Page 71 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
Beth scowls at both of them. “Whatever. You Wests think you’re so great, well think again. Y’all are nothing but trash,” she shoots back before hurrying away.
Holt and I stand in silence, watching as Beth speaks to one of the cops, then pulls Pam away to her car and leaves.
“Do you really have a video of her buying drugs?” I ask my brother.
“No.”
I bark out a laugh, causing Holt to smile.
“Did you really just fuck her so I’d dump her?”
“Yeah,” he admits, smile fading.
I shake my head. “That’s messed up, Holt.”
“I know.” He lifts his hat, runs his hand through his hair and settles the hat back on his head. “But think back to what you were like on the ranch, Flynn. You got in with that society crowd—going to parties, thinking your shit didn’t stink. You had passion before Beth, dreams of owning your own shop. I tried to talk to you about it, bring up the stupid shit she was getting you into. All the bills she ran up. You wouldn’t listen.” He rubs the back of his neck. “You stopped working on cars. You even let her talk you into working the corporate side of West oil. A desk job of all things. Then she started talking about engagement rings and penthouses. You hate that stuff, man. That was going to be your life and I knew you’d be just as miserable as—”
“Dad?”
“Yeah.” Holt sighs. “I just couldn’t take it if you choose someone like Mom. You deserve better.”
“Then you should’ve talked to me. For God’s sake, Holt. I’d figured out what she was a whole month before I saw her in your bed.”
“But you were still home. And she was still hanging around, waiting. I wanted more for you, so I made sure you left. And if making you hate me is what it took to make you leave, it was worth it.” He looks me square in the eyes when he says, “I know it was a crappy thing to do, but I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry because it worked. You left. You’re doing what you love. And if that girl here today is any indication, you’ve found someone worthy of you for a change.”
We’re quiet for a while, watching the boats sail by on the lake on the opposite side of the lot, listening to people drinking on the porch, now that the cops have gone. Beth’s words about Jackie echo in my head. I’m about to ask Holt what he thinks when Trish interrupts.
“Yoo hoo?” She’s leaning around the corner of the building. “The cops are gone, but did you guys forget about your sister at the police station?”
“Shoot.”
“Shit.”
Holt and I say in unison.
* * *
Jackie
Hours later, I find myself in Mission Control’s back room, in the middle of a think tank. The crew onboard the ISS is busy closing off module hatches, following space debris protocol. No one at NASA can figure out a way to get EXT-2 synced without first having EXT-1 operational. Though the station can fully function with only one EXT, there’s no way to fix the failed EXT-1 without EXT-2 in full working order.
“Beyond the debris scheduled to hit in five hours, astronauts can’t stay on the station long-term without the EXT computers maintaining and regulating the ISS’s heat and power. Especially now, right before we enter a beta period. The station will turn into a barbecue where the sun hits and a deep freezer where it’s in shadow,” Sean says to the room.
“What about using the Soyuz to maneuver the station?” I ask.
Ian shakes his head. “We thought of that during the break, but after a data analysis we recalled the long rendezvous to the station after its launch. The extra eighteen hours of approach to the station burned a lot of propellant. There isn’t enough gas to maneuver the station out of the debris pathandget the astronauts back home safely, should they need to make an emergency evacuation.”
“What kind of shit stormisthis?” Sean yells, making most of the people in the meeting jump. “How did we get two EXT failures, low fuel and possible space junk all at once?”
No one answers.
I shift in my seat, much more comfortable since I changed out of my bar outfit. Ian caught me returning his keys to his desk. The look on my face must’ve tipped him off that I’d been on the verge of a breakdown, ‘cause all he did was hand me his gym bag and tell me I was welcome to anything in it.
I’m currently sitting around a high-level meeting with various suits in a large Harvard T-shirt and men’s basketball shorts cinched tight. My feet are big, but Ian’s running shoes still hang off a few inches past my toes. I don’t care. They’re better than the beer-soaked Chucks I’d sadly tossed in the trash.
For a minute, I worry about what Flynn would think, me wearing another guy’s clothes. Especially Ian’s, after that whole proprietary scene when he’d dropped me off at NASA’s gate and kissed me. But then I do a mental eye roll. I may be smart, but I’ve been played.Again.
Flynn isn’t serious about me. I mean, what did I expect? He teaches me how to hotwire a car, I have sex with him and then we live happily ever after?
