Page 27 of Eight Years (The Trident Trilogy 1)

Chapter Fifteen

Mason

Sarajevo, Bosnia

2019

I’ve never been able to sleep too well on planes, especially when we’re on our way to a mission. My adrenaline is always pumping full force with anticipation, but today, it’s on overload with Millie on the plane. I look over to where she was sitting when we took off. She’s not there anymore. My heart jumps a little bit, thinking she’s gone. Like she jumped out of the plane or something. Man, she’s just messing with my mind. I survey the plane quickly and see her sitting alone on a bench, looking like she’s trying and failing to sleep. Against my better judgment, I grab her a cup of tea and head over.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask.

She looks up, her eyes full of fatigue. I just want to lay down with her right here and stroke her hair until she falls asleep in my arms. Instead, I hand her the cup of tea.

“I’ve never been very good at sleeping sitting up. I’m a little too keyed up anyway,” she says, taking the tea. “Thank you.”

“Clark has sleeping pills if you need them.” I sit down beside her, careful not to touch her. Culver came along on this trip, which isn’t usual. He’s probably viewing me through his scope right now.

“Do they help? The pills,” she says.

“Not really. I never sleep very well before a mission.”

I tilt my head back and close my eyes. Maybe if I’m not looking at her, it will be easier to keep my hands off her.

“So, I think I probably met your dad back in the day, but I’m not sure. I was a rookie when he was retiring, and stationed in San Diego, but I got to Virginia Beach for training a few times. I definitely remember the name, but I’m not sure if we crossed paths.”

“Is this your attempt to get me to talk about him?” I hear a little bit of sass coming out in her voice, and it’s making me want to look at her eyes because I know they’re sparkling again.

“Yes. Is it working?” I ask, keeping my eyes firmly shut.

“I think the deal was that you tell me one thing about your mom, and then I’ll tell you one thing about my dad.”

“I’m not sure we agreed on that order, but okay. Uhh, let’s see,” I say. “My mom had two kids, and she named us Mason and Dixon.”

“Wait, like the Mason-Dixon line? That’s amazing.”

She laughs. I have to look at her. I open my eyes, and she’s looking right at me. Yep, the eyes are like firecrackers again.

“Yeah. She was born and raised in Alabama, and just Southern down to her core. I’m not sure she paid any attention to anything that went on above the Mason-Dixon line.”

“She definitely would have gotten along with my grandma then,” she says, laughing.

“Your turn. Tell me something about your dad.”

“Wait, I thought you grew up in Texas,” she says.

“I did. My parents met in college and moved back to Houston, where Dad grew up. I’m all Texas, but Mom was all Alabama. And, quit trying to get out of our deal. Tell me something about your dad.”

The firecrackers die out. She takes a deep breath.

“Okay, umm,” she says slowly. “He used to sing ‘Layla’ to me as a lullaby.”

“Like Clapton’s ‘Layla’?”

“Yeah. Well, into my teens. If something was upsetting me or I just couldn’t fall asleep, he’d start singing that, and I’d drop off like I had just been hypnotized. It always worked.”

“He had good taste. I love that song. One of my favorites.”

“Yeah, it used to be one of mine. I still have dreams about him singing it, and he’s always singing that same verse, you know ‘Make the best of the situation before I finally go insane. . .’”

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