by Jamie Knight
I was still trying to process everything. So much had happened. I knew that, all things considered, I was very lucky. Too bad that lucky felt so fucking shitty.
I shifted in my chair to try to relieve some of the pressure from my hip. I winced at a sharp pain shooting from my toes up my leg.
I had been an aircraft mechanic in the Air Force for about eighteen years. Some people have looked at that as “not shit” since I wasn't in direct combat much, but for me, it let me do what I loved while still serving our country.
I was a self-taught mechanic, learning everything I knew as a young kid working on the cars of friends, family, neighbors, basically anyone within a ten-mile radius who would let me near their car. People would remark with amazement when their car was fixed using little or no parts, and drove better than it had before it needed work done on it. News traveled fast about the teenage boy who could fix cars and did it for next to nothing, sometimes even for free.
I worked hard and put myself through trade school, paying for it by working at a fast food joint. Those were long, hard days, going to school during the day and working at night. Sheer will got me through those nights when the restaurant was slow.
But, I knew that if I had any hopes of doing anything with my life, I would have to keep going. I came from a dirt-poor family. Most of them had barely gotten through grade school, let alone had any real profession to speak of.
So, when I graduated from trade school as a mechanic, I felt like I was on top of the fucking world. Unfortunately, though, there weren't very many opportunities in the town where I lived. And I didn’t have the money to pack up and move.
When an Air Force recruiter came around and asked if I wanted to join, I signed up right away. I knew that this was it—my ticket to freedom.
And I was right. Being a mechanic in the Air Force opened my eyes to a whole new world. Honestly, it was an entirely new level of existence. I never even knew anyone who worked that hard, with focus, in order to accomplish—and to be accomplished—as the guys in my unit did.
I’d kind of always been a bit of a daredevil. I just couldn’t “keep my booty still,” as my old great-aunt Birdie diagnosed at my fifteenth birthday party. I didn’t like trouble, you see, I just had a nose for action—a thrill for the outdoors, that sort of thing.
So, when I discovered that I had this natural bent for fixing things, I was so excited. I was also relieved—my brain could be the one making me a living, not my brawn or bravado. I mean, sure, being a mechanic involved using my hands and muscles, too, but working on planes also involved figuring out problems and thinking about the best way to fix things.
This new direction of mine was a major step up for my family. It meant I might live to see old age, unlike practically every male in my bloodline.
Plus, none of us had ever served our country in the Armed Forces. Me joining up was an even bigger step forward for us. For me personally, joining up meant my freewheeling, garage experiment antics might have a constructive, positive outlet while I learned more skills and grew in my abilities.
More, I completely relished the traveling part of Air Force life. Mercy, the world had never seemed so big. Or beautiful, honestly.
Obviously, combat was what it was. But as things changed in all those long years, I found newer and cooler methods to indulge my thrill-seeking ways. When I was a kid, I never would’ve imagined rock climbing in the Swiss Alps would be just one of the many adventures life brought me.
But most of all, I loved the culture of performance. Of excellence. Oh, of course, there were jerks, wimps and assholes, as there are in all aspects of life, but I had the best of luck in all my deployments. The people around me inspired like nobody’s business. And so, that was my world, a world where I had a place, a duty and a status no one could take away from me.
That world all came crashing down, though, when I got into an accident that forced me to retire.
Chapter 2
Bradley
To this day, I could still smell the diesel fuel burning from my seat in the cockpit. That day, everything felt wrong. I remember telling everyone that I felt like I had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. They just laughed and told me to shake it off, thinking that maybe the thought of going up in the air that day was starting to get to me. That wasn't it, but at the same time, I couldn't quite say what it was that was bothering me.
When the shots rang out and I heard the metal pings of the plane being shot, I knew that that was what that feeling had been. A sick dread filled me as I watched everything seem to move in slow motion.
“Mayday! Mayday!” called the pilot, sweat covering his brow and his shirt collar.
I felt the impact as the plane hit the ground like a meteor and I was the hurtling hunk of space rock. I didn't think that I would make it out alive.
