Page 33 of Over & Out (Redbeard Cove #3)

Hopper

E xactly three hours later, I’m on a private plane, growling at the flight attendant’s insistence that I put my seat belt on.

“Federal safety regulations,” Chris reminds me from her seat on the opposite side of the aisle.

She’s wearing this soft gray wool dress that makes me think obscene thoughts about how it would feel under my hands.

Which only makes this shit situation worse, because fantasizing about my employee—who hates me—while also panicky-worried about Tru and her baby makes me seriously worried for my mental health.

I jam the seat belt into place, then stare out the window at the lights on the runway. We’re the only plane out here at this hour.

The flight attendant smiles. “Very good.” At least she’s a professional. No nervous giggles or requests for an autograph. “We’ll be on our way in a moment. The captain will dim the cabin for takeoff.”

“All I want to do is pace the fucking fuselage,” I say after she disappears into the galley where I guess her seat belt is. “We haven’t heard shit. How am I supposed to sit still?”

“You’re a grown-up, supposedly,” Chris says over the top of her laptop. “Figure it out.”

The glimmer of hope from our positive interactions has faded. It went that way the minute I kicked a trash can in the private hangar waiting room when the plane needed to be delayed thirty minutes for some kind of extra inspection.

“You’re being a child,” she snapped at me.

“And you’re being too fucking calm.”

“Panic never helped anyone, did it?”

Once again she was fucking right, and I was unfucking happy about it.

“You ever consider therapy?” Chris asks me a few minutes later, as I begrudgingly sit safely buckled. The plane is taxiing onto the runway.

“I’ve done therapy. My dad’s a fucking terror and my mom’s dead. Not much else to say.” In fact, I called my old therapist a few days ago. Left a message. It’s a start. But I don’t tell her that.

Chris rolls her eyes. She looks so fucking beautiful it hurts to keep my eyes on her too long.

But that pain is better than my anxiety about Tru, so I keep looking whenever she’s not.

When she looks my way, though, I ignore her.

I’m reverting back to a serious asshole, which is the whole point, but I’ve been doing it from somewhere outside myself.

I’m sorry , I say to her. Not out loud. You deserve so much fucking better than this .

She looks so miserable, I finally let out a breath.

“I’m fucking terrified,” I say quietly. “I never had any siblings. Tru’s the closest I’ve got.

I didn’t want to acknowledge she was having a baby because it meant something like this could happen.

Now that it has, it feels like it’s somehow my fault. ”

I rub at my chest, at the sharp pain there. Maybe I’m dying. That would be just perfect.

“You didn’t cause this,” Chris says, her voice stiff. “She’s at one of the best facilities in the world right now, with the best doctors in the world. Chances are she’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t. But the odds are generally good.”

The plane begins to speed up, and I sigh, staring out the window.

But when I sneak another look, I’m surprised to see Chris has tucked her laptop away. Her eyes are closed, face in a grimace. Even from here I can see her knuckles are white on her armrest.

“Are you okay?” I ask stupidly. She’s very clearly not okay.

“Fine,” she bites out.

“You’re scared of flying,” I say, finally understanding.

It took me long enough because Chris doesn’t strike me as the kind of girl who’s scared of anything.

She was an amateur dirt bike champion. She used to enjoy skydiving on her days off from the restaurant and the outdoor shop she used to work at.

Yeah, I read the backgrounder I refused to look at in the beginning. Several times .

“It’s just this part,” she squeaks out.

I glance up to the galley. The flight attendant is reading an e-book. She yawns as her body rattles in her seat.

I open my seat belt carefully, so as not to make a noise. Not that she’d hear me over the roar of the engine. It takes some effort to move against the propulsion of the speeding plane, but I land in the seat next to Chris a moment later.

Her eyes fly open. “Hopper, what the fuck?”

“Don’t worry,” I whisper, clicking my seat belt on. “Safety first.”

I reach over and take her hand in mine just as the plane reaches maximum speed.

Chris grips my hand so tight I’m surprised I don’t hear the snap of bone. She grimaces as our spines compress into the seats during liftoff. For a moment, things are smooth—that glorious lack of friction right after the wheels leave the ground. Then there’s a bump. Chris yelps. Another.

I squeeze her hand. “I’ve got you.”

Now that we’re in the middle of it, I remember vaguely the pilot mentioning it would be a bit bumpy on the ascent. I was too worked up to really hear. Or care. Flying’s second nature to me. Not for Chris.

“When’s the first time you rode in an airplane?” I ask her.

“Three years ago.”

“Where did you go?”

“Mexico. With L-Lana and her girls.”

“Tell me about it. The trip, I mean. ”

“It was before she met Raph.” Bump. “She was a single mom, and I suggested she get away. I didn’t think she’d insist I go with her.

” Chris grits her teeth as we rattle around for a minute.

“The girls were so excited—and then on the plane, Nova was so scared, but so was I, and Lana”—she laughs kind of wryly, which is great; it means the distraction is working—“she ended up having to take care of three babies that flight.”

“So you admit you’re a big baby,” I say.

Chris looks up at me and tries to glare. But another bump rocks us, and I see the fear. Her eyes are too wide to hide it.

