by Shaye Marlow
“You think you’re a good driver?” I asked, sparing him a glance.
“I’m an awesome driver.”
I shook my head. “You’ve got the need for speed written all over you.”
“I’m not talking about safety and obeying speed limits,” Zack said. “I’m talking raw talent. Precision. Ability.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Let’s see. I’ve driven cars, boats, motorcycles. I’ve driven a semi truck and a Zamboni.”
“An airplane’s not a Zamboni.”
“Have you ever driven a motorcycle?” he challenged, then didn’t wait for my answer. “You haven’t. Hell, you don’t even know how to drive a stick shift. How can you say you’re a good driver when you can’t drive a stick?”
“I never said I was a good driver. I’m a pilot. I fly planes. There’s a difference.”
“There’s not.”
“There freaking is. I operate in three dimensions. Forward and back, left and right, but also up and down. So what I do is a completely different animal, and half again as hard.” When it looked like he might argue, I added, “Stop being a cocky bastard, and fly the damn plane.”
“I would, if you’d give me some instructions.”
“I think straight and level flight would be an excellent start. Try to keep our wings level with the ground,” I said, tapping the ironically named attitude indicator.
“Oh, c’mon.”
“Once you can do that reliably, we’ll move on to turns.”
“I’m paying you to teach me to fly,” he said.
“And look at that,” I replied, pulling my hands off the yoke and feet away from the rudders. “You are.”
“No, I don’t just mean this boring crap.”
“Straight and level flight is about 90% of what you’ll be doing. Get used to it.”
“It doesn’t have to be. Why don’t we do something fun? Aren’t you going to teach me stalls?”
“Yeah, someday.”
“Let’s do them now.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to terrify you before I get my money.”
“Terrify me? There’s nothing you could do that would terrify me.”
I glanced over at him. He looked ridiculously handsome in his headset, shoulders and chest taut under his T-shirt. With irritation, I noticed it said, “Cool story, babe. Now go make me a sandwich.” Yeah, the shirt had probably come from the bottom of Rory’s closet, but at the moment, it was just the push I needed to do something reckless.
I took the yoke. “All right. If at any time you feel the need to scream, go right ahead.” I pulled us into a fast turn, a full 90 degrees, wings perpendicular to the ground. Zack made a strangled noise as he was jammed down into his seat, and then I leveled out only to immediately pull up hard. The sky filled up the front window, an endless sea of blue. I held her steady, heading straight up as the stall warning blared.
It was a sickening feeling as we keeled to one side. And then we were falling, the earth spinning up to meet us.
Zack hooted a laugh as we plummeted toward the ground. He was still laughing when I pushed the yoke in and guided us out of the spin.
I pulled up, gained us a couple thousand feet, and did it again.
Just after we started to fall the second time, Zack’s phone rang. He jabbed a button, and Rory’s voice poured into the cabin.
“So I couldn’t help but notice you seem to be falling out of the sky,” he said. “Again.”
“It’s called a spin,” Zack yelled over the sound of the wind. “Frances is trying to terrify me.”
“It’s illegal for you to be on the phone while you’re flying,” I reminded him, speaking into the mic.
“I’m not flying right now, you are, so what does it matter?”
“I’m flying? I thought you were gonna get us out of this one,” I said, looking wide-eyed at the approaching ground.
“Fucking…” He fumbled the phone and it landed in his lap as he took the yoke. He pulled back, hard.
“Nope, not gonna work,” I said. “You gotta dive into it.”
A fine sheen of sweat had popped up on Zack’s brow as the earth spun closer.
“Gotta dive into it,” I repeated.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed the yoke in.
“Good, now turn into it, and then gently start to pull back.”
He did.
“Faster. That ground is really hard,” I said, watching as we whistled toward 500 feet.
He pulled us out of the spin with the treetops raking at our tires.
I looked over at him, pleased to see he was a slightly paler shade of white. “You starting to appreciate straight-and-level flight just a bit more?”
He shook his head. “Let’s do it again.”
