Page 26 of Cockpit
Her silhouette moves across the window and holds my attention. Her hair is down and falling over her shoulders. I stare at the shadow and hate that I’m picturing her from earlier. Those shocked brown eyes. Those parted lips. The heat in her cheeks. The undeniable shape of her body.
I hate myself for staring at her. I despise that I’m wondering what those lips feel like and how those nails of hers would feel raking down my back.
Sitting here and thinking these thoughts makes me no better than Mick.
And that’s why I start my car without knocking on her door . . . because fuck dropping myself to Mick’s level. Fuck Sidney Thorton. Fuck the girl who used to push my buttons as a teenager and who is hitting a whole hell of a lot more as a grown woman.
She’s the type of woman I steer clear of. Materialistic. Shallow. Selfish.
It doesn’t make me want her any less.
I pound my fist against the steering wheel because that isn’t fair. That’s the teenager she used to be. I have no clue what she’s like now.
Goddamn gorgeous is what she is.
Shit. I’ve changed leaps and bounds since then. A lovestruck twenty-year-old who was so busy with himself and the day-to-day he missed every sign that the mother of his son wasn’t planning to stick around.
How fair would it be for someone to judge me as that man for the rest of my life when now I know it’s the little things you have to pay attention to? The frustrated sighs. The lack of responses. The back facing me every night in bed when it used to be lips nuzzled against my neck and fingers linked with mine.
Christ. My hands grip the steering wheel as I hit the red light.
People change, Grayson Malone. Look at yourself.
So why am I having such a hard time believing Sidney can, too?
Because she’s trouble with a capital T.
That’s a fucking fact.
The light turns green, and I rev the engine a little harder than I should. So much for apologizing.
And so much for not thinking about her, either.
The rain whips viciously against the windshield.
Cochran’s voice fills my head. “Goddammit, Malone. It’s too dangerous to fly in this storm.”
The thwack, thwack, thwack of the blades overhead is like a metronome to the sights and sounds.
Ignoring Cochran, I turn to my crew. “Who’s with me? You don’t have to fly, but I can’t leave them out there to die.” The concerned looks on the faces of my crew as I give them the option while dispatch frantically sounds off in the background.
Drunk driver in head-on collision. Four patients in serious condition. One more a trauma alert.
“You aren’t going anywhere.”
“Bullshit. They need us. I’ll fly on my own if I have to.”
The ambulance’s lights cut through the darkness of the night. Red flashes over and over as precious seconds tick down, each one another moment less to save the patient we’re about to transport.
“ETA Spiderman to Sunnyville General?” Dispatch’s voice crackles in my ear as I watch the ambulance doors open and my lone flight nurse help pull the stretcher out of the bus. A medic is straddling the patient, hands occupied somehow trying to save the life as they move
across the grassy field. Their progress is hindered by the mud, but they push on. The rain is thick, the air is cold, and it’s frigid as fuck.
“We should be airborne in about five minutes.”
“Be careful, Malone. There’s an aircraft advisory.”
“I’m aware.” I squint to see through the rain.
