Deeper Than The Ocean by Julie Ann Walker

 

 

Chapter 22

 

1:25 PM…

 

For the first time in her life, Mia knew what it meant to have her heart in her throat.

Except it wasn’t only her heart. It was also her lungs and her stomach and maybe her liver too. Basically, every organ in her body had tried to escape via her neck and, subsequently, had gotten stuck in a traffic jam.

Being careful not to touch any of the buttons or switches or levers, and certainly not the control wheel—all of which were far too close for comfort since she occupied the copilot’s seat in the Otter—she glanced apprehensively through the plane’s windshield at the storm clouds directly overhead.

The menacing weather had been rolling closer and closer ever since they left Key West. But no amount of strategic flying on Romeo’s part had managed to keep them ahead of it.

If we were meant to fly, we would’ve been given wings,she thought uneasily as a jagged bolt of lightning arced between two cloud formations. A split-second later, a deafening boom rattled the fuselage.

She would swear she heard the engine sputter. But a hasty glance at Romeo told her otherwise. He was the picture of calm, deftly manning the control wheel, checking his instruments and softly humming.

What was that tune?

Oh, for Pete’s sake. Is that “Leaving on a Jet Plane” by John Denver?Didn’t he die in a plane crash?

She closed her eyes and counted to ten. It was a lesson she’d learned from her childhood therapist. A way to calm her body’s automatic nervous system response when it went into fight, flight, or freeze mode.

“I cut this one a little close,” Romeo muttered. “But don’t worry. We’re nearly home.”

He’d barely gotten the last word out when the sky broke open like someone slit its heavy underbelly with a blade. Merciless rain pounded against the windshield, and she opened her eyes in time to watch Romeo flip a switch so a set of wipers came on.

Strange, but she’d never thought about planes having windshield wipers before. It seemed like such a mundane, everyday piece of equipment to be on something as sophisticated as an airplane and—

“Jesus H. God on a scooter!” she screeched when an evil rush of wind sent the Otter careening sideways. Before she could catch her breath from that little maneuver, the plane fell out of the sky.

Or, at least it dropped a hundred feet. Far enough that had she not been strapped in, she would have flown up and broken her neck when her head smashed against the top of the fuselage.

Another quick glance at Romeo revealed a line on his forehead to match the lines cut into his cheeks by his dimples. His motions were sure while he worked the throttle with one hand while making some nimble adjustments to the control wheel with the other. But he was no longer humming.

She wished he’d start humming again. Despite his song choice, there was comfort in his humming.

“Are we going to die?” Normally, her voice was throaty. It had been ever since the ventilator damaged her vocal cords. But now it sounded like she’d been eating rocks.

“No.” Romeo jerked his chin once.

“Would you tell me if we were?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking.

He shot her a quick look, and she was relieved to find confidence and a hint of his usual humor glinting in his eyes. “Probably not.”

“Well”—she blew out a breath at the same time she cinched her seatbelt tighter across her lap—“no one can accuse you of being a liar.”

“Hold on, linda.” The Spanish endearment might have tickled her ears if they hadn’t already been filled with the roar of the engine and the screaming of the wind. “I’m taking her in quick. It’ll be a rough landing.”

Wrapping her hands around the seat cushion until she was sure her nails left marks on the leather, Mia closed her eyes once more. She didn’t want to see the moment she died.

“If we were meant to fly, we would’ve been given wings.”

She thought she repeated the phrase in her mind. But she must’ve said it out loud since Romeo responded with, “We were given the brains to build planes. And planes are better than wings. At least with planes, when you get caught in a storm, you don’t get wet, eh?”

She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. The traffic jam in her throat had unsnarled enough to allow her stomach to hop into her mouth. Once there, it preceded to disgorge acid.

Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

On the off chance they lived through this, she didn’t want to suffer the indignity of having lost her lunch inside the cockpit. And on the off chance they didn’t live through this, the last thing she wanted Romeo to witness before his ultimate demise was her blowing chunks all over his instruments.

Once again, it felt like the plane fell out of the sky. But unlike the last time, this felt like a controlled descent.

Or perhaps controlled dive was the better way to describe it.

I didn’t survive my childhood simply to die in a plane crash, she thought desperately. I’m not Amelia Earhart.

Although, at least if she’d been Amelia Earhart, she’d be a pilot too. That would have given her some semblance of control over the situation.

What scared Mia more than anything, what had always scared her, was a lack of control.

“Here we go.” Romeo’s voice was tight with concentration and barely audible over the noise of the aircraft and the brutal pounding of the storm.

When the pontoons first touched the water, Mia was thrown forward against her chest strap. The next instant, the plane was airborne again, skipping to another wave.

