High Reward

by Brenna Aubrey

  And though I’d like to say that having that knowledge and my training might have helped me to handle things better, I know it’s never that easy.

  First Stage: Denial and the Search for Answers

  I spent way too much time that night staring up at the blank white ceiling—ridiculously unable to turn off the light until I’d forced myself to do so. I’d grown used to having it on all night in the short month since I’d started sleeping beside Ryan in his bed.

  But now I’d been viciously yanked back to my old life. And I—unlike him—had no problem with the dark.

  So out of spite, I turned it off as soon as I realized what I was doing. But I stared up at that ceiling unable to believe he’d heartlessly break things off without even the blink of an eye after my admission of love for him. I swallowed, remembering how hard it had been to summon my courage to admit to my feelings in the first place. And I’d done it in such an indirect, nonthreatening way for fear of scaring him off.

  Ha!

  How could I have been so wrong?

  I was quick to remonstrate myself for not having seen this coming but at least I didn’t cry. No, no, I wouldn’t cry.

  I got next to no sleep that night, as strung out as I was on these thoughts. My eyes had finally closed about thirty minutes before my alarm went off.

  But I already knew the house was empty. Ryan had left an hour before that, just as sunlight started to touch the eastern horizon.

  I checked my phone, hoping to see a text from him. But…nothing.

  So I got ready, feeling hollow, aching in every bone of my body.

  But I had work to do. And I wouldn’t let this stop me.

  Chapter 5

  Ryan

  That goddamn bandage metaphor. Fuck that noise.

  It wasn’t like ripping off a bandage. At all. It was like ripping out an organ with my own bare hands, digging it out. A bloody and vital organ. Not a kidney. I could live a lifetime with only one kidney. Maybe the liver? Would the removal of the liver cause a person to slowly die a prolonged and painful death?

  No, I wasn’t actually dying. But sometimes, I literally felt that way. Like medieval torture evisceration. It felt like how I imagined it might feel to be hung, drawn, and quartered.

  Slow torture.

  And the last thing I wanted to do was to sit at a table in a room full of bright lights beside XVenture CEO Tolan Reeves and the chief designer of our Phoenix space capsule, facing the clicking shutters and questions from the media.

  But I’d gotten here nice and early for this. Though I hadn’t succeeded in fooling myself that it had nothing to do with getting away from her. Since the breakup, I’d spent the last few nights practically climbing the walls of insomnia and insanity. I tossed and turned knowing that she was just a few rooms away from me curled up in her bed, all alone and thinking I didn’t give a fuck about her.

  Every night, I had to stop myself from busting through the door into her room and pulling her into my arms, whispering my apologies and making everything right again. I was slowly growing obsessed with the thought of it.

  So obsessed that I’d barely prepared myself for this stupid press function I now found myself at the center of. We’d just made the official announcement about the test flight, and now the media wanted their pound of flesh.

  The banner on the table where we sat bore the logo of the XPAC—XVenture Private Astronaut Corps—the X featuring the exhaust trails of two rockets crisscrossing. Before us, beyond the bright lights, were several dozen of the most dedicated space press.

  I laced my fingers tightly in front of me and focused on the journalist asking the next question.

  “How does NASA feel about you defecting to the commercial side, Commander Ty?”

  I responded by rote and without hesitation. “My relationship with NASA remains positive and productive,” I lied glibly. In truth, there was no relationship to speak of. But Victoria had prepared me well for this press conference. She was very good at her job. She stood off to the side, scoping the press from her vantage point and typing notes into her phone. On the table beside my arm, my mobile screen lit up.

  Victoria: Tabloid reporters here. Brace yourself for some Keely questions. Came the text.

  I looked up into bright lights, a video camera, and some flashes. Catching a glimpse of a slender blond figure in the back of the room, I hesitated. Suddenly, the tie around my neck felt tight, and I was swallowing to work moisture into my throat.

