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CHAPTER THREE

I need a stiff drink if I’m going to have the vim to tackle the next twenty-four hours, but new crewmates linger in the main module, separating me from my liquid courage.

Out of his spacesuit, I recognise the other German. “Reiter,” I reluctantly acknowledge his existence.

He frowns, slight eye twitch flaring up as he glances in my direction.

He hates me.

Artur Reiter is an old friend of Müllers from his undergrad days. Thick as thieves. He could give Chelenko a run for his money on the highly strung front. In the past, I tolerated him for Müller’s sake, and Reiter barely tolerated me in return.

Reiter had expectations. What a woman should be. What a wife should be. Not that he would know what a woman is meant to be – the only woman in his life was his mother.

The hard line between his brows deepened, the same mask he wore when he refused to speak English with me.

Always annoyed I couldn’t assimilate into German life fast enough. He was too busy looking down his nose at me to get to know me. Judgy prick .

I clear my throat, eyes flicking between Reiter and the corridor behind him. Narrowed eyes pierce me as he moves aside. I make sure to give him a wide berth as I pass.

I know Reiter, but I don’t recognise any of the others.

“Mes petites chéries, ” Pesquet checks over her plants as Yuri hangs off her every word.

She has a self-assured air about her, from the way she holds herself down to the cropped pixie cut she’s sporting.

“Allons y .” She tows a crate of carefully secured potted saplings behind her.

“Let me.” Yuri flexes his muscles, waggling his eyebrows at her.

“Is zero-G, non ?” She rolls her eyes, motioning for Yuri to lead her on. “Take me to the Kibo module.”

There goes my privacy - I’d all but moved into the Japanese-built lab.

It has peace, quiet and a spare toilet, which beats queuing for the ‘master bathroom’ over by the crew cabins in Harmony.

I guess Luca and I will have to find new sleeping arrangements.

Cupola might work; the view was certainly nice to wake up to this morning–

Bloody hell. How am I going to explain Müller to Luca?

We are only having fun, but I should still give him a heads up that my ex-husband has stopped by for a visit.

I hear a gasp as the final crewmate emerges from the Soyuz. The new girl has a dewy look to her saucer-wide eyes. Her mouth drops open, blonde pigtails swishing as her eyes arc around the module, pausing to take in each minuscule nut and bolt.

Medic is a safe bet. Her left shoulder sports a red and white first aid cross patch, Canadian flag on the right, plus there’s an oversized medic’s duffel bag floating a little behind her.

“First time up here?” I ask. “The Station has that effect.”

She nods at my words.

Sterile metal makes up most of the rounded walls. Each module is lined with storage lockers and strapped down supplies like a hoarder’s paradise. There are computer screens and cables trunking everywhere and not forgetting the continuous droning hum coming from the older Russian modules.

Hell, even the weightlessness.

“Takes a bit of getting used to.” I smile, “Wait till you see the view.”

Her eyes alight with excitement. “Why do you think I’m up here?” she laughs.

Boy is it a magnificent view .

Just the right amount of awe to both take your breath away and leave you feeling as insignificant as the floating dust motes yet to be filtered out by the air recyclers.

“Alex.” I offer her my hand.

She grasps it, “Callie.”

I point behind me. “Cupola module. Make it your first stop.”

Her eyes crinkle as a huge, toothy grin spreads across her face. “Yes, Ma’am.”

I ignore the others – the green around the gills newbie, the flirty brunette, my ex-husband and his sour-faced friend – and carry right on past them into the communal kitchen area.

“GCR is high,” Matherson huffs out a breath.

“How high?” Anderson has some noodles poised to slurp as he listens to her talk about fluctuations in the cosmic background radiation.

“Too high,” she says as she aggressively taps at her datapad, her brow in a permanent frown. “Let’s hope it’s just another fried circuit in the sensors.”

“What’s the worst it could be? Solar flare? Aliens?” he smirks.

The microwave beeps.