Or at least that’s what she assumed was happening. She refused to open her eyes to check. All she had to rely on were her ears.

There was a boom followed by a hiss as the pontoons touched off on another wave. Then silence as they glided through the air. Boom, hiss, silence! Boom, hiss, silence!

Over and over until eventually there were no more booms and only one long, drawn out hiss as the plane skimmed across the water.

She opened her eyes to find they were taxing through Wayfarer Island’s lagoon, headed for the safety of the beach.

The rain was so heavy she couldn’t locate the house, but she could see the long wooden dock where the Second Wind, the catamaran owned by LT’s uncle John, was tied up and rocking heavily with the wave action. When she craned her head, she located Wayfarer II, the big salvage and research vessel anchored out beyond the reef.

We made it! We’re alive!

“Breathe, Mia.” Glancing over, she found Romeo watching her closely. “You always forget to breathe.”

Do I? She blew out a ragged breath and the stars dancing in front of her eyes disappeared. I guess I do.

When the plane’s pontoons kissed the sand, he throttled up, the engine revving as he parked the aircraft on the beach. Once he was satisfied, he pulled off his headset, hooking it around a peg above his side window, and cut the engine.

There was a moment of silence. Then Mia was out of her restraints and across the cockpit. Throwing her arms around his neck, she hugged him tight.

She’d been scared plenty of times in her life. But, aside from her grandmother, she couldn’t recall having ever had someone beside her whom she could count on and trust. And now that they were safe, she realized as frightened as she’d been, it would’ve been so much worse if it had been anyone but Romeo—gentle, generous, capable Romeo—behind the wheel of the plane.

“Thank you.” Her throat was clogged with relief and gratitude. “Thank you for not getting us killed.”

“No problem.” His wide palm patted her back a bit awkwardly. When she pushed away, she found his expression ill at ease.

“Oh geez!” She frowned. “Am I crushing your arm? Sorry!”

Hastily, she retook her seat and shoved her hair out of her face. The new cut allowed a heavy lock to cover her eye if she didn’t keep it tucked behind her ear.

“I, uh…” Romeo fiddled with a knob. He seemed anxious.

Weird. Why would he be anxious now? They were home. They were beached. They’d survived the storm and the landing!

“I think we should talk about last night,” he finally finished.

She furrowed her brow even as an image of him lying next to her in bed flittered through her brain. In life, Romeo was animated, his facial expressions ever mobile. But when he slept, his brow softened, his well-defined lips relaxed and fell open the slightest bit, and his face cleared of all thoughts and worries.

He was a handsome man when he was awake.

He was absolutely breathtaking when he was asleep.

For a long time after she’d finished the first chapter of In Darkness and Dreams, she’d studied him. Studied the heavy vein that ran up the side of his neck and pulsed thickly with every heartbeat. Studied his wide, capable hands as they lay clasped over his flat stomach. Studied his thick eyelashes as they cast dark shadows on his cheeks.

Romeo, she’d thought. It fits all his dashing, romantic beauty.

She’d been tempted to trace the line of his nose, to feel the little bump that marred the perfection of the bridge. But she’d satisfied herself with simply turning onto her side and letting the sound of his heavy, even breaths lull her into the deepest sleep she’d enjoyed in ages.

“Last night?” she asked now. “What about it?”

He ran a hand through his hair and cursed beneath his breath. She couldn’t hear precisely what he said. The rain pounded on the plane’s metal body, creating a dull roar.

When he finally turned her way, his expression was pained. “Mia, you know I like you, right? And respect you and admire you?”

His words were nice. But the way he said them? She didn’t know where he was going, but she got the distinct impression she didn’t want to follow him there.

“Are you breaking up with me?” she joked, trying to lessen the strange tension permeating the fuselage.

He looked positively apoplectic when he sputtered, “S-see? I thought you might have read too much into it. Mia, if you haven’t heard, I’m not exactly the relationship type and—”

“Wait a minute.” She held up a hand, feeling her cheeks heat. “Do you seriously think after one night together, one platonic night together, that I’m under the impression we’re an item?”

“An item?” One black brow formed a perfect arch over his eye. “Who says that?”

“Me, apparently.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “What are you? Seventy?”

“No, but my grandmother, who raised me from the time I was seven was. So blame my antiquated choice of words on her. And then answer the question, Spiro.”

His eyes softened as they had every time she’d called him by his given name. “Well, not an item necessarily,” he admitted. “But, I mean, the way you’ve been acting around me today is different, you know? Yesterday, I could barely say a word without you jumping or giving me the side-eye.”

“I’m nervous by nature,” she said in her own defense. Not to mention that she was highly aware of him as a man. So sure, she was agitated anytime he got close.