  It wasn’t like I didn’t see her often enough—at work, at least. I’d perfected how to avoid her at home. Leave before she did, get home just before sundown, stay in the opposite side of the house than the one she occupied. Only occasionally did we cross paths in the kitchen, but aside from exchanging a few glances, we never spoke. At work it was only in passing—the lunch room, a hallway, various meetings with dozens of our closest colleagues. It sucked.

  And yet as much as I tried to avoid her, I still looked forward to seeing her every damn day.

  But every time I did see her, it was like reopening the same self-inflicted wound, feeling every bit of that missing organ. The soreness of something vital that had suddenly been stolen. That’s what it was.

  She was right under my nose, and yet I missed her.

  I forced myself to focus on the next question. “Any statements on your new relationship with Keely Dawson, Commander Tyler?”

  I flicked a glance at Victoria who had a snarky smirk on her perfectly red lips as if to say, I told you this was coming. Always trust me. I sent her a knowing wink and returned my canned answer—prepared by her—to the reporter.

  “I’m here to speak about the new crewed test flight. I’m very excited about it and would rather not give the time over to my personal life. That gets plenty of stage time as it is. While other private space companies are sending insects, old cars, and flight test dummies into space, we’re sending living astronauts. And quite frankly, I’m excited about that. And you should be too. I’d like to turn the focus back to where it belongs.”

  Grumbles and loud whispers filled the room, and a few more hands went up. I fielded some more questions about the technical aspects of the launch that would be happening in just over eight weeks.

  “Will you find it difficult to go back up again, considering what happened on your last mission?”

  My fists tightened, and I froze, considering the question. Of course, I’d prepped for it, but the reality of having it thrown out there, with the lights and the clicking camera shutters, made my mind skip. Peripherally, I was aware that my phone was lighting up—likely more texts from Victoria.

  I ignored it. After sucking in a deep breath, I fought to keep my voice calm. “The truth is that I’ve wanted to go back up ever since the last time, so I’m grateful for the opportunity. I’m also grateful to be able to dedicate this flight to the memory of my best friend, Astronaut Xander Freed.”

  The thought of the flight, despite its horrifically high cost, sent a cold thrill through my gut. It was excitement tinged with a little dread and some doubt, if I was being honest with myself.

  I’d never doubted what I wanted. And I’ve never not gone for it. My eyes flicked back to that figure at the back of the room only to note with disappointment that she was gone. A door nearby was slowly closing.

  I sucked my lips into my mouth and wet them, focusing on the next question and trying not to roll my eyes when it came up. “Will Keely be getting a role in the upcoming film being made about your life and the space station accident?”

  Later, Victoria would commend me for my lack of sarcastic answer.

  They’d be getting their eyeful of me and Keely together next week at a movie premiere, anyway. But it still annoyed me that they cared more about the “scorching love affair” farce we were putting on rather than the possibility of moving humankind out of low earth orbit and back into space travel once again after nearly fifty years of doing nothing.

  Whatever. The press conference was f
inally behind me. Thank God.

  It was time to get on with the rest of my day. It would be another long one as I strove to avoid my ubiquitous housemate while struggling not to go insane with wanting her at the same time.

  Yeah. Such a tall order called for double workouts.

  But first, I had a brief team meeting followed by rounds of rigorous flight training simulations with the entire astronaut team.

  The day consisted of hours upon hours of us rotating, round-robin style, moving through checklists and then recording our data. By the time early evening hit, we’d wrapped up our last sim and were preparing to leave for the day.

  Noah started his harping…again. He leafed through papers attached to his clipboard and frowned. “Is there a reason we keep putting off the lights-out board test?”

  To be fair, none of us was in a great mood after a very tedious motherfucking day. The repetitiveness of what we were doing was beyond annoying, and we were all mentally and physically exhausted.

  I shoved my laptop into a bag along with a folder full of my latest batch of checklists. They’d only been printed out that morning and were already covered with sticky notes and penciled-in comments suggesting changes.

