Afraid to Fly (Anchor Point #2)(6)

"Remote aircraft pilot."

"Right. Right. Got it." I took a sip of my drink, and with it, swallowed a few smartass comments about how a fancy name didn't change the fact that if you don't leave the ground, you're not a damn pilot.

Says the man who hasn't left the ground in too many fucking years.

As if for emphasis, one of the spasms in the center of my back tightened, catching my breath. God, if I'd been sitting here with anybody else, I'd have flagged down my daughter, bowed out, and gotten the hell home for my date with Percocet. As it was, I probably wasn't going to last too much longer, but this was the first chance I'd had to sit down with Clint, one-on-one, outside the office, and with the knowledge that he wasn't straight after all. I could breathe through a few muscle spasms if I had to.

"How long were you a drone-RAP?"

Clint fidgeted, wrapping both hands around his drink and staring into the glass. "Little too long." 

Okay, so that topic was a minefield too. Maybe the best approach was to let him choose a direction, and I'd follow his lead.

The silence hung there for an uncomfortable minute or so.

Then, finally, he said, "So your date really hooked up with the bride's father?"

A relieved laugh burst out of me. I didn't even care about the pain it sent radiating across the back of my ribs. "He really did. That was . . . awkward."

He chuckled. "I can imagine. Did she at least know her dad was into men?"

"Nope." I shook my head slowly. "Pretty sure it was news to her mother too."

"Oh my God."

"Yeah. Let me tell you, nobody was surprised when the bride's sister eloped the next year, and her brother had a dry wedding a few months later."

"I believe it." He held my gaze, giving me a chance to see how dark his eyes really were. "They didn't blame you, though, did they?"

"No, no. Hell, the bride actually felt really bad for me because she thought we'd had something serious going on. She felt a lot better once I told her we'd only been out on a few dates by that point."

"That's good. I can only imagine what holidays are like in that household now."

I grimaced. "I heard through the grapevine that they were pretty awkward for the first couple of years." I was about to mention the number of antiques and heirlooms that were smashed the next day after the father of the bride's walk of shame, but right then, Kimber appeared beside me.

She looked at Clint. "Oh hey. I didn't know you came back."

Clint shrugged. "Had to drop someone off."

Kimber mouthed a silent Oh. She glanced at me and gestured with her beer bottle toward her seat, eyebrows up as if to ask if it was okay to sit down.

I nodded back, so she did.

"Getting tired of dancing already?" I asked.

"Just need a break for a few minutes." She took a swig, then peered into the bottle with a scowl on her face. "What the hell? When did this one get empty?"

Clint and I both laughed.

"They have a way of doing that, don't they?" he said.

"Little bastards," she muttered.

"You want another one?" I asked.

"Hell yeah."

I rolled my eyes. "Drunk."

"Shut up. I am not."

"Uh-huh." I glanced at my soda, and realized it was getting pretty low too. "You know, I could use one myself. I'll go get them this time." I started to stand, and something in my back . . . moved. It wasn't a spasm. It wasn't a twinge. It wasn't even really pain-just that ominous shift of soft tissue that meant things were going to get bad.

Kimber gently grasped my arm. "Dad?"

"You okay?" Clint asked.

I swallowed. "I think it might be time to call it a night."

Instantly, Clint was on his feet. "Do you need a lift?"

I closed my eyes and exhaled. As much as it killed me to admit it, I needed someone to drive us home tonight. Swallowing my pride was the best option I had right then, so I turned to him. "You don't mind?"

"No, of course not." His keys were already in his hand.

"I'll go get my coat." Kimber let go of my arm. "Do you have the claim ticket?"

"Yeah." I took out my wallet, fished out the ticket, and passed it to her. "We'll meet you outside."

"Got it." Ticket in hand, she hurried toward the coat check.

I leaned on the chair for a second, cautiously stretching my back to gauge how bad this was going to get and how fast. Pretty bad and pretty fast, if the rapidly spreading tension was anything to go by.



       
         
       
        

"We should get out to the car," I said, concentrating on not letting my rib cage move more than it absolutely had to while I was talking.

