Page 44 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

JANNA

I couldn’t breathe. Smoke choked the air, clawing down my throat with every inhale. My lungs were raw, my throat burned like I’d swallowed fire, and my eyes stung so bad I could barely keep them open. The diner was now a tomb filled with smoke.

Everything was hot. So hot I’d forgotten what cool felt like. My clothes clung to me with sweat, my skin prickled like it was blistering, and every movement took effort, like I was dragging my body through molasses.

I knew part of it was in my head. The lack of oxygen was screwing with my head. I was sweating because I couldn’t breathe. Turned out the cooler wasn’t airtight. The smoke had slowly been filtering in the last five minutes. I didn’t even want to think what that meant for the diner.

Pickle was still out. He came to one more time before he went out again. I had debated running but with Pickle out, there was no way. It took every ounce of strength I had just to get him into the diner.

I didn’t know if it was luck or stubbornness that had kept me on my feet, dragging his limp body to temporary safety.

“Pickle, I need to get some wet rags,” I said.

I knew he couldn’t hear me, but just in case. Wet towels weren’t going to save us, but they would buy us a little more time. Part of me wondered if I was just prolonging the inevitable.

I dismissed the thought. I couldn’t go dark. I had to stay strong. Stay positive.

I was not a quitter. I would fight until my very last breath. And I had a feeling that was going to be in the very literal sense.

I got to my feet and felt my body sway. That was bad news. I pushed open the door and dropped back to my knees. It was as bad as I thought. The diner was filled with smoke. The fire must be getting closer. I was certain of it. I could hear the eerie creak of wood as fire closed in.

“Oh no,” I whispered.

I couldn’t see much of anything. I crawled until I came face to face with a shelf.

I reached up and touched soft cloth. I grabbed several towels.

The sink was close. I had to stand to reach the faucet.

My eyes burned and the coughing was painful.

It felt like someone had a vise on my chest and was slowly squeezing.

I soaked the towels, wrung them out, and wrapped one around my face, tying it in the back. There was immediate relief for my burning nostrils but it was still difficult to breathe.

I dropped back to my hands and knees and crawled back to the cooler.

I dragged the wet towels behind me, leaving a trail of water.

The cooler door felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as I pulled it open.

The temperature difference hit me like a welcome slap.

It was still warm inside, but compared to the furnace the diner had become, it was heaven.

Pickle lay exactly where I’d left him. That was a disappointment. I wanted him awake. I needed him to wake up. Maybe he had some magic solution. I felt alone. And lost. I pressed one of the wet towels against his forehead and wrapped another around his mouth and nose.

“Come on, Pickle,” I whispered, adjusting the makeshift mask around my face. “Don’t you dare leave me alone in here.”

I settled back against the wall, trying to conserve what little oxygen we had left. The cooler was getting warmer by the minute. Outside, I could hear the diner groaning and creaking.

I closed my eyes and tried to think. There had to be something. Some way out of this nightmare. But my thoughts felt sluggish, disconnected. The smoke inhalation was taking its toll.

I wasn’t going to do it. I couldn’t.

I dragged in a couple more breaths.

“We’re getting out of here,” I said. “Pickle. Wake up. Pickle.”

Nothing.

“Alistair Steele!” His given name was so different than his call sign. It would have been funny if the situation wasn’t so serious.

Pickle stirred.

“C’mon, Pickle,” I coughed, voice barely audible. “Wake up. Say something dumb so I know you’re still with me.”

Nothing.

No movement.

I was going to have to drag him.

I reached for the radio that wasn’t working but I was still hoping to beat the damn thing to life.

My fingers reached for the wires, tugging and pushing and shaking.

I couldn’t really see what I was doing, but it wasn’t like it mattered.

The radio was broken. Dead. It was just another reminder of how hard that crash had been.

Pickle’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. He blinked several times, trying to orient himself in the dim light.

“Janna?” His voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and confused.