Despite myself, I was impressed.
“You’re a horrible teacher, by the way,” he said as the stall warning started to blare.
I grinned. “I said I flew good, not that I taught good. There’s a difference, and you, my friend, didn’t ask for references.”
Zack grumbled, and we rolled into our next spin, which he managed to recover from quite a bit farther from the ground.
“That’s pretty much as exciting as it gets,” I said. “Now are you ready to practice turns?”
“What about… can’t we do things like barrel rolls?”
I laughed. “Not in this plane. The fuel delivery system’s not right. We go upside down and our gas’ll cut out. The same’s true for all airplanes that aren’t aerobatic.”
“Well, shit.”
“Ready to do those turns?”
“Fucking fine. Goddammit.”
Wouldn’t you just know it, Zack went back to ignoring me as soon as we were back on the ground. The boys all disappeared into the shop, and that was that. If Alaska had crickets, I would have been hearing them.
I thought about flying away again, maybe this time for good. But, I quickly discarded that idea—it was Zack who tried the same thing over and over, hoping for different results. No, this time, if they weren’t going to keep tabs on me, well, I’d make them regret it.
Walking around the ridiculous rhubarb that somebody had planted smack-dab in the middle of the yard, I let myself into the cabin. I crossed directly to their computer, cringing when I recognized it for the fap station it was, and wiggled the mouse. Password-protected, as it turned out, with no sticky note on the monitor or code scribbled on a piece of paper tucked nearby on the desk. I tried a couple things, variations of ‘catapult’, and even put in ‘gay incestuous lovers’ for shits and giggles. Then I said fuck it, and moved on.
I went up to Zack’s bedroom. It was as he’d said: Lucy had emptied his dresser of clothes, all except for one balled-up athletic sock. I studied the hockey poster above the dresser, only to realize Zack was in it. A younger Zack had his arm thrown around a goalie on one side, and a bearded teammate on the other, and all three wore shit-eating grins. Alaska Aces. Zack had played—or did play, for all I knew—for the Aces. He was a hockey player, and an artist.
The hangers in his closet had been stripped. The floor was cluttered with luggage and hockey gear and a pile of art textbooks, while the shelf at the top of the closet held several boxes. Dragging over a beat-up metal chair—I was really beginning to doubt Zack had twenty thousand dollars to blow on flight lessons, despite his claims to the contrary—I pulled down one of the boxes, and set it atop his dresser. Dusty computer parts, a deck of cards, paintbrushes, and the bottom was full of random sentimental crap. The next box was full to the brim with comics, and the last box, old Maxims and Playboys.
Making an indelicate sound, I shoved it all back up where I’d found it and continued around the room to the right. The windows had at one point been covered by tinfoil that was now partially torn and dangling. Below that was a small Formica table scattered with what might’ve been engine parts. The requisite tissues and lotion occupied one corner, above a trash can overflowing with wadded tissues. I wrinkled my nose
.
On the wall above the floor-bound mattress, looking to be the best-maintained items in the trashy man-den, hung a couple framed jerseys. Next to them, Harley Davidson posters. I lifted the mattress, looking for Zack’s secrets, but found only flattened dust-bunnies and a belt with a biplane buckle.
With a sound of frustration, I left Zack’s room and pushed open the door to Rory’s. Just inside, I froze. “What the…?” My eyes skimmed the satin curtains, the four-poster bed, made and piled high with decorative pillows, the oil paintings framed in gold on the walls, and the plush rug my feet were sinking into. The man even had a cut-crystal bowl of potpourri sitting on a marble-topped side table, beneath an extravagant mirror and right next to a bouquet of fragrant lilies.
I stepped cautiously back out into the hall, and glanced into Zack’s room: bed on floor, tin foil, posters. Then into Rory’s room: potpourri, satin, four-poster.
Bracing myself, I stepped back onto his plush carpet. Apparently, Rory liked his luxuries. I didn’t bother digging through his dresser or closet. He wasn’t the brother I was interested in, and if the contents were any weirder than his decor, I didn’t want to know.
