She blinked, jerking back slightly at my words. “Don’t call me that.”
Even though I knew that was coming, it still hurt like a bitch. “I understand—”
“Don’t put that here.” She repeated my words from earlier, setting a boundary. “Don’t call me baby when we’re discussing your pain. I can’t handle that.”
The lump in my throat might as well have been a knife. As I swallowed, the fucking thing dropped to my chest, holding my heart hostage. My lungs were burning now simply because I’d forgotten how to breathe. “What?” I uttered, shaking my head once at the softness of her features, the acceptance painted over them. “What—you’re not—”
She slid off the armrest, her dress falling back around her ankles. “I’m not doing anything,” she assured me. My eyes dropped to her lime green socks, watching them as she closed the distance between us. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not ashamed of you. I’m not running from you,” she continued, putting her hand on my chest, right over my heart. She was quiet for a few moments, her eyes on my chest, staring at it as if she could see the damn organ she owned beating wildly for her and only her. When she lifted her head again, there were more tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she pushed out through a sob. “I’m so sorry you suffered through that—”
I stumbled away from her, my brows firmly etched together, the crease between them aching as my head began to throb. “Suffered?” I seethed, my chest heaving as my brain locked my heart back into its box. A prison it should have never been allowed to leave. “Why in the fuck are you apologizing to me?”
Her arms slowly curved as she placed her hands on her stomach, confusion taking over. “Hayes—”
“I’m responsible for the deaths of thirteen people.”
The declaration, cloaked with guilt and shame, slammed into her. She fell back a step, her chest deflating. “Hayes, you are not responsible for—”
I leaned forward, a sharp growl escaping my chest as I shouted,“I was flying the goddamn plane, Margo! Of course it’s my fucking fault they’re dead!”
“Hayes.”
The past was roaring in my ears now, louder, more potent than the storm raging above us. My heart rate began to skyrocket, my pulse skittering as my blood boiled. Goose bumps spread over my arms like wildfire, my skin remembering the way my flight-suit charred as I crawled out of the plane.
My vision blurred, the beauty before me going in and out of focus as I rasped, “You wanna know the truth, Temper? I’ll give you the fucking truth.”
She said something, but my ears didn’t register. My mind was already in the past, my mouth moving, reciting everything I could remember about that dreadful day…
Classified Location. Middle East.
“Quicksilver is grumpy today, Hop. I’d tread lightly,” Gunner drawled from behind me as I reviewed the flight path for the tenth time. The sun glared down at me through the cockpit windows, highlighting my notes, check marks, and everything else I’d seemed to jot down in the last few minutes.
I shook my head, chuckling. “Fuck off and go check the damn plane,” I ordered over my shoulder, noting the time for takeoff had changed. Pushed back five minutes.
Gunner laughed as he stepped away. As the distance grew, his laughter turned into a whistling tune, a song that had been stuck in his damn head for the last three months. The damn tune distracted me from my curiosity over the change in time.
“Stop whistling, Shakira, you bastard!” Em shouted from the back of the plane. “Because of you, that stupid song is stuck in my head.”
I folded out of my seat, heading out of the cockpit, finding my crew checking the load. At the back, my loadmaster, Johnson, worked in silence, shaking his head. Fourteen people were set to be on this flight, four of them being Army paratroopers.
Gunner wiggled his eyebrows, running a finger over his jaw. “Maybe your hips need to stop lying, Em,” he drawled, shooting her a wink.
“What did I tell you about hunting down ass on my plane, Samuels?” My copilot, Damon, yelled from the back of the plane, walking inside and pulling off his aviator sunglasses.
Gunner paled, his cocky attitude quickly dissolving. Em grinned at me, reminding me of a feral raccoon, and got back to work. “Sorry, sir,” Gunner grumbled as Damon clapped him on the back on his way to me.
“Are you ready for this?” He raised a brow, eyes scanning my face.
I nodded and handed him the flight plan. “Last one for a while.” I sighed, rolling my shoulders.
“Last one,” he repeated on a mumble, looking over the orders, the signatures from higher-ups who didn’t know our names, only the mission. “Two drops?”
“Yeah, the second one got added on this morning,” I reluctantly explained, sighing at the end. “General Stav’s orders. Takeoff got pushed back five minutes.”
“Fucking hell,” he quipped. “Paratroopers?”
I smirked. “Oh, come on,Demon. They aren’t all that bad.”
“I thought we agreed on you not calling me that anymore.”