Page 3 of Aviator
Ice coats my veins, and my stomach clenches. I lose the conversation thread with the attendant and have to tell her my email address three times before I get it right. My head is swimming, so I miss what Fiona’s friend says, but all I can hear are Fiona’s words. “Like, go to a gym or something.”
Oily shame washes over me, and I feel my cheeks go hot. I wish I could turn around and confront her because I have no doubt her comment is directed at me. I wish I could be brave and strong, but most of my strength goes to being there for my sisters, and sometimes, I don’t have enough to use for myself. Fierce tears prick the back of my eyes and burn my throat, and I excuse myself to the bathroom to splash some water on my face before anyone notices. The last thing I want is for the girls to see me upset, and God knows Riley doesn’t need any provocation to go toe to toe with Fiona. Riley may be aDungeons and Dragonsnerd with a penchant for vintage video games, but she also goes to Orange Theory and taekwondo and will kill a bitch.
Fiona’s a bully, that’s all. Someone who hasn’t matured past middle school. I know that, yet her words always seem to get to me. In every other situation, I’m the one standing up to bullies. I’m the one making certain my family is protected. But when it comes to me? I freeze.
I stay in the bathroom until I figure the coast is clear, but Fiona is waiting for me in the hallway the second I step outside the door. My eyes fly to hers. If they weren’t pinched in a permanent scowl, her clear, translucent blue eyes would have been a beautiful combination with her dark red hair.
“Hello, Fiona. Crazy to see you here,” I manage to get out.
Fiona crosses her arms. “Kenna. I forgot you were engaged. Find anything that fits?”
I nod because I can’t trust myself to keep from saying something I may regret. We have to work together, after all. I have to be civil. For Garrett’s sake. I wouldn’t want to put him in an awkward position. Especially not with how hard it’s been to find a reliable receptionist. Fiona’s the longest one in two years that he’s managed to keep at our fast-paced dental office.
“Yes,” seems like a nice enough answer.
It’s hard to remember that I thought maybe we could be friends when Fiona started at the office six months ago. It would have been easy to become bitter toward prettier people—my own twin sister could be a model if she wanted—but I knew what it was like to be judged on appearances and always tried to never be that person.
Until Fiona.
“Think Garrett will like it?”
All I can do is nod because, for some reason, my throat clamps down on my response when I hear her say his name. It sounds like something dirty dripping from her lips, and suddenly, I want to get as far away from her as I possibly can.
I push by her and say, “Have a great rest of the weekend. See you at work,” before I do something stupid like cry in front of her.
Riley and the girls are waiting out on the sidewalk when I emerge, the blast of cold air clear and refreshing. I force myself to push thoughts of Fiona, her words, and our conversation to the back of my mind, but I know they’ll linger there. Festering. Waiting for my vulnerable moments to creep back up and needle me until I break.
“Finally,” Klaire says. “I’m starving. Can we go get something to eat?”
I nod and follow them back to the minivan. At lunch, I eat a double serving of ice cream, and each time I think of Fiona or me in my dress and Garrett’s reaction, I eat another spoonful.
All I can think is,I wish Kady was here.
CHAPTER TWO
CRYSTAL MOUNTAIN, NC
DEAN
All I’ve wantedsince I got up in the air with a group of chattering billionaire brothers was peace and quiet. I’ve got enough voices in my head. I really don’t need them shouting over each other to make me feel the need to peel off my skin. It was a long three-hour flight to their business meeting and another three-hour flight back. Only, on the flight back, they were plied with liquor and the thrill of some deal going through that they seemed ten times as loud.
Gramps would have been over the moon to know I got to play chauffeur to the infamous Kincaid brothers, who make their home in Crystal Mountain. Their family owns most of the mountain itself, not to mention the lucrative lumber business, and real estate mogul Weston Kincaid regularly makes headlines in our small tourist-centric newspaper. But all I wanted was to get back home to the peace of my cabin.
The steady hum of the engine finally cuts out as I bring my charter plane to a stop. The sweat beads on my forehead are a testament to the long flight and the unexpected turbulence we encountered. I can’t help but feel relieved to be back on solid ground. As I taxi the Citation CJ2 to its designated parking spot, the clients still chatter away in the back, celebrating their new deal. I’m just happy to be done with them. I can already picture myself relaxing on the porch of my grandfather’s house, enjoying the view of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance.
I shut down the engines and disembark the aircraft. The quiet of the airport is a welcome relief from the noise and chaos of the flight. The brothers bound and, in some cases, stumble from the plane with a friendly wave and a goodbye before heading for the hangar and their waiting cars.
I look forward to the next time I get to take the CJ2 up into the skies, with quieter clients, of course. For now, I want to get back to spend time with Gramps before his eight o’clock lights out, but it looks like I’ll only get there with enough time for a quick drink and a little bullshitting. I’ll take what I can get. The old man may be spry mentally, but physically. . . well, the years are starting to catch up with him.
The shouted conversations I listened to all day ring in my ears as I grab my overnight kit from the lockers in the office area of the hangar. I almost make a clean escape when my boss and the airfield owner, Lawrence Darcy, peeks his head out of his office. His face is round and jolly, with rosy cheeks, a bulbous nose, and deep-set, friendly eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles. But he’s not smiling now. Spotting me, his round face droops with relief.
“Dean, thank god. I thought I’d missed you.”
Lawrence takes good care of himself, with his well-manicured salt-and-pepper beard and hair combed back in a neat, professional style. He wears a pair of spectacles perched on his nose that add a touch of intellectual charm to his appearance, but he doesn’t look put together now. His hair is ruffled like he’s been running his hands through it constantly, his glasses are askew, and there’s a light sheen of sweat over his forehead.
I brace myself for bad news as I approach him.
“What’s up?” I ask, hoping he isn’t sending me out on a last-minute flight. I can always use the money, but I hoped to get a few days’ rest between jobs.