I crossed to his window and nudged the gauzy curtain aside for a view of the yard. The men were nowhere to be seen, probably still geeking out in the shop.
Movement caught my eye, and I widened the gap in the curtain to peer across the river. The neighbors had a fire going, and a couple dozen people loitered between it, the catapult-looking things along the shore, and the cabin. It appeared to be a lively gathering, judging by the heads tipped back in laughter, and the woman who streaked across the yard topless, only to be caught and carried into the woods.
My kind of party.
I made a snap decision. I was going over there. Let’s call it reconnaissance.
“Well, hel-lo,” said the man who’d come to the edge of the lawn as I mounted the steps. He held out a hand to help me up the last tread. He was medium height, medium build, with dark hair that spun in a cowlick over his right eye. “I’m Caine,” he said. “And who might you be?”
“Frances.”
“That’s the Adderacks’ boat, isn’t it?” he asked, keeping my hand.
“Yep. They were doing that thing they do with the catapults, so I borrowed it.”
His lips twitched. “Well, we’re happy to have you.” His thumb stroked the back of my hand, and his gaze followed mine to what must be the trebuchets. “Would you like to see them?”
If he was anything like the brothers, those contraptions were the way to his heart. I wasn’t sure that was where I wanted to be, but I liked to keep my options open. “Sure.”
He pulled me eagerly to them. “This is our biggest,” he said. “We named him Thor.”
“It’s… huge,” I managed. Was it just me, or were these lowlanders a different breed?
He grinned big, but demurred. “Not so big. Did you know the biggest trebuchet in the world is 18 meters tall? We’ve actually made some adjustments so ours is more powerful for its size. It’ll deliver its payload with more force, and thus higher velocity. Would you like to touch it?”
What the hell had I gotten myself into? I let him guide my hand to the long cross-piece.
“This is the beam. That’s the counterweight, and this,” he said, moving my hand downward, “is the frame.” He was standing very close, his eyes gleaming, his hand hot over mine. Unlike the touch of Zack’s, it didn’t do anything for me.
I licked my lips, and watched him follow the motion. “I could use a drink.”
“Of course.” He tugged me over to a picnic table and flipped the lid on the cooler sitting next to it. He handed me an Alaskan Amber, then gestured to the man who ambled up. “That’s Peter. Peter, Frances.”
The newcomer took my hand as Caine released it. Peter was an inch or two taller, slender. Thick-framed glasses and well-groomed beard, skinny jeans.
“You’re both part of the Trebuchet Gang?” I asked.
“Yes. It’s a summer project for us. We’re MIT students,” Peter explained.
Ah. And that would be why this little gathering had “frat party” stamped all over it. “Wow,” I said. “Zack was telling me that the Trebuchet Gang is a YouTube sensation. Is it just the two of you?”
“Oh, no. There are five. Come, I’ll introduce you to the rest.” Peter tugged, and I went. Caine took up the rear of our little procession.
“Here,” Peter said, angling toward a group of people. “This is Dave—” a chunky guy who screamed neckbeard “—Angela, and Ben.” Angela was a curvy brunette with cat-eye glasses, and it was no mystery to me why she had her hand possessively on Ben’s chest—he looked like a taller Zac Efron.
“Frances. Nice to meet you.” I smiled prettily and told them what a nice operation they had here.
And I wasn’t kidding. The wood of the dock was new, the bolts still shiny. The grass was trimmed, the bushes pruned. The walkway to the cabin was defined with paving stones. They even had a massive, professionally-printed sign advertising their ‘business’.
“You’ve only seen the yard.” Peter exchanged a glance with Caine. “Can we show you the cabin?”
Their ploy was see-through, but I didn’t care. I followed them inside.
The interior was clean and smelled good. It appeared the college kids were more civilized than my blond duo.
My gaze snagged on a bear hide taking up the entire far wall of the living area, and a thrill of unease squirmed its way down my spine. I stepped closer, trying to gauge the color. “Big bear.”
