Page 38 of Cockpit
“I’m not. I’m just simply trying to do my job.”
“The innocent thing doesn’t work for you any more than the damsel-in-distress thing did. And by the way, I fell for it. For your shaking knees and trembling hands and blatant lies that this wasn’t a setup . . . so just stop while you’re ahead. Stop denying. I know you’re the one behind these anonymous articles. I know you’re the one funding the goddamn party.”
“What party?” I cough and squeeze my eyes closed, praying that she did not do what I think she did.
“The one you set up at Hooligan’s to thank me for saving you.”
“I did no such thing!”
“Save it, Princess. I’ve already tried to get out of it, but this damn town has caught wind of it, and there’s no way they’re letting me bow out. If I have to suffer through the damn thing, then so do you.”
The call ends, and I lean back against the wall as Rissa peeks her head through the doorway with a cat-ate-the-canary grin on her face.
“A party? Are you kidding me?”
“No one said we had to play fair.” She gives me a wink. “I’ve got the man where you want him. Now it’s your turn to close the deal.”
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this when you made it clear that it was my job to—”
“Part of my job is to teach you how to do things. How to check those boxes. I wouldn’t be a good boss if I didn’t.” She shrugs. “And because after seeing Braden’s new shots, it isn’t fair to all of the other men left for him not to have any competition. Can you say washboard and hung?”
“Jesus.” I choke over the word and the lift of her eyebrows. “Do you have no shame?”
“None, but you knew that already.” She looks at her watch abruptly. “Look at the time, I have to go pick up my kids. It’s Friday fun day at my house. See you at the pub tomorrow at seven o’clock.”
I stare after her as she walks out and I realize I thoroughly underestimated her.
Thank God she’s on my side.
“Can I have your attention, please?”
A man climbs onto the bar top and spreads his arms wide, and just in case I had any doubts about how genetically gifted Grayson was, this man commanding the bar’s attention just wiped them away. He has brown hair, aqua-colored eyes that are almost clear, and a wedding ring on that left hand that glints against the lights. He’s definitely related to Grayson—someway, somehow—and my money is on him being his brother.
Chants of “Grady! Grady! Grady!” fill the room as he waves his hands to hush everyone. It feels like half of Sunnyville is here to celebrate Grayson and his heroic “rescue” of me. Either that or they’ll take any little reason to celebrate.
Rissa is on one side of me, Cathy on the other, and in the thirty minutes since I’ve been here, I haven’t been able to move much farther into the room because it is definitely at maximum capacity. Regardless, I feel out of place in my designer clothes in this working-class bar. People glance at me sideways, trying to figure out why I look familiar, but after ten years, memories fade and looks change, so they just can’t quite place me anymore.
It’s probably for the better. But at the same time, there’s something about the camaraderie among the citizens that is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Neighbors who have known each other since preschool tap the necks of their bottles together. People hug each other as if they are long lost relatives, when in reality, it’s probably only been a week or two since they last saw each other.
It’s a fascinating dynamic, and as I stand here and take it all in while the crowd quiets, I realize that Rissa gets this. Rissa understood that this dynamic was all it was going to take to force Grayson to show up.
“In case some of you didn’t know, my brother, Grayson Malone, has fallen into the hero status as of late.” Hoots and hollers sound off around the bar. I glance over to Rissa, whose smile is smug and brown eyes are alive with mischief, and I shake my head. “Ladies, it seems that if you need saving—or maybe even a little mouth-to-mouth—or to be taken to new heights in his mile-high club”—Grady grins as the crowd shouts another round of comments—“he’s your man.”
“Save me! I need some mouth-to-mouth,” a woman shouts, and laughter rings out in response.
“I hear there’s a long line, Linda, but Gray’s an equal opportunity kind of guy,” Grady says. Someone tosses something at him, and he catches it. “Not only is my brother going around saving damsels in distress—keep the fainting to a minimum, ladies—he has also been named one of Modern Family’s top twenty hottest dads!”
The crowd erupts in whistles and catcalls as Grady shrugs as if it’s no big deal, and Rissa’s smile turns knowing. Yeah, she has something else up her sleeve—I know it.
Grady takes a sip of the beer in his hand and then brings his finger to his lips to quiet the crowd again. “But we aren’t satisfied with him just being in the top twenty, are we?” Disapproving noises reverberate through the crowd, and from where we stand in the back of the bar, there is what looks like an orchestrated shaking of heads in disagreement. “If anyone deserves to be voted to the top, it’s my brother—the hero.” He laughs out the word and shakes his head like this is all a joke. Because it is. I mean, a hero’s party for nothing? “When voting goes live this coming Wednesday, we’re going to vote him into the number one spot, aren’t we?”
The place goes crazy, and the shouts vibrate in my chest. It’s as if I’m watching a pep rally for the championship game or something.
“Grayson. Grayson. Grayson.” His name rumbles, each syllable punctuated by a clapping of hands.
“Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the hero himself, my brother, Grayson Malone!”
If I thought the noise was deafen