"Good idea." Clint walked ahead, clearing a path for me as he went. As soon as we were outside, he turned around. "Why don't you wait here, and I'll bring the car up?"

Without speaking, I nodded. I could have kissed him right then even if I hadn't been fantasizing about it for ages. I wasn't in the mood for anything that didn't involve sleep or pain pills, but he was a saint for being this considerate. Or maybe I'd just spent too much time with people who weren't.

Moments later, Kimber appeared with her coat over her arm, and Clint parked at the end of the walk. Thank God I didn't have to put on a coat. The dinner jacket I was wearing was warm enough anyway, and the motions would have been too painful.

With my daughter's help, I eased myself into the passenger seat of Clint's car. Then she got into the back, and Clint pulled away from the curb so carefully and smoothly, he must've had experience driving with someone who was in a lot of pain. At the stop sign at the end of the road, he stopped just as gently.

"Which gate?" he asked.

"Gate two," Kimber said. Though she'd had quite a few drinks tonight, she was sober enough to direct him back to our house, so I left her to it. Meanwhile, I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing without snapping my ribs off my spine.

After we'd left the base and were on the highway, she asked, "You have some of the strong stuff at home, right, Dad?"

"Of course." I turned to Clint, half expecting a raised eyebrow over what I meant by strong stuff, but when he glanced my way, the only thing that registered in his expression looked like genuine concern.

I closed my eyes again.

And while she continued directing him toward our place, I sent up a prayer of thanks that he'd come back to the Navy Ball tonight.



By the time I walked into my kitchen, every muscle from my shoulders to my hips was cable tight. Taking off my dinner jacket took way more work than it should have, and not just because I needed to lose five or ten pounds before the next time I put it on. Kimber helped, carefully tugging it off my shoulders and down my arms while I held my breath and tried not to collapse from pain. Thank God she lived with me, or I'd have been sleeping in my uniform tonight. Wouldn't have been the first time.

She put the jacket over a chair while I toed off my dress shoes.

"Need me to get the cummerbund too?"

I glanced down. Shit. I'd forgotten about the little bastard and its buckle behind my back.

"Here." She stepped around behind me. "I'll get it." A second later, the cummerbund went slack. 

"Thanks," I said.

"Need anything else?"

"Only if you've got some elephant tranquilizers and a handful of morphine."

Kimber laughed quietly. "Sorry. Fresh out."

"Damn it."

Her forehead creased. "You've got your drugs, though, right?"

I nodded, gesturing toward my bedroom. "Yeah. I'm good. Thanks again."

"You're welcome. Let me know if you need anything else. Besides, you know, elephant drugs."

I chuckled as much as the pain would allow, which wasn't much. "Will do."

"Okay. Good night, Dad."

"Good night, kiddo."

She headed down the hall, and I went into the master bathroom to get that coveted Percocet.

I took the top off and looked inside.

Oh fuck. Was I really down to my last four?

I rattled the bottle, jostling the pills inside, and sure enough . . . only four.

Well, that posed a hell of a dilemma. Tough it out and save the pill? Or take it now and hope I could get my hands on some more before I ran out?

Fuck it. I'd figure out how to get more later. After all, when I hoarded pills for a rainy day, this was the kind of rainy day I had in mind. As it was, I'd be sleeping in my tux shirt and trousers because I couldn't maneuver enough to take them off.

Yeah. This was one of those desperate nights.

So I chased the pill with some water, went to bed, and let the Percocet carry me away.





All the way home, I worried about Travis. It was a good thing his daughter was with him. Though she'd been drinking tonight, she still had her wits about her, and she'd be there if he needed anything. I wasn't sure I could have left him completely alone.

Not that he would've given me much choice. I barely knew him, but I could already tell he was one of those people who would knuckle through rather than ask for help. Which meant the pain must have been bad tonight. He'd been obviously uncomfortable for most of the evening, especially toward the end, but then there'd been that palpable shift. When he'd tried to stand, but halted, something in his eyes had changed, and he'd gone from I've got this to I'm fucked.