Page 6 of Aviator
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I sigh. “None really yet. Thought I’d come here for some of my own medication. Just left the hospital. He’s resting now. They’ll know more in a few days, I guess.”
Felix is a good man, so he buys me a couple more beers and doesn’t care if I don’t talk much while he mostly rambles. He was one of those guys who shit always seemed to bounce of off. He did his own tours while in the Army and managed to make it out relatively unscathed. Now, he flies as a helicopter medic for the county and occasionally with the North Carolina Helicopter Aquatic Rescue Team, NCHART.
As though he can read my mind, he says, “You know, NCHART is always looking for good pilots. You could apply in the next round, get the training. Get back to saving lives instead of flying around rich dudes in suits.”
I shake my head. The thought of going back to being responsible for anyone’s life makes my stomach churn. “No chance in hell. I’ll leave the heroics up to you and stick with the billionaires.”
“This is because you can’t handle dangling from helicopters anymore, isn’t it? Pussy. I knew Marines were pussies.”
I slap him on the back, causing him to choke on a swallow of beer. “You’ve got me there. That’s the reason.”
Felix chuckles. “Knew it.” But he lets the subject drop and orders us another round.
When we’ve both had enough, he lets me share an Uber home to make sure I get back okay and offers to give me a lift back to my truck the next day. I thank him and pass the fuck out the second I lock the door behind me. The alcohol gives me a night without any nightmares.
For now.
CHAPTER THREE
KENNA
The phone ringsat the same time I hear a blood-curdling scream.
Oddly enough, the phone ringing is the anomaly, not the screaming. As a loud and proud millennial, I don’t call anyone. . . ever. And no one I know ever calls me.
Well, with one exception.
Which is why my heart begins to race as I navigate down a hallway strewn with clothes, backpacks, discarded shoes, softball gear, and a lone acoustic guitar. It’s probably nothing. Robocall or something. God knows I get enough of those these days. I pass by the kids’ rooms, valiantly ignoring their spats. I can’t deal with themorrobocallersortelemarketers until I’ve actually had the chance to finish the cup of still-full coffee I’ve been carting around all morning as I try to complete last-minute chores.
Seriously, there isn’t enough caffeine in the world to endure a Monday morning with three kids.Girlkids at that. When the scream isn’t followed by another by the time I reach the kitchen, I know no one has been seriously injured. I continue my search for my still-ringing phone to no avail.
“If you’re not in the car in five minutes, you’re going to be left behind,” I shout over my shoulder as I sift through pages of homework, bills, and empty cereal boxes littering the counter. The phone stops ringing, and I curse under my breath, then heave a sigh that has my short and in terrible need of a new dye-job bob fluttering into my eyes. A quick search through our junk drawer yields a hodge-podge of birthday candles, spare batteries, random tools, wires for mystery electronics, stubs of dull, forgotten pencils and dried-out pens, school pictures, and toothpicks, but no phone.
“Kenna, Krystal won’t give me my shirt back. She’s always stealing my stuff.” Klaire sends a venomous glare at Krystal, who grins back at her. Krystal adjusts the crop top that’s too short for either of them with a sassy flip of her hair as she flounces off.
The phone rings again, and I look heavenward before saying, “How about this? Whoever finds my phone first gets to choose a shirt from my closet for tomorrow?”
The two share a look and then sprint from the doorway. After a mad search, Klaire emerges from the fridge with a victorious smile and my phone in her hand. “Thanks,” I tell her as she hands it over. “What the hell was it doing in the fridge?” But they’re both already darting out of the kitchen and toward my bedroom, the telltale sound of an argument in their wake.
I decide that is a problem for Future Kenna to deal with. Right now, whoever thinks seven a.m. on a Monday morning is a dire emergency takes precedence. “Hello,” I say without looking at the caller I.D. I wedge the phone between my chin and shoulder as I reach for the coffee pot to top off my cup. Next, I need to find my Apple Watch so I can’t lose my phone again before work. I’m already late enough as it is.
“I can’t believe I trusted you!” The shout blares through the speaker and straight into my ear, causing me to wince. In my shock, the phone clatters to the counter. The shrieks continue, loud enough to hear them at a distance, though I can’t make out the words.
What in the world?
Pressing the phone back to my ear, I say, “Who is this?”
“I should have shot you when I had the chance. This is going too far. You’re crazy. You’re a lunatic. This can’t be real. For goodness’ sake.”
It’s the ‘for goodness’ sake’ that does it for me. Without a doubt, the screaming woman on the other line is my twin sister. “Kady?” The adrenaline from my initial reaction is still coursing through me. I press a hand to my heart and will it to slow its frenetic pace. “Kady, what the hell? You scared the shit out of me.”
“I mean it,” comes the voice again. “Stay away from me, or I’ll. . . I’ll beat your brains in.”
Now, Kady has done some. . . interesting things over the years. A faerie-themed ball celebrating her favorite fantasy romance series. Obsessively hoarding books and arranging them in a massive, rainbow-colored library. Constantly trying to repair the relationship with our father. But she’s never done anything violent. She’s the softest, sweetest person I know. Constantly forgiving everyone else’s shortcomings. Going the extra mile for students at school, even if they’ve tried her one too many times. The last thing she’d ever do is threaten to hurt someone. Those shouted threats, plus not hearing from her in a week, have me paying attention.
Our three younger sisters are all yammering as I attempt to herd them into my car for morning drop-off. Klaire and Krystal must have already forgotten their fight because they’re both bowed over a phone, giggling as they watch some chick shake her ass. Since when did they have access to that app? I file that away for Future Kenna as well. Poor girl, she’s gonna have her hands full.
“Kady, what’s going on?” A gusty, frigid wind blows my long bangs into my face. I swipe them away with a frown. I really shouldn’t have gone for the severe bob that is probably a few years past being trendy. But Garrett likes the style, and I like making him happy. Only, it’s the middle of winter, and we’re about to be hit with an arctic front. But, man, I wish I had those couple extra inches to protect my neck. I should have packed a scarf, but there’s no time now to run back in and grab one.
