Afraid to Fly

by L. A. Witt

  I touched his shoulder. “Hey.”

  He faced me. “Hmm?”

  “Listen, um . . .” I hesitated. “Maybe we should get going.”

  Logan’s glazed eyes lit up, and he grinned as he slid a hand over my thigh. “Yeah, we should.”

  I fought the urge to squirm out from under his touch. He was in for a surprise when we got to his place, but if the prospect of going home and getting laid—even after we’d just eaten—was enough to get him out of here so I could break this off? Fine. Leading him on for an hour if only to get us away from my coworkers before I dropped the hammer . . .

  Well, I’d find a way to sleep at night.

  As I pulled into the parking lot below Logan’s apartment complex, my stomach lurched. Regardless of how much I hated confrontation and awkward conversations, this one needed to happen.

  Being around him when he drank was dangerous, I reminded myself. Unless I wanted my life to fall apart again, I had to stay sober, and that wasn’t easy when I was around someone who wasn’t, no matter how much I liked the guy. Or the sober version of him, anyway. It hurt, and it would for a while, but I . . . I just couldn’t anymore.

  So he had to go.

  And now that we were here, it was showtime.

  I shut off the engine, and Logan stumbled on his way out of the car. Fortunately, it was dark and he was distracted, so he didn’t see me rolling my eyes before I came around to help him.

  He steadied himself on the door. “Man. I am . . .”

  Drunk? You don’t say.

  I held out my hand. “Keys?”

  He fumbled in his pockets before he finally found them, and dropped them into my hand.

  Thank God he lived on the first floor. I was not in the mood to help him navigate stairs—the walk up to his door was challenging enough.

  “Watch that step,” I said, as if he’d never approached his own apartment before.

  He looked down, and as hard as he concentrated on taking that step, I wondered if he would’ve face-planted if I hadn’t said something. Jesus.

  I unlocked the door, toed it open, and handed back his keys.

  Grinning, he tugged at my jacket. “Come on in. Let’s tear up your uniform.”

  I pried his fingers off my clothes. “How about no.”

  “Huh?” Logan stiffened, and he might’ve even sobered up some. “What the fuck?”

  “I’m gonna go.” I straightened my jacket. “And listen, you’re a great guy and all, but I think it’s time to—”

  “Seriously? I went to that boring bullshit and hung out with you and your coworkers, and we’re not even going to fuck?”

  I folded my arms across my chest, probably making a mess of my medals in the process. “Looks to me like you’re too drunk to fuck.”

  He laughed. “Oh come on. We’ve fucked when I’ve been drunker than this.” Logan reached for my waist, and I sidestepped the advance.

  “Yeah, I know we have.” Why didn’t I do this sooner? “And we’re not going to anymore.”

  “Why the fuck not? You weren’t complaining last time—”

  “You wouldn’t have noticed if I had been,” I snapped.

  He blinked. Then his eyes narrowed and he stabbed a finger at me. “This is bullshit, Clint. I didn’t go sit through all that Navy shit just so we could—”

  “You know what?” I put up my hands and took a step back. “We can talk about this again when you’re sober, but I’m done. I’m out.” I started to leave, but he grabbed my elbow.

  Any other time, he might’ve been able to pull me back toward him. Tonight, though, lunging at me like that was enough to throw him off-balance, and he used my arm for support more than to actually stop me.

  I casually pulled away from his grasp, leaving him to slump against the wall. “We’ll talk later. But I’m done with this shit.”

  This time, when I turned to go, he wasn’t quick enough to catch up with me. He shouted after me, though—screaming slurred obscenities and suggesting I go fuck myself if I wasn’t going to fuck him.

  “Thanks for making my decision that much easier,” I muttered as I got into my car. The slamming door cut off most of his shouts. The engine coming to life muffled the rest. Without so much as a backwards glance, I pulled out of the parking space and left his apartment complex. Whatever he was shouting at me I couldn’t hear, but his neighbors undoubtedly did. Fine. Let them call the cops or the landlord or whatever. I was over it and I was out of here.