  Noah had directed his remark at me, so I replied. “The lights-out test is not crucial. Especially at this time. We need to get that de-orbit burn sequence down several thousandths of a second before we start all the what-if scenarios.”

  I avoided his gaze, zipping up my laptop case. We wouldn’t talk about the real reason I was avoiding a test that was conducted completely in the dark—a test that helped rate the functionality of back-up systems should the main electrical system cut out. There was no telling what might happen if I was locked in a contained dark space with no way to get out. And I didn’t want to find out in front of the other guys.

  Noah threw me a weird look as he packed up his own bag. “Can we at least get it on the calendar? It’s really messing with me that we are leaving such a simple test undone when we are covering everything else so meticulously.”

  I shrugged, turning my back to him. I was not about to get into this now. “Not for at least another few weeks.”

  “Hope that leaves us some time before the flight,” he muttered between his teeth.

  I didn’t say anything, pretending to be distracted by something on my phone. Noah started muttering under his breath, and Kirill waltzed in to save the day, slapping him good-naturedly on the shoulder. “Relax dude. Where is your chill? What you need is hot woman and to get laid.” I all but laughed at Kirill’s apt command of Southern California slang, complete with his Russian accent.

  Noah arched a brow at him. “Easy for you to say. I’m not the one who’s regularly banging the hot actress.”

  Kirill grinned. “Try not to be so jealous, Noah. Not everyone can be so sexy the women won’t leave them alone.”

  Hammer appeared on the other side of Kirill. “He’s too sexy for his shirt…” he started to sing.

  “He’s too sexy for his brain,” I muttered out the side of my mouth, and Noah snickered while Kirill joined in singing with Hammer.

  “That’s right. I’m so ‘sexy.’” Kirill said with, hilariously, his signature misplaced air quotes. It mystified me how Kirill, who could fly every machine imaginable, held officer rank in the Russian military, and had the equivalent of a master’s degree in aerospace engineering, could not grasp the subtle art of the air quote.

  Granted, he wasn’t speaking his native language. I was nevertheless certain that if air quotes existed in Russian, he would have fucked them up in his mother tongue, too.

  I stuffed the last of my shit in my bag, and with a laugh and a grin, I turned down the guys’ invitation to go grab drinks. “I’m beat,” I said. Though in reality, I was headed to the gym for a workout since it would be too dark to run when I got home.

  Kirill caught up with me before I got into my car.

  “Ty, wait up,” he said, speaking Russian as he usually did when we were alone. “Let’s go watch a movie, hey? That one about the bank heist looks good.”

  God, a movie. I hadn’t been in a theater since before the accident. I didn’t even want to chance what might happen. Maybe they weren’t dark enough but I didn’t want to risk it.

  “Kirya. I’m going to go home, swim for a bit, and then sleep like a log,” I said, amending my evening plans on the spot.

  He corrected me with the more current slang term for going to bed, chiding me once again that I spoke Russian like his grandpa.

  I shook my head with a grin. “Because I learned it from my grandpa. Night, Kirya. See you tomorrow.”

  He put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m worried. You seem not yourself.”

  I shrugged. “If you’re out here on a scouting mission for the guys, then you can tell them that I ended things with Gray. No need to keep checking up on me.”

  He frowned but gave a curt nod, putting his hands in his pockets and gazing out at the surrounding horizon in the parking lot. “I am sorry about that. Before. Come, we can go get a drink, at least.”

  I shook my head with a jerk. Of all the people I’d discuss this breakup with, the macho Russian would not be my first choice. Odds were, he’d use it as a way to torment me for the rest of my life.

  “I’m focused on the flight. I don’t have time for anything else.”

  He sobered. “Good. That is sensible. I should do likewise.”

  My brow twitched, but I left it at that. Did that mean Keely was in for some bad news soon, too?

