“My guitar!” Tommy’s heart ached for his beloved instrument. It held so many memories that spanned his lifetime. He should have sent it back home with the rest of their luggage, but he never let anyone transport it. His Les Paul was always at his side, an extension of his fingertips. He had hoped to one day pass it down to his son or daughter and teach them to play on the same instrument that harbored all the joys of his life. Now that dream would never pan out.
He quickly realized that the loss of his Les Paul was trivial compared to everything else he could have lost. Another cold shiver ran down his spine. He ignored the flight attendant’s attempt to check his head wound and wrapped his arms around Jessi and Angel. “I don’t care about my guitar. The two of you are all I care about. It can be replaced. You can’t.”
Jessi buried her face in his shoulder, and he felt her silent whimper. She loved the Les Paul as much as he did.
Angel gently patted Tommy’s back. “It may not be lost. I tossed it out of the plane when I was first searching for you and Jessi. Maybe it survived the explosion.”
Tommy abruptly pulled back to look at Angel. “You did?”
“The moment my hand touched it, I felt like I had found a piece of you. I hope it’s salvageable.”
Tommy’s jaw dropped open. He was too flabbergasted to speak. Angel had not only saved his life, he saved Jessi and quite possibly his Les Paul. “I owe you everything, Angel. Thank you.” He scrambled to his feet, against everyone’s protests, and fought the nausea and vertigo that caused him to stumble.
Jessi was there to steady him and support his arm. “Careful. You shouldn’t get up. You probably have a concussion.”
The worry and concern in her eyes made his heart swell. He loved her so much. The small scratch on her otherwise unblemished cheek jumped out at him. He cupped her jaw in his palm and ran his thumb over her cheekbone. “Were you hurt?”
“No.” Her hand went to her cheek. “Do I have a black eye?”
He smiled at her. “No, hon. Just a little scratch.”
“It’s barely noticeable,” Angel reassured her. “I’m sure there won’t be a scar.”
She smiled back at both of them. “I don’t care, as long as you’re both okay. Let’s go find Tommy’s Les Paul.”
The flight attendant insisted on washing Tommy’s wound with antiseptic and made him drink water before he set out in search of his guitar. Whether or not they found it in one piece really didn’t matter anymore. He planned on creating a mountain of new memories, and if it was with a new guitar, so be it. They would be the best memories of his life.
Jessi and Angel supported him with their arms around his waist as they walked back to the smoldering plane – what was left of it, anyway. The sand was uneven beneath his feet, and he was thankful for their physical support. The flames from the wreckage had died down to a low ember, but the air was filled with horrendous fumes. Tommy’s eyes began to water as they drew closer, and he squeezed them shut.
“Maybe you should stay here and rest,” Angel suggested. “I’ll search for your guitar.”
Angel was probably right, but Tommy wanted to find his Les Paul or whatever pieces of it may be left. He didn’t want fragments of it left behind to rot in the hot sun or end up washed away by the tide. It deserved a proper burial. “I can make it. I’m okay.”
There were hot shards of metal everywhere. Clumps of the plane’s interior littered the beach and still burned with a low flame in places, but there was no sign of Tommy’s guitar.
“Let’s move away from the plane,” Angel suggested. “I hurled the case out the emergency exit, but I have no idea how far I threw it. I was so pumped with adrenaline it could have landed in New Zealand.”
They ventured a good distance from the crash site, but there wasn’t anything that resembled Tommy’s guitar or its case. He had just about given up and accepted the demise of his Les Paul when Jessi called out.
“What’s that? Over there.” She pointed toward a large hunk of metal that reflected the sun’s rays. It was next to a small cluster of trees. As they got closer, Tommy realized it was a section of the wing, but there was something underneath it. He broke free from Jessi and Angel’s embrace and ran the last few yards. He stumbled and dropped to his knees. Sticking out from under the wing was the head of Tommy’s guitar case.
Angel was quick to lift the debris so Tommy could rescue his guitar. The case was nicked and dented. More than half of it was charred, but the latches were still closed and locked. A soft chuckle rose from Tommy’s throat as he recalled the conversation he’d had with the salesman who sold him the case and emphasized the strength of the locks. At the time, Tommy thought he had been exaggerating, but opted to spend the extra money on the highly-secured case anyway.