“I’m here,” I said, leaning closer. “You’re okay. We’re still in the cooler.”

He tried to sit up but winced, his hand going to his head. “What happened? Where are we?”

“The helicopter went down. We crashed on Main Street. You hit your head pretty hard. We’re at Martha’s, hiding in the walk-in cooler.”

His brow furrowed as he processed this information. “The fire?”

“All around us. But we’re safe for now.”

Pickle’s eyes cleared slightly, and he looked at me with growing awareness. “Janna, you need to get out of here. Leave me.”

I laughed, though it came out more like a cough. “No way. Not happening. We’re getting out of this together or not at all.”

“I’m serious.” His voice was getting stronger, more urgent. “I’m slowing you down. You could make it on your own.”

“Pickle, stop. I’m not leaving you.”

He struggled to focus, his eyes drifting to the broken radio in my hands. “Did you radio in our location?”

“It’s dead. The crash destroyed it.”

I felt like a failure. I couldn’t even call it in. I was the one letting him down. My emotions were all over the place. I felt weepy. And sad. And then angry. So angry I was in the position I was in. If I’d been in a spotter plane like I was hired to do, I wouldn’t be here.

I hated fucking helicopters.

As quickly as the thoughts crossed my mind, they were replaced with images of the girl we’d saved and her father.

We did some good. I would have to be satisfied with that thought.

It was the only thing that offered any solace as we waited to see what happened.

My only comfort was knowing the smoke would knock us out before the flames claimed our bodies.

“Rescue?” Pickle choked out.

How in the hell was I supposed to tell him there was no rescue? That our only chance would be to run for the hills on the other side of town. I couldn’t tell him that because he physically couldn’t do it.

I decided to lie. Let the man die with hope. He didn’t need to know how dire our situation was.

“They’re coming,” I said. I waited for his response. “Pickle?”

He was out again.

I sighed. Grateful he didn’t know. Jealous that he was able to sleep.

I let my head fall back against the cold metal wall and closed my eyes. The fight was leaving me, seeping out like air from a punctured tire. My arms felt like lead weights, and every breath was a monumental effort.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was how it ended for me.

I thought about the life I’d never get to live. The promotions I’d never earn, the places I’d never see. I’d always planned to travel more after I got established in my career. Paris, maybe. Or New Zealand. I’d seen pictures of the countryside there and always thought it looked peaceful.

I’d never get married. Never walk down an aisle in a white dress while my dad tried not to cry. Never have kids who would roll their eyes at my terrible jokes the way I used to roll my eyes at his. I’d never get to be the kind of mother mine had been.

I’d never get to buy a house. Something small with a garden where I could grow tomatoes and herbs.

I’d always imagined having a dog, maybe a golden retriever who would greet me at the door after long days at work.

Simple things. Normal things that most people took for granted.

Things I always assumed I would have time for later. When the timing was right.

And Dalton. God, what we could have been if we’d both been braver. If he’d let me in and I’d been more patient with his walls. Maybe we could have had something real. Maybe I could have helped him heal from whatever ghosts haunted him.

And then I heard him.

Dalton.

“Really, Princess? You just roll over and give up? I knew it. Princess needs pampering. I knew you couldn’t cut it.”

Anger bubbled low in my belly.

“Fuck that. I’m not a princess. I’m a fighter. I’m a survivor.”

With strength I didn’t actually feel, I hooked the harness over my shoulders and pushed open the door.

“We’re getting out of here, Pickle. Do you hear me? We’re getting out. It’d be great if you could get your ass up and help, but if I have to drag you, I will.”

I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t reply. I pulled his body out of the cooler. It felt like he had gained a hundred pounds during our short time in the fridge.

I looked toward the door. Flames were licking across the window outside, eating the signage and burning a car parked out front. There was no way out. No car, no truck, no goddamn chopper coming to pluck us out of this inferno.

My gaze darted to the back, where the kitchen door led to the alley. Flames danced there too. Trapped. We were trapped.