But, I did.
I had been hurt. Fucking badly. Initially, I blacked out and when I woke up, it was in a hospital bed. I couldn't move. But I could hear voices around me.
“What do you think, Doc?” asked a woman's voice.
“Can't be sure,” said a man's voice. “I can say, though, that he's stable for now. And considering that many of the people who were on the flight with him sustained very serious injuries, I would say that he's in a really good position.”
“Will he walk again, if he does pull through?” asked the woman.
“Only time will tell,” he said. “I just hope that he wakes up soon. That will be the deciding factor in all of this. That and his will to live.”
Apparently, I faded in and out of consciousness for a few days.
Then, one day, I opened my eyes. I remember staring at the ceiling and seeing a brown spot on one of the tiles. I just stared at it, trying to figure out where I was and process what I could remember.
A nurse walked in and saw that my eyes were open and gasped.
“Doctor, he's awake!” she yelled, running back out of the room. The doctor rushed in and looked at me.
“How do you feel?” he asked, careful and gentle like his voice would knock me back into unconsciousness.
I tried to move and felt a lot of pain all over.
“Hurt,” I managed to say. The word came out more like a grunt, though.
“It's okay. You're alright. You've sustained a few injuries, but you'll live. With some therapy, you will slowly start to improve.”
The doctor explained to me what had happened. The plane crashed, but we made it to friendly territory before the enemy could finish the job. We were then taken to a hospital where we received care right away.
“You broke your hip and leg. We were able to set them and put them in a cast. That’s why you can't move very much. There was some skin scraped on your face, neck, and chest, but those are minor cosmetic issues, which can be addressed later. For now, we just want to make sure that we keep you stable and that you don't develop an infection.”
I was in a lot of pain, but the biggest blow came two weeks later when, after being visited by the doctor, my commanding officer, James Stratton, came into my room. He held his hat in his hand and wore a sad look on his face. He looked like he was coming to give me news that I was dying. It turned out that he fucking might as well have been.
“How you holding up there, champ?” he asked me, trying to force a smile.
“I'm pretty good,” I said weakly, giving my best attempt at a smile.
He took a deep breath and then blew it out.
“There's really no easy to way to say this,” he said, staring at the floor, fidgeting his hat in his hands. “I know that you must be going through a lot right now, trying to recover from your injuries and all. That's why I tried to wait until the last minute possible to come down here and have to talk to you about this. But, given your injuries and the extent of the work that you do for the Air Force, we regret to have to inform you that your service will no longer be needed. As soon as you are well enough, you will be going back home. You will be honorably discharged, of course
. The United States Air Force thanks you for your service. “
He stood up and saluted. I tried to salute back, but could barely get my hand up to my head. He hesitated for a moment before he spoke again.
“And on a more personal note, I'm going to miss you, Brad. If you ever need anything and I can help, don't hesitate to ask.”
I nodded, telling him that I would.
He spun on his heels and walked away. I listened as his heels clicked down the hall until they faded away, just like all my dreams and goals. It was as if he was taking them all with him as he walked away from me after delivering such depressing news.
Click here to read My Father’s Best Friend’s Baby
I shouldn't want her.
But I do. And I always get what I want.
I was injured at war and discharged from the military.
My commanding officer invited me to stay with him while I get back on my feet.
I'm grateful for his help, and we've become close friends.
There's just one problem.
His 19 year old daughter lives with him, and she's off the charts hot.
So is the chemistry between us, even though I try to ignore it.
She's a virgin, but her long lashes beg me to change that.
Her curvy hips taunt me as she walks by wearing only a bikini.
She invites me to take a swim with her while he's out of town.
Swim with her? I want to swim in her.
But I can't. And I certainly can't knock her up.
Can I?
Oops. Too late.
What will her dad do if he finds out I put a baby in his little girl?
My Father's Best Friend's Secret Baby is a full length 75,000 word standalone novel. Jamie Knight promises to always bring you a happy ever after filled with plenty of heat. And never any cheating or cliffhangers!