She sighs, “Alright, smartass. ”

“It’ll keep until after meal break.” Anderson gulps down a mouthful of udon, slurping loudly. The microwave beeps again. “Don’t keep Chef Mike waiting.”

“Sir, yes, Sir.” She mock salutes, gliding towards the microwave. A slight sulphurous smell escapes as she opens the door.

Beside her, Aiko is making tea in one of the odd new cups NASA has us trialing, designed to mimic gravity using surface tension.

It looks something between a gravy boat and an over the nose oxygen mask.

They certainly reduce our single-use plastic consumption – if they work reliably – but so far, they remain alien to my hands.

A delicate floral scent surrounds us as Aiko turns; she startles, almost bumping into me. “My apologies.” She gives a modest bow.

She’s so sweet and mild, it’s endearing. I give her a small smile. “No worries.”

She looks overly relieved as she attempts to tuck her silky obsidian hair back behind one ear, but the nervous habit doesn’t translate well to zero gravity. The inky strands float back up immediately.

“ Arigatou ,” she offers a timid thank you, bowing her head before she glides back through the room .

Anderson looks up from his conversation to smile at her, and a touch of blush tints her cheeks – a peachy pink, a colour as delicate as her.

I hit the leftmost button on the dispenser, the symbol completely worn from use.

I grab one of these new-fangled cups, insert the nozzle of the machine and listen for the woosh of the high-pressure fluid as liquid pours forth.

As far as NASA and the ESA are concerned, this button is lemon tea.

In reality, it’s pure space moonshine and a well-guarded secret.

I throw back the cup, bumping the extended edges against my cheeks. My throat burns. I cough as I swipe at my mouth with the back of my sleeve.

It’s noxious to the palate, but at least it’s better than the last batch, and the one before that.

It took Yuri just one slow week, a few months into this rotation, to get inspired for his first attempt. It tasted beyond foul, and it burnt like rocket fuel going down.

A few more attempts, and he had it mostly perfected. It only took a few months for him to think of swapping it out for the lemon tea in the drinks dispenser – a flavour no one uses, except for that time the whole station got wiped out with flu.

Perhaps with a botanist on board, his latest batch might have a more pleasant flavour than whatever this abomination is meant to be. It’s the worst taste to ever come from something potato based .

I throw back the cup, coughing as I swipe at my mouth with the back of my sleeve. My throat burns. I palm the cup back under the dispenser as I thumb over the button again. Knocking back the next cup, I savour the burn as it glides down my throat.

That has Anderson frowning at me, “Everything alright, Peakey?”

I warm at the nickname, nodding as I wipe my sleeve across my mouth again. He doesn’t seem convinced, passing his data pad over to Matherson and slipping out of his seat to float towards me.

On Earth, he towers over me, but the lack of gravity has a way of equalising us all. Hell, I think I've grown two inches since I‘ve been up here.

But here in the cramped quarters of the dining area, he still seems head and shoulders above me. Being this close up makes me wonder how he squeezes into one of the crew cabins at night, especially considering they are barely larger than the sleeping bags they house.

“Müller?” He offers me a sympathetic look.

Groaning in response, I thumb the eroded button of the dispenser again, listening to the whoosh of liquid.

He nods in understanding, glancing back over at the girls eating behind us, before he leans in conspiratorially. “I heard he quit.”

I look up at him, “Who?”

He drops his voice lower, “Who do you think? ”

“No way,” I spit out some of my drink, spraying Anderson's arm, and he grimaces.

“Said there was nothing left for him on Earth,” he shrugs.

“He’s a workaholic. Work is his whole life,” I say.

“Next thing I know, he’s in talks with Peters, Mission Control and–”

“Wait, the ESA didn’t send him up?”

He shakes his head, brushing the beading droplets of moonshine on his sleeve into a paper towel.

“No, it was NASA. Did Clayton not tell you?”

“No…” He most certainly did not .

And a few choice words are coming to mind. Mainly words involving expletives that would make even a seasoned veteran like Clayton blush, once I get hold of him.