  God, that was all I needed. Avoiding the girlfriend who wouldn’t move out of my house and being forced to spend time with the fake girlfriend who would be nursing her own breakup. It sounded like the obstacle course from Hell.

  As far as I could tell, Keely and Kirill had been casual, but who knew? Kirill typically lost interest in the women he was seeing after a short period of time. I said nothing, though. Kirill’s business was Kirill’s, and he was a big boy. Even though he’d seen fit to interfere in my own personal life, I would not reciprocate.

  He knocked once on the hood of my car. “Maybe things will be back to normal soon. Just us four guys. Having fun together. Hanging out.”

  Kirill had a group of friends—fellow Russian expats—that he hung out with regularly. I knew he wasn’t lonely. But I nodded. “Yeah, we’re just stressed out these days with the flight coming up. Sometimes when we’re going at it hard like this, we need a break from each other.”

  He nodded. “Da. Eto pravda.” Then, he repeated himself in English. “This is true. Have good night, Ty.”

  I nodded. “You, too.”

  I watched him go, crossing the parking lot before I put the key in the ignition and turned on the car. I thought about how much I enjoyed working with these guys and solving the puzzles and the bugs in procedures and checklists. The camaraderie. The excitement. These days I loved everything about my job except for the actual thought of going up in that rocket again, in spite of what I’d told the world at that press conference today.

  But I’d do it, because that’s what I’d promised I would do. I’d get through this somehow.

  I scrubbed my face with my hand and started the car, heading home, simultaneously hoping to avoid and yet to see my houseguest.

  Maybe she’d be inclined to discuss the press conference—or anything—instead of maintaining her weird, calm silence.

  She was heading out to the deck with her e-reader just as I finished my laps in the pool. We crossed paths right in front of the glass doors that led inside.

  As I was blocking her way out, I stepped aside, still dripping, and she quietly thanked me, avoiding my eyes.

  A knot tightened in my throat. I stood, toweling myself off as she moved past me to go sit at the railing, positioning herself to watch the moon rise in the east. It was almost full and just kissing the horizon over the canyon. I turned and watched her for a moment.

  As if detecting my observation, she turned around to look at m
e. There was no animosity in her face. Just that same, quiet calm.

  She’d been like that since Sunday morning. No emotions. No crying. No sad speeches. No guilt trips. Not even hostility. Nothing.

  It was like whatever was between us had never happened.

  Except it had and I couldn’t forget it. And I was starting to resent that she appeared to have put it behind her so easily.

  Still waters ran deep. And Gray’s waters…well I’d had no time to plumb their depths, to discover all the hidden landscape underneath that placid surface. She surprised me at every turn. Even at a time when we theoretically had no relationship at all. Even now.

  Those serene features. No anger. No sadness. At least none that I could detect.

  She cleared her throat. “Did you need something?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m good. Have a good evening.”

  She froze, as if confused at how to react to my words, then slowly nodded. “You too.”

  I turned and stepped through the door, trying to grasp at ideas on how to get her the fuck out of here. If we had to share a roof until the test flight, there was no telling what might happen. Cold war. Mayhem. Hopefully not murder. And in all probability, a relapse—one that involved me, her and a whole lot of naked, sweaty fun.

  After a shower and change of clothes, I checked my phone and found another picture—a Karen and AJ selfie. Underneath, the caption read, We’re coming to California!

  I blinked and then processed.

  Lately I’d been staging amusing photographs, most often involving photos of AJ’s school picture posed in strange places to make him laugh. Taped inside our capsule simulator while we were working; fixed onto my steering wheel during the drive home; sitting on a rock at the beach; taped to one of our model Rubicon III rockets.

  I’d just about exhausted what limited creativity I possessed. Gray would probably have had a wealth of ideas. But as with everything else, I had to remind myself at least a dozen times not to ask her.

  Nevertheless, the entire exercise had served to remind me that I was seriously lacking fun in my life. The old type of fun, the fun I had when I was close to Xander’s family and my friends in Houston.