Page 19 of Cockpit
“Not soon enough.” I blow out an exaggerated sigh as the scanner goes off and reminds me of the adrenaline rush I’ve been without for the past month. It’s the way Cochran’s brown eyes bore into mine that has me asking the question. “Do you believe I did the right thing?”
“We’ve been over this.” He sounds just as exasperated as I feel.
“And you’ve never answered.”
“Gray . . .”
“We’ve been over this with other people present. Now it’s just you and me. Do you think I fucked up?”
“It was risky.”
“I always take risks. I wouldn’t be good at my job if I didn’t. The question is whether we’d even be having this conversation if the patient had lived? Would the risk have been worth it? Ask yourself that one, and when you have an answer, you’ll know I did the right thing. End of goddamn story.”
“I have your back.” It’s all he says, but when our eyes meet, his are a silent mess of contradictions that I can’t read and don’t leave me any steadier than his words did.
“Then let me get back up in the air and do my job.” With a shake of my head and one last look at the schedule that doesn’t have my name on it, I walk away from everything that is comforting to me.
I drive aimlessly. I have a list a mile long of shit to do—groceries, new cleats for Luke, stop in to dispatch to get my schedule—but I don’t do any of it.
Right now, I just need a fucking breather. No son. No thoughts. No goddamn gray cloud looming over my head.
As I hit the highway, I look over toward Miner’s Airfield and see a helicopter lifting up. Fucking Christ. Why not throw what I’m missing right in my face? I jerk the wheel to the side of the road and just watch it.
My job saved me back then. After Claire left, when my mind was in the constant loop asking how she could walk away. And it was a curse. My twenty-four-hour shifts pulled me away from Luke and had me worried the whole time that he thought I’d abandoned him, too.
Of course, a five-month-old wouldn’t think that, but it fucked with my head during the downtime while I sat in that room I’d just left and waited for another call to come in. The next emergency.
Strangely enough, each life we saved, saved me a bit, too.
I could still rescue people.
I could still be the best damn father I could be.
Her leaving us couldn’t rob me of that.
“Grayson Malone.”
His groan is louder than the chatter of the patrons as I slide into the open spot at the bar beside his stool. “Quit stalking me.” He keeps his head straight ahead and doesn’t glance my way.
“I’m not stalking you at all.” I glance around and smile. The place is large, dimly lit, and has a good-size crowd. A line of taps sits to my right, and a shelf full of half-filled glass bottles sits to my left. Three bartenders are behind the wooden top, joking with customers as they fill one order after another.
“Doesn’t seem that way.”
“Bars are popular places on Friday nights. It’s a Friday night, and lucky for me, I was sitting right over there, minding my own business, when you walked in the door.” More like saw him striding across the street and then heading into the bar when I was driving home and thought it might be the perfect opportunity to hit him up again about the contest.
“Lucky you.” He lifts his beer and takes a long drink of it. There’s something about the visual that pulls on me. His profile. His lips against the rim of the bottle. The way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
And makes me clench my thighs.
“Mr. Talkative, huh?”
“Not when it comes to you.”
“C’mon, I’m not that bad.” He lifts an eyebrow in question but still keeps his focus straight ahead. Silence stretches between us as the chatter of the after-work crowd buzzes around us.
“Ha. I find that hard to believe.” He turns and stares at me for a beat, his eyes glancing to where my hands are clasped on the bar and then back to me. “What? Is it too blue collar in here for your white-collar hands to touch? You think it will rub off on you?”
His comment throws me for a loop and leaves me sputtering to respond. “No. I’m kind of a freak about germs. I don’t like—I’m not—it doesn’t matter,” I correct and shake my head. “I’m here to talk about—”
