Page 11 of Fighting Gravity

Rosie’s laugh was magic. “May I come watch? I’d love to see Chen fly.”

Tate would do literally anything to hear her laugh like that again. “Of course. You’re not a guest here, Rosie. You’re always welcome.” Tate suddenly recalled her mention of her father and how he was a fan of both Chen and space. “Your father, too.”

He wanted to kiss the gratitude he saw on her lips. She was fucking magnetic.

Elle clapped her hands and the image faded. “Where is Quinn?”

Good question. But then his cousin wandered in, neck bent and attention buried in a tablet, as usual. Might be time to treat her to another massage, though he suspected she hadn’t used any of the previous sessions he’d booked for her.

Tate’s stomach dropped as his cousin looked up. She was crying. But Quinn was no crier. He stood, heart hammering so hard he could hear it. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s been a crash at Pale Blue Dot.”

George’s company. Tate’s world spun off its axis and into free fall. He only heard his own breath, only felt cold, crushing fear in his stomach.

But maybe, just maybe, George hadn’t been there. Maybe he’d been prevented from flying. “Please tell me George wasn’t flying today, Quinn.” They felt outside himself, those words, like they came from a stranger.

She didn’t reply, and Tate realized he had his answer.

He gripped the table as he attempted to heave air into his lungs. He could not have lost George. He was a skilled pilot. A good man. They’d spoken just a few days ago. His death wasn’t possible. Couldn’t be.

Warm hands splayed across his back. Rosie’s sweet voice and floral scent worked their way into his barely functioning brain. “We’re here. You’re not alone. Everything is going to be okay.” She repeated her sentiments over and over, and they helped and hurt at the same time. Her words made his loss more real.

His control began to crumble. He was going to lose it right here in front of Rosie, in front of his team. He held his hand out blindly and felt her warm fingers slip into his. With Rosie by his side, her skin connected to his, Tate started to breathe a bit easier.

7

Rosie didn’t think; she reacted on instinct. Tate, who seemed genuine and kind, was breaking and she wanted to help. Tears formed in her eyes as she rubbed his bowed back. His muscles were taut and quivering, breath quick and shallow.

Whoever George had been, he was clearly important to both Tate and his cousin.

Words dropped from her lips. The standard stuff people said in response to grief. She could hear Chen and Elle doing the same with Quinn, who was sobbing near the door. Tate was silent as she continued to touch him without permission and repeat statements that probably weren’t helping.

But then he flung his hand toward her. Rosie threaded her fingers into his. His grip was crushing, as if he thought his hold on her was the only thing keeping him tied to the earth. Her fingers quickly went numb, but she didn’t pull away. He brought his head up and attempted to steady his breathing. To give him space to collect himself, she studied their linked hands. His were masculine and tan. Hers feminine and pale. A ghost of a smile lifted her lips. Too bad the circumstance was so dire. She’d missed being touched.

Tate gave a gentle squeeze and Rosie brought her eyes up to his. She had to bite her lip against the gasp that rose in her throat. He was breathtaking. Truly. Especially with gratitude apparent in his clear gaze. Rosie gave a wan smile and nodded. She’d been happy to help, if she had.

He released her hand, but Rosie didn’t move from his side. She noticed for the first time how panicked Elle looked. Had she known George, too? Or was she feeling grief by proxy? Her friend had always felt deeply. But then she realized Elle’s eyes were glued to Chen, tracking his every movement. She’d been close-mouthed last weekend when Rosie had asked what was going on between them. Even after wine and in their shared bed in the dark, she hadn’t given up any information other than how maddening she found the man. Rosie didn’t quite believe annoyance was all there was to their story.

She tuned back into the conversation in time to hear Quinn snapping at Tate.

“Is now the best time to take off? Two weeks before our next flight, and in the wake of this crisis?”

She felt Tate stiffen next to her.

“Yes, actually. I hire good people who don’t need me every moment. You should consider some time off for yourself, Quinn. You’re grieving.”

Quinn snatched her tablet from Chen, who must have taken the iPad while Elle was comforting her, and stomped out.

Tate passed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. We’re sorry for your loss.” Elle said.

Down at her side, Rosie felt Tate’s finger brush her wrist. She turned to see him open his mouth and inhale like he was going to speak. He exhaled sharply instead and looked away. “Chen, I don’t need to tell you to be extra cautious, right? Listen to your gut. If we need to postpone—”

“I know.” Chen looked grave, not at all like the dancing-eyed astronaut she’d toured with the week before.

Tate nodded as he pushed off from the table and made his way to the door with slumped shoulders. He turned and gave them a mirthless smile before walking out. Rosie’s aching heart went with him. After a hurried conversation with Elle, Chen left, too.

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