  Tomorrow, when he was sober, we could hash this out properly. There’d be more shouting and swearing, no doubt, and the finality would hurt, but I was one hundred percent done now. And feeling like an idiot for holding out until tonight just so I could bring a date to the Navy Ball.

  A few blocks away from Logan’s apartment, I stopped at an intersection. Left would take me to my place. Right would lead back to the hotel.

  Tapping my thumbs on the wheel, I looked at the clock on the dash. It was only ten. The ball usually went until one or two at least.

  Which meant there was time. I could go back. See if Travis was still there.

  And what if he is, Clint? Then what?

  My heart sped up and my stomach fluttered.

  Yeah. Then what?

  Only one way to find out.

  So I turned right and floored it.

  “How are you holding up?” Kimber leaned over the back of her chair. “You look like you’re in pain.”

  I’m always in pain, sweetheart. I smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure? We can go if—”

  “I’m fine. Promise.”

  Her eyebrow arched. “Dad, you’re sweating.”

  I dabbed at my forehead, and sure enough, my fingers came back slick. As I wiped them on my napkin, I forced another smile. “Listen, it’s not going to be any better or worse at home. And these chairs are surprisingly comfortable, so I don’t mind staying a while longer.”

  “Dad, if you’re—”

  “I’m fine. I might go out and have a cigarette, but otherwise . . .”

  She scowled, but shrugged. “All right. You know we can leave anytime.”

  “I know. Go have fun.”

  “Okay. Just say so if you want to take off.”

  “I will. Go.”

  She headed back out to the dance floor, and I took a deep swallow of ice water.

  That cigarette was tempting as hell, especially after I’d been through a couple of beers, but I didn’t move yet. I wasn’t sure I dared, because the truth was, the pain was getting unbearable. The TENS unit was turned up as high as I could stand it, to the point it was more irritating than helpful. Instead of the electrical pulses feeling like spiders dancing on my skin, it felt like they were biting my skin.

  I sighed. Well, there was no point in burning up the batteries for nothing, so I turned the unit down.

  I’d gone through all the Motrin I’d brought with me. More and more, it looked like the only way I was sleeping tonight was with the help of one of the pain meds I’d been hoarding. Medical was stingy as fuck about anything besides Motrin, and the Navy frowned on using actual painkillers for any length of time. Another one of those things that was technically allowed if Medical deemed it necessary, but was a bullet train ticket to a medical retirement.

  So on that rare occasion I got my hands on something stronger, I rationed that shit like they were the last pills on earth. When I did take them, I just prayed that wasn’t the week I was called in for a random drug test.

  I shifted in my chair, gritting my teeth at the fresh pain exploding along my spine. Good thing I had those strong meds at home, even if the means of acquiring them had been unpleasant. I was probably the only man alive who’d ever been thankful for a kidney stone. That weekend last spring had been hell, but I’d gotten a bottle of Percocet as a consolation prize and still had most of it left, so I actually stood a chance at sleeping tonight.

  Now I understand why no one can tell the difference between a chro
nic pain sufferer and a drug addict.

  I wiped a hand over my face and breathed as deeply as my uniform and muscle spasms allowed. Kimber was having a good time, and I didn’t want to cut her evening short. These events were rare, and she didn’t get many other opportunities to dress up and dance. Maybe someday she’d be ready to go to clubs and parties again on her own, but until that time, she stuck with events like the Navy Ball. And I’d happily go with her and knuckle through the pain until she was damn good and ready to leave.

  I flagged down a waiter and grabbed another glass of water. For a minute or two, I wondered if I could talk him into getting me some ice—preferably wrapped in a dish towel, thank you—that I could lean against, but decided against it. Kimber would take one look at me getting an ice pack from a waiter, and drag me out the door.

  A cigarette might help. The thought of it made some of the Pavlovian response kick in and relax muscles all over my body. Not the ones that hurt, of course, but maybe if I actually went out and lit up, I’d feel better.