Still, I wasn’t going to die without trying everything.

I pulled out the radio. My butter fingers dropped it. “Son of a bitch.”

I dropped back to the floor, searching for clean air.

A strange sound cut through the quiet. At first, I was certain my oxygen-deprived mind was hearing things.

And then I heard it again.

The speaker crackled.

“—na? Come in, please! Pickle. Janna?!”

“Laser,” I rasped.

I grabbed the radio. Tears burned my eyes. I didn’t know if it was the smoke burning them or tears of joy.

“Laser, are you there?”

“Oh, thank hell. ” Laser nearly sobbed over the radio. “Are you okay? Where’s Pickle? Talk to me.”

I coughed hard, eyes watering. “He’s out cold. Breathing, but not waking up. I think a concussion. The smoke is thick. I think this might be it.”

“No, no, no, don’t you dare give up on me. Listen to me. You need to move away from the fire front. Head for Main Street. We’re trying to get someone in. Just hold on. We haven’t forgotten about you.”

I rested my forehead against the floor, tears mixing with soot on my cheeks. I felt so weak. I couldn’t lift my head. I needed to tell her where we were.

“Diner. Martha’s Diner.”

“You’re at the diner?”

I tried to suck in a breath but it felt impossible.

“Janna. Hey, girl. Stay with me.”

I opened my eyes. “Laser it’s not good. He’s too heavy.”

I knew I was fading. My sentences were not making sense. I didn’t have the energy to try and make whole sentences.

“Help is coming.” Laser’s voice was such a comfort. I wanted her to keep talking. It felt so good to hear another voice. “We’ve cleared a path. We’ve got the fire held back on one side. The road is closed but we’re working on it.”

“Tell Dalton—” My voice cracked. “Tell him I’m sorry. What I said before was stupid. We wasted so much time. I should’ve just let myself?—”

“No. No goodbyes, you hear me?” Laser’s voice shook. “You’re not done yet. Help is coming.”

I tightened the straps on the harness. “Sorry, bud,” I whispered. “This is going to be a rough ride.”

I staggered to my feet, dragging his weight behind me, and pushed the door open with my shoulder. The outside world hit me like a wall. Heat blasted my skin. I stepped into a nightmare.

Any hope I thought I had was zapped away.

The town was unrecognizable. Smoke poured between buildings, flames lapping at the sandwich shop. And the wind. It was shrieking, blowing smoke and ash everywhere. The world tilted.

I’d like to believe I was some powerful superhero that could conquer anything.

But I’m not invincible. I’m not even that strong.

I remember something I read a while ago.

The reason heroes are so special is because there are so few.

It’s rare. Millions of people die and only one or two get to be a hero.

The odds were not in our favor.

Pickle’s body was still in the diner. I decided that was the best option. I was about to go back inside to accept my fate when I heard a strange noise coming from the opposite direction of the fire.

Hoofbeats? What the hell?

I blinked against the sting in my eyes. The sound grew louder. More distinct. Was it the four horsemen? It sure as hell felt like the apocalypse.

It had to be a hallucination.

And then I saw them.

Two horses. Not four. How weird was it that I was actually relieved to see it wasn’t the four horsemen?

I knew that horse. Honeycrisp. She belonged to Martha.

The rider looked like him. Dalton.

No way.

Dalton sucked at riding. And the man on Honeycrisp moved like he was born in the saddle, leading a second horse behind him.

I swayed on my feet. I was hallucinating. Had to be. Too much smoke, too little oxygen. This wasn’t real. This was my subconscious giving me a happy ending. I got to ride off into the sunset with Dalton.

A smile formed, cracking my dry lips. “Okay,” I murmured. “Not so bad.”

I collapsed inside the door next to Pickle. I could feel the smile on my face and a feeling of peace washed over me.

If this was a dream, I didn’t want to wake up. If this was death, I’d welcome it, because the last thing I saw was him riding through smoke and fire like some kind of cowboy angel.

And then everything went black.