “How’s the cushy life treating you?”

  A week ago, he would have said great. Aside from the job search, it was exactly what Zane thought he wanted. Then again, a week ago, he’d been lying to himself. “I’m having trouble adjusting.” He didn’t want to go into details; it had been hard enough recounting it to Riley. Besides, he knew it wasn’t expected, and that even though Granddad never talked about it, he’d done worse as KGB. Maybe that was why Zane was here—to find a basis of comparison. That answer felt too easy, though. Despite his granddad’s past, Zane had nothing but respect for the man. He wasn’t here to compare sins, to make his feel less severe.

  “You’ll get there.” Granddad took a long drink of coffee.

  “I’m wondering if I want to.”

  “Give it time.”

  “No. You were right about me. I’m not a good person. Time doesn’t change that.” Was he seeking some form of absolution? Validation? Zane still didn’t know. “I have an offer with the CIA...”

  “I never should have raised you to be a fucking patriot.” For the first time that morning, more than hints of emotion filled the man’s words. It sounded like disgust mixed with pity. “I thought it would help you fit in, not be stupid.”

  Zane was glad he hadn’t gotten any coffee, because he’d have choked on it. “Excuse me?”

  Granddad finally faced him, the lines on his face looking more distinct and drawn than normal. “I never should have told you the things I did the day you left. I was an old man, sending his boy off to fight for a country I wasn’t sure I believed in.” It wasn’t disgust in his tone, Zane realized. It was regret. “I didn’t want to see it break you, so I told myself and you what I needed to hear, to convince me you couldn’t be broken.”

  Zane’s mind spun with questions.

  “I shouldn’t have done it, but I did.” Granddad turned his gaze toward the morning sky, and his voice trailed off, as if he were speaking to himself. “You’re not a bad kid. In fact, I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

  “I don’t...” Zane couldn’t find a response. He was used to grudging recognition, but not this raw, bold pride.

  “Did your mother ever tell you about your father?” Granddad asked.

  The rapid change in subject might have been a relief and given Zane time to figure out how he felt about the confession, but he didn’t care for the new topic either. “Nothing more than that he left us.” Mom rarely even mentioned the man’s name, and Granddad always clammed up when the topic came up, so Zane learned early on not to ask.

  “Your father was a random asshole your mother hooked up with one summer. Kids are kids, he got her pregnant, and they decided to stay together. I told her she could raise you without him, she insisted they were in love. I didn’t like him, and she tried to convince me it was because he’d taken my baby girl from me.”

  Zane would have smiled at the bit of his past he’d never had a glimpse into before, but there was too much pain in the words.

  “I stopped by their apartment one night, to visit, and she was working. You were in your crib, screaming like no baby should be able to, and that asshole was nowhere to be found. He’d left his six-month-old son alone and gone... I didn’t know where.”

  A combination of disgust and indignation swept through Zane, souring in his chest and temporarily giving his frustration something new to focus on. “Then what?”

  “I changed you, I poured myself a drink, and I sat down to wait. He stumbled in about two hours later, higher than a fucking kite and reeking of vodka. Said you were sleeping, so he just stepped out for a quick drink.”

  Zane wanted to ask what next, but he didn’t want to interrupt.

  Granddad didn’t need the prompting. “I told him he had two choices. He could leave right then. Walk out the door and never come back. Never try to find you. Never reach out to your mother again. Vanish completely from your lives. I even handed him the cash he needed, to leave town.”

  “What was choice number two?”

  “He asked me the same thing.” Granddad’s chuckle held no joy. “I told him he’d vanish either way. He could leave on his own, or no one would see him again, not just the two of you. I wasn’t being facetious. I had the power to make it happen. We did a lot of making people disappear back then, and when it came down to that moment, I didn’t hesitate. There wasn’t a question in my mind I’d do that to him.”

  Zane knew the things Granddad did in Russia were questionable. Not just from history, but
from the distant, haunted look the old man got in his eyes when the subject came up. Still, Zane hadn’t expected this. The honesty and reality of it left him feeling raw. Exposed. And at the same time grateful. “I’m glad you made him go.”

  “I’m not.” Granddad shook his head. “I was too, but I’ve doubted myself so many times since. Don’t misunderstand, I was glad he was gone. I regret I didn’t let your mother make the decision herself. It was my job to protect you both, but I never should have taken that choice from her. I wouldn’t have risked you, but she was smart; she would have made the right call. Especially once I told her what I found when I stopped by your home that day. I needed to trust her, and I didn’t.”

  The story spun in Zane’s head, insisting he pay attention. Snarling at him to do more than just stash it as a story about his past. He pushed it aside, unwilling to consider it meant more. “I think you were right. I came out okay because of it.”

  “I’m pretty lucky there. As long as you’re not taking this CIA job for the wrong reasons. Anyway, he would have been gone from your lives regardless, soon enough. Even then, those of us who left the country on a regular basis saw the motherland crumbling, the union falling apart as the Americans bought their way to the forefront of the cold war. I looked at the world around me, the things I’d done, the things about to happen, and I took all of us and bought us into this country.”

  Zane suspected that much, though he was vague on the details. He knew he wasn’t born in the US and it came up when he enlisted, but beyond a mention here and there, it had never caused him any issues.

  Granddad sighed. “I didn’t leave my past behind, though. I conducted terrible acts under banner of country. But I did two things right. I made sure your mother and you made it as far as you did. That doesn’t erase my sins, but it helps me atone for them.”

  Zane knew that feeling more intensely than he wanted to. Except he hadn’t done it in the name of patriotism, he’d done it because it was fun. A challenge. “I don’t think my reasons were as noble as yours.”