Page 5 of Aviator
Collier was damn near catatonic when we transported what was left of Tate to the helicopter I’d radioed in for. James Murdoch was being held up by Killian Burke, who’d also taken shrapnel, though quite a bit less than Tate.
Callum Reece took off his helmet and threw it on the floor between us, pressing his head between his knees as we took to the air. An unspoken conversation happened between Jamie, Kill, and me.
“What happened?” they both seemed to ask.
I lifted a shoulder in response. Because I had no fucking clue. All I knew was that one of my best friends was dead.
Gone.
And I’d seen what Collier had done.
I’d heard about it happening before—medics giving a killing dose of whatever they had on hand. But I’d never witnessed it. Never thought I’d have to.
Never thought Tate would be on the receiving end of it. Or that a man I trusted with my life would be the one doing it.
Somehow everything had gotten so completely fucked.
We’d survived the night. There was that, at least. . .
But the cost of our survival had been paid in Tate’s blood.
* * *
I wake with a start, my heart pounding in my chest. The familiar weight of guilt and grief presses down on me as the images of that fateful day play through my mind: Ryan’s face as he looked at me the split second before the gunfire hit him, the screams of my teammates, and the deafening roar of the helicopter as we tried to escape.
I glance at Gramps, his chest rising and falling steadily in his sleep. The hospital room is quiet, save for the beeping of the machines monitoring his vitals. Margaret and Lawrence went home for much-needed sleep. I run my hand through my hair, wishing I could just shake off the nightmare and the memories that come with it.
I get up and walk to the window, looking out at the dark night. I know I should try to get more sleep, but my mind is racing, and I can’t shake the feeling of unease and helplessness.
A doctor rushes in with a nurse who helps check Luke’s vitals. Hovering by his bedside, I watch with my arms crossed over my chest. The nurse keeps glancing at me with a worried frown. I know I’m intimidating at nearly six-four with a near-constant scowl underneath my thick growth of beard, but I don’t give a shit.
The doctor, a different one this time, either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. She says, “He’s stable for now, but he’s had a serious stroke. He’s going to need a lot of physical therapy to recover. For now, he’ll need lots of rest. And you should get some too. We can call if anything changes.”
I leave my information at the desk, knowing I should go home, but I can’t face my empty cabin. I need something to numb the pain and guilt, so I find myself at a bar, ordering a whiskey. As I drink, the memories of my last deployment flood back, Ryan’s screams echoing in my mind. I throw back another drink, trying to drown out the past. But it’s a losing battle, and I know I’ll never truly escape it.
The smell of stale beer and cigarettes fills my nose, but the burn of the whiskey takes away my ability to care. I find a quiet corner to be alone with my thoughts and nurse my drink, trying to forget about everything that happened.
But my peace doesn’t last. It never does.
A woman approaches me, her eyes scanning my body hungrily. Another man may have wanted a beautiful woman to lose themselves in, but it’s never been my thing. My scowl deepens.
“Hey there, handsome,” she purrs, sliding onto the stool beside me. Her scent fills my nose, and it’s sowrongI physically shy away from her. Exactly what part of my scowl says I’m looking for some action? “Can I buy you another drink?”
I shake my head, feeling a wave of apathy wash over me, deadening me to everything but the insistentneedto get this person away from me. “I’m not interested,” I say curtly, turning back to my drink.
The pout is plain in her voice when she speaks, her hand trailing down my arm. “Come on, don’t be like that,” she says, low and seductive. Taking a generous swallow, I hope the alcohol will erase the memory of her touch. I don’t know why I bother. It doesn’t do a whole hell of a lot when it comes to erasing memories.
I shrug her off, my temper starting to rise. The feel of her hands on me makes me want to shred my own skin. “I said I’m not interested,” I growl, my eyes locked on hers.
She huffs, her face twisted in anger. “Fine, suit yourself,” she spits, storming off.
I sigh in relief, feeling the weight of her presence lifted off my shoulders. I have no interest in romantic relationships and no desire for the mindless sort of sex that would give momentary relief. All I want is to be alone, to try and make sense of the chaos in my head. I take another sip of my whiskey, feeling the warmth spread through my chest.
Naturally, that peace is short-lived. Not even five minutes after the woman vacated the stool, Felix plops down with a smirk. “Hey man, you mind if I make a pass on that chick you just turned down?”
I shrug, not really in the mood for small talk. “Do your worst,” I grunt.
Felix shakes his head, his gaze on the woman shaking her long, dark hair in irritation where she sits with her group of friends. “’Preciate it. You doin’ alright? I heard about Luke through the grapevine. How’s he doing? Any news?”