Clayton, more so than anyone, knows full well how things ended between us. Müller and I–

Anderson glances behind me, something grabbing his attention before he lowers his voice, “I best get back to it.”

A throat clears behind me, bringing my focus back from the mental spiral.

Anderson straightens, giving a curt up nod as a greeting. He gives my arm a quick, reassuring squeeze before heading back to his lunch, slotting himself in between the two women and reuniting with his noodles .

A long moment stretches on whilst the person loitering behind me remains silent.

I knock back the rest of my liquid courage. Dump the empty receptacle. Straighten my back. Square off my shoulders. Take a deep, nerve-calming breath, and turn to face the lingerer hovering behind me.

My eyes drag up from the floor. Over long, muscular legs and an equally impressive t-shirt-clad torso.

He brushes his blonde, floppy hair back.

A mischievous twinkle in his eye. When you read about Adonis Mafia types in romance novels, full-blooded Italians with a sex appeal that oozes right off the page, you picture Luca with his warm, walnut-brown eyes staring back at you.

Not who I was expecting .

Müller’s been here all of five minutes, and he’s already ruining everything. Worming his way back into my thoughts.

“Luca–” I start.

He surges forward, pulling me into a crushing embrace. I bite back a yelp of surprise. My eyes dart over to the others eating. Anderson is giving me a carefully concealed, unreadable expression, and Aiko is politely looking away. But Matherson…

Yeah, she’s staring. Scowling even.

I turn back to my Italian Adonis, just in time for his lips to crush against mine. His tongue glides along the seam of my lips, seeking entrance .

I thought I was used to this - the extravagant displays. Not completely comfortable with it, but after a few months, we’ve skirted the rules more and more. Our little indiscretion becoming… not so discreet. Wandering hands. Stolen kisses.

Luca is an outrageous flirt and very… physical. But this kiss is something different. It’s not slow and sensual, nor playful and teasing – it’s desperate, and possessive, and confusing.

It feels… wrong, and I hate that I think that. I tell myself it’s because he’s acting differently. He isn’t . It’s not me who feels different. It is.

Another part of my brain, a small part that I’m trying to kick back to the deep crevices of my mind, tells me it’s because Müller is here. And I hate it. I hate him .

I haven’t spared him a thought in months. Not since before Luca and I became friends. Not since I’ve been up in space. But I may as well update the ‘Days since I last thought about Matthias Müller’ sign because it’s just been reset back to ZERO.

I pull myself away from Luca, from his seeking lips and questing tongue, and give his unjustly firm forearms a squeeze.

“Hey,” I lean in, giving him a quick peck, conscious of everyone watching me. “I have to go.”

He frowns, searching my eyes, “Are you… good? ”

“Everything’s good,” I say. It sounds convincing, even to me. But it’s a lie.

“You seem a little off.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Another lie . “We’re okay.” Lie. Lie. Lie.

Confusion mars his handsome features for a moment before he smiles, “Did you hear the new guy over comms? Imagine meeting your ex in space,” he chuckles to himself.

I clear my throat, “Clayton wants me working with Chelenko. ASAP. I’ve got to go.” I try to rush off, but he holds me tight, keeping me with him.

“See you tonight?” The question lingers in the air between us.

A few weeks back, I all but moved into the Kibo module. He’s been joining me over there more often than not. It just made sense at the time.

There’s not much traffic in the Japanese lab, which makes it easier to get a few extra hours of uninterrupted sleep. Which reminds me…

“One of the new crew has put Kibo back in action. Guess we’re back in our own crew cabins tonight,” I say.

His grip loosens on my waist as he strokes one hand up my spine.

Clayton’s deep baritone voice cuts through the rising tension, tinny through the comms, “Kid, you on your way to Columbus yet? ”

I tap my comms to reply, “Heading there now.” I look up at my blonde Adonis, “I have to go, Luca. See you later.”

“Promise?” A playful smirk plays across his lips.

My throat tightens, and I know if I speak my voice will wobble, and my thin veneer will crack. So, I plaster on my best media smile and nod instead.

I really need to sort my head out.