  Holding my breath, I rose. Fresh, eye-watering pain shot down my spine, which I’d expected, and I carefully breathed through it as I buttoned my jacket.

  Yep, definitely gonna have to get this fucker tailored before next year.

  The button held, though. Before I left the table, I checked my pockets for my cigarettes and lighter. Then I looked around, found Kimber, and held up my cigarette pack. She nodded before going back to what looked like a flirty conversation with an enlisted kid.

  I worked my way around the edge of the room instead of through the crowd so no one would jostle me.

  I made it to the exit and stepped outside into the chill October air. I hadn’t even realized how stuffy the room had become until I was breathing fresh, clean, vaguely salt-scented air.

  Fresh, clean air that was about to be polluted thanks to the Camel I was about to smoke. I pulled one out of the pack, put it between my lips, and lit it.

  That Pavlovian effect intensified. The nicotine wasn’t anywhere near my bloodstream yet, but even as I took that first drag, some of the tension in my neck and shoulders eased. I cautiously rolled my shoulders under my tight jacket. The spasm in the center of my back wasn’t moving anytime soon, and the TENS wasn’t helping much.

  Get ready for me, Percocet. I took a deep drag from my cigarette. We’re going to bed together tonight.

  In the parking lot, a car door slammed. The distinct click of dress shoes came closer, and I turned my head.

  And almost dropped my cigarette.

  Was I already getting loopy on the Percocet I hadn’t even taken yet? Or was Clint really back? Strolling up the sidewalk? Coming right toward me? Alone?

  I blinked a few times. Nope, this was no phantom drug side effect. That was Clint, and he was back, and was . . .

  Right here.

  I stood straighter, schooling the wince out of my expression. “Hey. I thought you called it a night.”

  “I did. But then . . .” He shook his head. “Anyway. Can, uh . . .” He gestured toward the door to the ball still going on without us. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Uh . . .” I really am having premature hallucinations, aren’t I? “I . . . Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Kind of feel like . . . uh, like I owe you and everybody else for putting up with Logan.” As soon as he said it, something in him settled, as if he’d been searching for an explanation and finally found one that satisfied him. He took a deep breath, and shifted slightly, as if he couldn’t quite stay still. “Do you want anything?”

  Oh, I definitely want—

  “A Coke is fine. I’ve, uh, gotta drive.” Which was true. Kimber had had quite a bit to drink tonight, so it was either me or a cab. “Here.” I reached for my wallet. “You fly, I’ll—”

  “I’ll get it. Don’t worry about it.” He flashed a shy smile. “Should I come back out here, or . . .?”

  “No. I . . .” I glanced at the cigarette in my hand, then dropped it on the ground and crushed it under my heel, ignoring the twinge that motion sent from my hip to my back. “I was heading back inside.”

  “Meet you at the table?”

  “Sure. Yeah.”

  We separated, and I headed back to where we’d been sitting earlier. Everyone else had cleared out—they were either dancing, socializing, or waiting for more drinks. Fine by me. I didn’t need anyone watching me lower myself into my chair like I was eighty-five instead of forty-five. Or notice me cursing when a spasm knifed across my back and made my eyes water.

  I leaned my forearms on the table, lifting my shoulders as much as I could to stretch the aggravated muscles. The spasm started to subside, but it wasn’t in any hurry.

  “Are you all right?” Damn. Clint’s voice.

  I nodded, and cautiously released my breath. Lifting my head, I forced a smile. “Old injury.” I took out the TENS unit and cranked that fucker back up. “Still likes to come back and haunt me sometimes.”

  “Those are a bitch, aren’t they?” He set a Coke in front of me and sat in the next chair with what might’ve been a Coke, or maybe Coke and something stronger.

  I rolled my stiff shoulders. “Eh, life in the military, am I right?”

  “I’ll drink to that.” He raised his glass. “This life ain’t for the faint of heart.”

  “Amen.” I clinked mine against his and took a sip.

  “And, um . . .” He lowered his gaze. “By the way, I hope my date wasn’t too much of an idiot for—”

  “Don’t sweat it. You should’ve seen Wolcott’s wife at the Christmas party last year.”

