Beyond What is Given(101)

I swallowed and let myself feel it for a second, the all-encompassing fear that threatened to kill my ability to think, to breathe. To imagine Sam lying there the way Grace had. Or worse, burying her. “It doesn’t compare.”

“I’m so sorry I did that to you,” she said softly.

“No, I mean, this is a million times worse. I loved you. I thought you were my future, if not as my eventual partner, then always my best friend. But Sam? She’s this wrecking ball who tears down my defenses and makes me feel, forces me to live. My need for her is about the same as my need for oxygen.”

“I’m so sorry this is happening to you, to Sam. She’s truly remarkable, Grayson.” Her tone was honest, without sarcasm or malice, as she always had been.

“She is.” And I’d been a damn fool not to show up on her doorstep every morning for the last few weeks and demand she come home, back to me. A bigger fool for not requesting Colorado when I knew that was what she wanted. The greatest fool for letting Dad’s ultimatum rule my future.

I hung up with her as Jagger appeared, thrusting a cup of coffee into my hands. “It’s two a.m. It’s either time for sleep or caffeine.”

I took the cup and a sip, wishing it burned more, hurt more, made me feel something.

“Holy shit, is that Vivica Fox?” Jagger asked, his eyes wide as he stared down the hall.

I leaned forward to see a beautiful, no-nonsense woman strutting down the hallway, Ember, Josh, and Paisley all struggling to keep up with her. The way she held her head high reminded me all too much of someone else. “That’s Sam’s mom. Has to be.”

She walked up to me, dropped to my level, eyed the blood covering my shirt, and took my hands. “You’re Grayson.” Her eyes, the same color as Sam’s, locked onto mine.

“Yes, ma’am.” I steeled myself for the attack, the blame I knew I should shoulder.

Instead, she cupped my cheek and pressed her lips together, her eyes shiny with tears. “She loves you.”

“I love her.”

She nodded. “Thank you. If you hadn’t gone after her, dug her out, I think this conversation would be under much different circumstances.” She squeezed my hands and then stood, entering the ICU with quick, sure steps.

“How was the drive?” Jagger asked Josh.

“Good, but the weather is going to turn to shit. A new front is pushing this way, and they’re calling for another outbreak of tornados tomorrow.”

“Shit,” Jagger muttered, and kissed Paisley’s head.

They all took seats next to me, lining the hall outside the ICU. “You know there’s a waiting room,” I said.

“We’re good,” Josh replied.

An eternity later, Colonel Fitzgerald walked out, her face stern. I jumped to my feet. “Well?”

“Her shoulder’s been put back in. They’re waiting for the swelling to go down in her arm before they reset the bones. Her laceration has been stitched.”

“Her brain?” I asked, and held my breath.

She took a deep breath. “They’ve kept the swelling down. We won’t be able to tell the damage until she’s conscious.”

Where have I heard that one before?

“Can I see her?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. They barely let me in.”

I cursed as my cell phone rang. I’d forgotten I even had it in my back pocket. “Hello?” I asked.

“Lieutenant Masters?”

Fuck. A two a.m. phone call that started like that couldn’t be good.

“I am,” I answered.

“This is Major Davidson. I’m sorry to call you so late, but we have an emergency.” His voice was clipped.

“Yes, sir?” If one of the guys in our class had gotten a DUI, I would kick his ass.

“We have another weather front pushing in, calling for tornadoes. We were lucky to suffer no damage to the aircraft during this tragedy, but we need to evac them all.”

“Yes, sir.” My stomach clenched.

“We’ve exhausted most of our experienced pilots today and don’t have enough instructor pilots to move out all the aircraft. I asked the instructors for their best pilots, and your name came up.”

“Yes, sir,” I repeated.

“You’re leaving at first light, which is in about five hours, so I suggest you get some sleep. You’ll be front-seating Mr. Stewmon, your usual instructor. Risk assessment has been completed, and we’re good to go. We need to move these aircraft out. Oh, and I’ll need Bateman, too.”

I couldn’t leave. Not now. Not with Sam in the ICU.

“Sir, I’m at the hospital right now. My girlfriend”—ex-girlfriend, my brain clarified—“was injured today, and they’re monitoring her. I more than respect and appreciate the offer, but maybe there’s another pilot better qualified?”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Lieutenant Masters. She’s not your wife?” he asked.

“No, sir.” Not yet.

“Then I’m sorry to say that that wasn’t an offer, that was an order. We need you. I expect you at Cairns by seven a.m. Get some rest.” He hung up before I could even argue.

“What’s up?” Jagger asked.

“We’ve been ordered to report to Cairns by seven a.m. They need the 64s moved out to the evacuation zone for the new storms coming in.”