Page 50 of Dr. Brandt

When the car pulled through the security entrance of the private airport—and not a regular airport—I shook my head at Cameron’s bright idea.

“Has he lost his damn mind?” I said, glancing around at all the parked, private airplanes.

“No way,” Jackson said in a low voice of excitement.

“Exactly, there is no way we’re going up with this adrenaline junkie of a man in one of those planes. Good God, Cameron.”

After some Googling, I read that Cam’s parents were killed in a plane crash years ago, and I was confused that the man would dare to take one of these glorified tuna cans into the air. Was he insane? Maybe he was, but I sure as hell wasn’t. I was not trying to die today.

“How would you know he was an adrenaline junkie?” Jackson questioned me, reminding me that I should probably tell him his surgeon was also his dad, whom I’d dated in college.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, holding my ringing cell phone up to my ear as I called Cameron.

“Hey, I see the car you’re in. Tell Branson to pull around the side, and I’ll meet you back there,” Cam said.

“I’m telling Branson that we’re turning around, actually. I’m not flying in some small-ass plane,” I said.

“Jessa,” he sounded annoyed.

“Nope,” I was stern. I was not doing this. “Cam, I do not wish to bring up the death of your parents—my deepest and most sincere condolences, by the way. I shouldn’t have had to read about that on the internet, but that’s for another time—but please know that I cannot begin to imagine what you’re thinking.”

“That I’m not afraid,” he answered dead seriously. “I won’t let the shit that scares me stop me from living. I got my pilot’s license to face it head-on so that I can move forward.”

“Fine. I’m not afraid of flying.” The car pulled to a stop.

“Bullshit,” he said, scaring the crap out of me when he jerked open my door. “Yeah, you are, and that’s why we’re doing this.”

“There are so many colorful cuss words I could spew at you, but I won’t because I wouldn’t want Branson to judge me harshly.”

Cameron chuckled, “Branson? I thought you’d be more concerned about how your son would judge you.”

“Jacks wouldn’t judge me because Jacks has also pushed me to my limits with decisions such as this, and he has already heard the dark side of my foul mouth unleash hell and fury for his bad decisions.”

“Thanks, Branson,” Cameron said, giddier than a kid jumping on a trampoline. “Okay, I’d love to take you to Monterey on my plane, but it’s in maintenance and won’t be ready until next week.”

“Maintenance?” I said as Jacks and I followed Cameron, who led the way through the hangars.

“Yeah, routine. They check everything out and ensure things are sound on the plane. Now,” he said, moving on and not letting my irritated mood derail him. “I know you fear private planes, and I’ll give you that; however, we’re not traveling that way.”

“Oh, even better,” I said, not knowing what Cameron was up to.

“No freaking way,” Jackson said excitedly.

“Hell, yeah,” Cameron said, wiggling his eyebrows. “We’re going in this chopper.”

“Are you out of your damn mind?” I said, pulling the strap of my purse tighter against my neck on my shoulder. “Cameron, what the actual fuck?”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of helicopters too? Shit. This thing has a jet engine, a—”

“I just don’t understand why we’re not flying commercially. I swear, sometimes I can see that spoiled rich boy that I remember oozing out of you.”

“Remember? What the hell, Mom?”

“Yeah, Mom. What the hell?”

“Mom?” Jackson pressed, but this wasn’t the time to get into all the details of why I was seemingly so knowledgeable about his doctor. The only way to get the boy off my ass about me knowing more than I led on about his surgeon was to give the surgeon his way. And that meant we were all about to go flying in a mother fucking helicopter.

“Let’s just go,” I said, eying Cameron. “I’m trusting that you’re as good a pilot as you are a surgeon. If you kill us, I will kill you.”

---