“And now today, after we slept together in your bed,” he went on, “you’ve been acting like—”

She usually didn’t interrupt. She’d learned people gave themselves away when they were allowed to run off at the mouth. So she was surprised when she heard herself cut in with, “Like what? Like we lived through a harrowing event together? Like we got to know each other better and discovered we both like angsty, dark romance novels? Like maybe we were becoming friends?”

“Is that all it’s been?” He eyed her skeptically. “Friendship?”

Okay, if she was being completely honest, she had experienced a thrill when she’d awoken in his arms. And an even bigger thrill when she’d felt the incessant throbbing of his morning wood against her thigh.

But she wasn’t an idiot. She hadn’t turned into Gigi Hadid overnight. She was still her and he was still him, so she’d known then, and she knew now, that his hardon hadn’t had anything to do with her.

It’d simply been male biology at work.

Embarrassment and indignation reddened her face. “If I’ve been acting differently today, it’s because, like I said, I thought yesterday and last night pushed us over the line from acquaintances to friends. And just in case it wasn’t obvious to you, I don’t make friends easily. I’m too reserved. Too quiet. It makes people uneasy around me. So imagine my happiness when I thought I’d found a friend in you.”

“Mia, I—” He tried to get a word in, but she talked right over him.

“But you know what? I’m taking it back.” At his confused look, she clarified. “My friendship. I don’t want to be friends with a supercilious ass who thinks every woman he meets wants him so badly she can’t contain her ovaries and is determined to chase him down and make him her very own. Because I’ve got news for you, bud.”

Had she called him bud?Yes, she’d called him bud. She was on a roll.

“Why would I waste time chasing you when I am the one who’s the catch, huh?” she finished, breathing heavily because she didn’t think she’d drawn a breath during that entire diatribe.

Of course, she didn’t really think she was a catch. Not with her insanely dysfunctional family and her post traumatic stress. But it felt good to say she was. To pretend a confidence and courage she didn’t truly have.

Romeo blinked at her in astonishment. Then his expression grew…the only word she could come up with was livid. “Hold on just a damned minute and try to see things from my perspective.”

She fought to hold her tongue, but lost the battle. “Oh, I’d dearly love to see things from your perspective. But I don’t think I can get my head that far up my own ass.”

“Look.” He cut a hand through the air. “A guy like me is used to women wanting one thing. So sue me for mistaking your sudden change in attitude for some romantic notion of the two of us together. I just wanted to make sure there was no misunderstanding between us. To make sure you knew that I—that I—” He struggled for words, and it took everything she had not to supply some for him.

That you don’t like me like that? That you don’t want me like that? Well, message received!

This time, however, she managed to hold her tongue. She wished she hadn’t when he finally settled on, “That you and I are about as different as peas and pears. You’re nothing I need, and I’m not anything you should want.”

His bald words hit her so hard she recoiled.

He opened his mouth, but she stopped him with a raised hand. “No. Please. I would appreciate it if those were the final words you speak on the topic.”

“Mia, I—”

She shot him a daggered look. “Seriously, you need to stop talking now before either one of us says something that will make our working relationship unbearable. As it stands, I’m perfectly happy to go back to the way things were when we barely talked and never touched. Agreed?”

A muscle worked in his jaw. His brown eyes, which usually held devilry and teasing, were filled with…she couldn’t be sure. It looked like hurt.But she told herself it was only injured pride.

She had a healthy dose of that going herself.

Finally, he nodded.

“Good. Now, I’m going inside to dig out that vodka Bran keeps hidden in the cupboard so Uncle John doesn’t steal it to put in his salty dogs. And I know alcohol is never the answer, but after the last couple of days, it’s worth a shot.” She screwed up her face. “No pun intended.”

“I thought you said you never drink alone?” he called to her back since she’d pushed open the copilot’s door. The sound of the rain became so loud, she had to shout above it.

“There’s a first time for everything, Romeo!”

“What happened to Spiro?” he demanded, that muscle ticking in his jaw again. “I thought you were going to call me by my first name!”

“Feels a bit too…friendly!” she emphasized and then a thought occurred. “Also, so I don’t break my own rules, I bet I could convince Doc to have a drink with me. He always seems willing to come to the rescue of a damsel in distress. Maybe it’s the good ol’ boy in him.”

Romeo’s eyes hardened at the same time his nostrils flared wide. But she didn’t wait around to try to determine what that expression was all about. Instead, she jumped from the plane and didn’t glance back as she ran up the beach toward the rickety old house.

There was a reason she kept to herself. Kept quiet. Didn’t seek people out.

When she did, she opened herself up to disappointment. To hurt.

Romeo had hurt her with his rejection. Because that’s what it had been, right? He’d rejected her before she’d even had a chance to ask anything of him.