“Hey,” I say. “You’re the farthest thing from a baby, okay? Trust me, I’ve got that on lock. Who’s the one who had an outburst in the hangar?”

“You, obviously,” she says with a wobbly smile.

The plane bumps again and she squeaks.

That’s it. I lift up the armrest between us and pull her into my arms. I was thinking only about what would feel safest to Chris.

But it feels like the most natural thing in the world to me.

Her body relaxes into mine, and for a moment, I feel like everything is gone—all the pain, all the worry, all the petty problems of the world.

All I feel is Chris’s softness. Her hand tight in mine; so small but so strong.

And I’m flooded with her sweet floral shampoo scent.

I’m not proud to admit it, but I say a little prayer the turbulence continues, just for a little longer .

It doesn’t last, of course. Not the turbulence and not the closeness with Chris, either. The flight attendant steps out five minutes later and hands me a phone, her eyes narrowed when she sees I moved.

Chris pulls away as if it’s her fault.

I take the phone. “Yeah.”

“Hopper?” the voice on the other end says. It’s Mabel. “She’s okay,”

All my bones feel like they’ve vanished. “Thank Christ ,” I breathe. I sink back against the seat. Then I remember it’s not just her. “The baby?” I ask, voice choked.

“A healthy baby boy,” Mabel reassures me, voice soft. “It was touch and go for a bit, but the doctors say the Apgar score is great…”

She says a bunch of words that don’t make sense to me, grams and centimeters and a bunch of medical things I’m impressed she thinks I understand. But I’m too busy being relieved as hell that Tru and her son are okay.

Her son.

I hand the phone to Chris, my eyes wet. Then I ask the flight attendant for champagne. After Chris has Mabel repeat herself, we toast, and for a moment, I think everything’s okay again. I let the bubbles fizz down my throat, pleased I stuffed that last-minute item in my bag.

Chris pours another glass. She sees me watching her and says, “There’s a car waiting on the other side.”

“I’m not judging.”

She looks at me over the glass as she sips. Then she sets it down on the pull-out table next to her .

“You know what? I’m going to judge. Why the fuck haven’t you talked to me about what happened?”

My stomach sinks. I set my glass down. “Fuck.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is this an inconvenient time?”

“Chris,” I grit out.

“What? That night, you wanted to explain to what happened. Then, when I didn’t want to hear it because I was in too much fucking pain after you ran out on me like a goddamned chicken. But somehow, overnight, you changed your mind?”

I open my eyes. She’s pissed, of course.

But behind the fire in her eyes, the tense muscles and flushed cheeks, I can see the hurt.

I can see the confusion etched across her beautiful face.

My heart hurts so fucking badly for what I put her through that I feel my chest closing in.

Like it’s going to form the words for me. Tell her everything.

I could. I could tell her all of it. But what would that do? It would make her hate me even more. It would make her quit.

I was the one who caused you to crash. It was me who was there, who was half in love with this mystery girl I never once spoke to.

That was you. I’ve been hiding that from you.

If my father finds out, he’ll ruin any chance of you having a happy, normal life, even in hiding, because he’ll tell you my deepest, darkest secret.

He’ll make you hate me. And then, he’ll either tell that to the world or paint it all like it was your fault I fell off the face of the earth.

You’ll be known everywhere you go as a star-wrecker.

My mother lived in the dark shadows of my father’s narcissism. Every time she tried to get herself out, he’d make her life hell, even long after they divorced. Even with my so-called protection. He always found a way. The man needs to be behind bars, but he hasn’t committed any punishable crimes.

Unlike his son.

No, I can’t tell Chris. I can’t ever tell Chris, and it rips my heart in fucking two. But my broken heart is the least of these problems, isn’t it?

Chris looks down at my hands fisted in my lap, at my jaw clenching so hard I’m pretty sure I’m about to crack a molar.

Then she huffs. “You know what? Forget it. Go take an anger management course. Start a journal. Fucking take care of yourself and keep out of my way. I’m going to see this thing to the end of the year, but then I’m gone. ”

“Fine,” I say, my chest cracking in two.

“Fine.” Chris flicks open her seat belt and stands, stalking over to the seat on the other side of the plane.

She looks truly done with me. Even a few feet away, I miss the feeling of her next to me.

Her warmth. The soft scents of her lotion, her shampoo, of her.

What the hell am I going to do when she’s out of my life for good?

My stomach pitches so hard at that I feel like I’ve been punched.

I toss back my champagne, then pat my pocket for the little notebook I’ve been keeping there ever since she started. I pull the pen out from the little built-in holder and curl over it on my little table, scribbling what I need to.

When I’m done, I feel the tiniest bit better. I tuck the book back into my pocket and lean back against the seat, closing my eyes. It’s late. Two in the morning, according to my phone.

I sink into the absurd fantasy that’s turned into my happy place. That impossible dream, of Chris and me with a future. I fall asleep to the image of her running through a field of daffodils, laughing over her shoulder at me.

Inexplicably, I’m in my Duke costume, and I’m on a horse.

I must have fallen asleep, but I go with it. Because it feels like fucking heaven.