  He met my eyes. “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. And Stevenson’s husband got so shitfaced, he tried to pick a fight with the chaplain.”

  “The chaplain?” Clint sputtered. “Over what?”

  “Who knows?” I shrugged. “When you’re that drunk, why does anything need to make sense?”

  I couldn’t be sure, but I thought he winced. Averting his eyes again, he quietly said, “Isn’t that the truth.”

  I studied him, not sure if the wince had been leftover embarrassment from his idiot date, or something deeper. Whatever it was, he probably didn’t want to get into it, so I changed the subject.

  “So, um.” I drummed my fingers nervously. “Are you settling in okay? To the new town and all?”

  Clint nodded. “It’s nice to be out of the desert.”

  “The desert?” I paused. “Oh right. You came from Nellis, didn’t you?”

  “Yep. Man, I did not sign up for the Navy to spend my life in Nevada.”

  “Could be worse. I know a few people who’ve landed in Nebraska.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. The Navy does not belong in landlocked states.”

  “Tell that to the Air Force,” I muttered. “They’re the ones who need the Navy to operate the complicated, technical shit.”

  That got a laugh out of him. Nothing like the good-natured rivalry between military branches to lighten up a conversation.

  “So, you were a drone pilot, right?” I asked.

  His laughter faded a bit, and he sat straighter. “We prefer RAP. But yes.”

  “RAP?” Come on, Travis. You haven’t even taken the drugs yet. “Remind me what that is again?”

  “Remote aircraft pilot.”

  “Right. Right. Got it.” I took a sip of my drink, and with it, swallowed a few smartass comments about how a fancy name didn’t change the fact that if you don’t leave the ground, you’re not a damn pilot.

  Says the man who hasn’t left the ground in too many fucking years.

  As if for emphasis, one of the spasms in the center of my back tightened, catching my breath. God, if I’d been sitting here with anybody else, I’d have flagged down my daughter, bowed out, and gotten the hell home for my date with Percocet. As it was, I probably wasn’t going to last too much longer, but this was the first chance I’d had to sit down with Clint, one-on-one, outside the office, and with the knowledge that he wasn�
�t straight after all. I could breathe through a few muscle spasms if I had to.

  “How long were you a drone—RAP?”

  Clint fidgeted, wrapping both hands around his drink and staring into the glass. “Little too long.”

  Okay, so that topic was a minefield too. Maybe the best approach was to let him choose a direction, and I’d follow his lead.

  The silence hung there for an uncomfortable minute or so.

  Then, finally, he said, “So your date really hooked up with the bride’s father?”

  A relieved laugh burst out of me. I didn’t even care about the pain it sent radiating across the back of my ribs. “He really did. That was . . . awkward.”

  He chuckled. “I can imagine. Did she at least know her dad was into men?”

  “Nope.” I shook my head slowly. “Pretty sure it was news to her mother too.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Yeah. Let me tell you, nobody was surprised when the bride’s sister eloped the next year, and her brother had a dry wedding a few months later.”

  “I believe it.” He held my gaze, giving me a chance to see how dark his eyes really were. “They didn’t blame you, though, did they?”

  “No, no. Hell, the bride actually felt really bad for me because she thought we’d had something serious going on. She felt a lot better once I told her we’d only been out on a few dates by that point.”

  “That’s good. I can only imagine what holidays are like in that household now.”

  I grimaced. “I heard through the grapevine that they were pretty awkward for the first couple of years.” I was about to mention the number of antiques and heirlooms that were smashed the next day after the father of the bride’s walk of shame, but right then, Kimber appeared beside me.

  She looked at Clint. “Oh hey. I didn’t know you came back.”

  Clint shrugged. “Had to drop someone off.”

  Kimber mouthed a silent Oh. She glanced at me and gestured with her beer bottle toward her seat, eyebrows up as if to ask if it was okay to sit down.

  I nodded back, so she did.

  “Getting tired of dancing already?” I asked.