Badd Motherf*cker(50)

He tapped me, speaking hoarsely past my chokehold. “Wait—wait!” His legs released me, and he pointed down the docks. “Isn’t that your raincoat?”

I let him go and followed his outstretched finger. Sure enough, there was a figure a few hundred feet away wearing an olive green raincoat several sizes too big, standing in front of a seaplane gesticulating somewhat angrily at the pilot.

Dru.

It was her.

And from the looks of it, she was trying to wrangle a ride out of here with my raincoat.

…And my heart.

Or some sappy emotional bullshit like that. All I knew for sure was that the thought of Dru getting on that plane and flying out of Ketchikan never to return felt a lot like wrong and scary and shitty—and something I really needed to prevent.

Like…now.

Brock sat up and quirked that damn eyebrow at me. “Well? Go, you macho fuckstick!”

I went and even managed to be mature enough to ignore the barb he’d sent my way. Well…mostly ignored. Except a middle finger or two flashed at him as I jogged down the dock toward Dru.

Problem was, Brock had been right earlier when he said I wouldn’t have a fuckin’ clue what to say if I found Dru. Because I didn’t. Not the first damn idea.

But then, talking wasn’t ever really my strong suit, was it? Maybe I should just play to my strengths, and show her what I meant.





11





Dru





“Sorry, honey. No can do,” the pilot repeated. “I told you, I’m gonna have a full load as it is, no space for passengers. And even if I did have the room, I couldn’t possibly cart you wherever it is you wanna go without full payment up front. Get me the cash now, I could maybe wrangle something. But I’m leavin’ in ten minutes, so you’d best hustle.”

“And I told you I could get you more cash as soon as we land.” I held up my cell phone. “One phone call, and I could have cash in hand the second we touch down. But there aren’t any banks around here that’ll let me withdraw from my savings account. Please, please…six hundred bucks for a one-way ride to Seattle? How much more do you want? Hell, even just get me close to Seattle! You’ll get paid, you have my word.”

“Words don’t pay the fuel bill, sweetheart.” He started flipping switches, and then the engines chugged, burped exhaust, and the props started spinning, ramping up to a deafening roar within seconds. He closed his door and leaned out the open window. “Try Bruce! Couple slips down!”

And then the seaplane was reversing out into the bay, and my last hope for getting the fuck out of here on my own was gone.

I glanced down the dock at the only other seaplane within sight. Single engine, tiny, with duct tape on the floats, visible rust in places and dirty streaks in others…the aircraft was obviously ancient, and well past its prime. And the pilot, sitting on the float with a fishing pole in hand…he looked like he was older than actual dirt, and as timeworn as his plane. Um…probably not. If I got drunk and desperate enough, maybe, but I didn’t rate my chances very high of reaching Seattle alive. Thanks but no thanks, Bruce.

Shit. SHIT!

I was just gonna have to call Dad, I decided. I didn’t want to, though. It felt too much like giving up, calling Daddy to come rescue me. I’d gotten myself into this mess, and the hell if I’d beg him to come pluck me out of it.

I stood on the edge of the dock, scrubbing my face and trying not to cry. I just wanted to go home and pretend none of this had ever happened. Drink a few dozen bottles of wine and eat a few dozen cartons of ice cream, and binge on Real Housewives.

Of course, my lease on home was expiring soon, which meant house hunting, or moving in with Dad. I knew for a fact my unit had been leased to someone else already, so I had no leeway there, and there weren’t any units left in the building, since it happened to be a prime building in a desirable part of Seattle….which I’d given up for Michael.

A thought occurred to me, apropos of nothing. Michael had been in possession of the airline tickets for our honeymoon. And the all-inclusive resort reservation had been in his name, too. I checked the time on my phone: eleven-fourteen in the morning; our flight was scheduled to leave at eleven-forty. So I should be boarding right now. Obviously that wasn’t happening, but maybe I could change my ticket in such a way to get me out of here…

I scrolled through my emails to the flight check-in notification, which I’d never gotten around to actually doing. Found a phone number, and after a few transfers got hold of an actual person.

“Delta Airlines, this is Felicia speaking, how can I help you?” a flat female voice said.