Caine came up beside me. “She was eleven feet.”
“She?” I almost sighed with relief. “Eleven feet is huge for a sow.”
“You know about bears?” Peter asked from my other side, while looking down the front of my shirt.
I could probably have him upstairs and sobbing my name within ten minutes. Caine was also interested, and though he didn’t seem like much of a name-sobber, he probably had a bed somewhere in this cabin he’d be more than willing to share. Men, in my experience, were easy.
“That bear’s the biggest taken on the river in twenty years,” Caine said. “That’s what Ed says.”
My ears perked up at the name.
“It’s driving Zack and Rory insane that we’re the ones who got it,” Peter added. He moved to the base of the stairs. “Care to come up?”
Like I said: transparent. It was the memory of Zack walking away that drove me forward. “Sure,” I said, and felt Caine’s gaze on my ass as I followed Peter up.
“That’s Ben and Angie’s room,” Peter said without opening the door. And, opposite, “Dave’s.”
“And Peter and I share the bedroom at the end,” Caine said, brushing by to hold the door open.
‘Share’, huh? Why was I not surprised? I looked past him into the room, saw two double beds, neatly made, and some camera equipment and a computer at the far end.
But it wasn’t their beds or their equipment that lured me into the room. It was the window overlooking the yard. I skirted around a bed and looked out, wondering if the brothers had even heard their boat fire up from inside the shop.
Apparently, they had. I smiled, seeing Zack vault onto the shore. He inspected the boat I’d borrowed, and then his gaze swept up to the gathering. His jaw was set, blue eyes hard. I marveled at the way his thigh muscles strained his pants as he climbed up from the beach.
Zack must’ve felt my stare, because he glanced up.
Caine chose that moment to step up behind me, making Zack’s eyes widen. The trebuchet nerd put his hand on my shoulder and smoothed it down my arm, and then his lips brushed against my neck.
Looking like a human thunderhead, Zack beelined for the cabin, double-time. Remembering what he’d done on my dad’s porch, I smiled.
“You’re beautiful,” Caine murmured. His hand was on my side, now, and wandering toward my ass.
Downstairs, the door slammed. “Frances!” Zack bellowed.
>
The men whirled. “Um,” Peter said, standing just inside the open door. He didn’t look like much of a fighter. Better get out of the way, then.
Zack crashed up the stairs, must’ve taken the hall in a couple long strides, and knocked Peter into a sprawl across one of the beds as he careened through the door. His eyes narrowed on Caine’s hand, where it still touched my hip.
Caine released me in a hurry and took two big steps back.
Looking menacing, Zack advanced.
“Hey, man,” Caine said. “We didn’t know she was yours. She didn’t say…”
Zack didn’t give me time to ponder how to play this. “Hey,” I protested, resisting his attempt to drag me across the bedroom. He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. “Hey!” I accidentally kicked Caine across the face as Zack spun around, then almost managed to unbalance him when I grabbed the doorframe. Zack yanked me through.
“You can’t just fucking… kidnap me whenever you feel like it,” I said, punching him in the kidney. He was just at the top of the stairs and lost his footing, skating on his heels down a couple steps before catching himself on the railing. For both our sakes, I decided to wait to beat on him some more until we reached the bottom. By mutual agreement, he held off on delivering a stinging slap to my ass.
I yowled, then ground my teeth. “Seriously. Put me down.”
“I’ll put you down in the boat.”
I elbowed him in the back of the neck, but it didn’t even slow him as he exited the cabin. “Goddammit, Zack. Why are you doing this?”
A few heads turned as Zack carried me across the yard, but nobody moved to assist, and I wasn’t enough of a wuss to scream for help.
I punched him again, this time right in the ass. “You and Rory obviously don’t want me there. You walk away and ignore me for friggin’ hours.”
“What are you, a child? Do you really need constant attention?”
“I prefer to think of myself as an extrovert. I like being around people.”
“You like ‘being around’ them? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“I wanted to see what they had to offer.” No, I hadn’t, actually. What I wanted was to goad Zack.