Click here to read My Father’s Best Friend’s Baby
Sneak Peek of My Dad’s Rival’s Secret Baby
Chapter 1
Mariah
It’s finally time. I’ve earned it.
The thought just keeps ringing through my head as I walk down the street. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m not rushing to catch up with something, or someone. I’m finally locked in, and I don’t have to worry. The restaurant is just up the block, I’m fifteen minutes early, and this is going to be the biggest night of my life so far.
I pause by a shop window to do a last appearance check - what my friend Lisa calls a ‘dummy check’ - for smeared lipstick, tangled hair, running eyeliner, stains…anything that could be seen as unprofessional and end up as a deal-breaker for the client. It would be funny that I’m approaching tonight like a business meeting, but in my mind, that’s exactly what this is.
My navy blue dress, the same shade as my eyes, is clean and wrinkle-free. Makeup, on point, just like it’s been since I perfected my styling techniques at seventeen in my high school’s bathroom mirror. (Mom never approved of what she called ‘fanciful’ accoutrements like lipstick or concealer. Please, like I’d ever let that stop me.)
My blonde hair is just a bit tousled from the wind, and it’s falling gracefully to either side of my neck, framing the purple gemstone necklace I’d chosen to accent the outfit. Good. Let’s go. You’re ready for this, Mariah.
I head down the street and step inside Allesandro’s Restaurant. The door slides silently closed behind me, and as my eyes adjust to the artful low-light of the dining room, the noise of the city streets vanishes.
“Welcome to Allesandro’s! Do you have a reservation?” The young, perfectly coiffed host smiles at me, the kind of smile that I’m overly-familiar with, as I’ve dealt it out myself probably hundreds of times. The one that says, your answer to my question will determine just how important you are from this moment forward.
“Of course.” I return the smile. “It will be for Harper. I think I’m the first one here.” That’s modest. I know I’m the first one here, because he always arrives exactly ten minutes early to every engagement he attends. I still have three whole minutes to spare.
“Ah, here you are.” The smile has shifted, from I hope you're important to I know you’re important, please remember me when you tip. “Follow me, I’ll show you to your table.”
I don’t really need him to lead me to the small, elegant booth on the back wall of the dining room, but I let him have his moment. It’s the same booth we always use - he requests it specifically, for whatever reason.
“Thank you,” I say, brushing my hair back from my forehead.
I’ve felt his eyes roaming up and down my body since I walked in, and I have to bite back the instinct to call him out for it, especially considering the ring on his left hand. Tonight’s not the night for drama, I remind myself. Something better is coming.
I perch on the edge of the booth, eyeing the door.
“Can I get you a drink to start off with while you wait for the rest of your party?” Host-Guy asks.
“Glass of red, please. Dry.”
He nods, and heads across the dining room, leaving me to my staring contest with the double doors. I realize my knee is jiggling. Nervous habit I never managed to shake. I put my hand on my knee and take a few deep, steadying breaths.
I’m ready for this. I know I am. I’m sure of it…until the doors open and my father steps into the room. And he’s not alone.
My dad, Charles Huston. The richest and most prolific real estate mogul in the entire city. His stoic face, grey hair just starting to spread from his temples, has been a familiar sight on billboards and in newspapers for years now. He crosses the room and holds his arms out for a hug.
“Mariah! You’re early!”
“Early is on time,” I say, and he joins me in finishing the sentence, “and on time is late.”
“I knew I taught you well.” Dad kisses my cheek and straightens his tie. I can’t remember the last time I saw my dad without a suit… when I was a kid, I used to think that he slept in one.
“I thought it was going to be just us tonight,” I say, nodding towards the man who came in with him, still standing back a few feet from us, waiting.
“Oh, I’m sorry!”
He turns to the man who entered the room with him. He’s younger, probably in his late 30’s. His face is hard, and even in the low light of the restaurant, his hair gleams with some kind of product. I can practically feel the grease on my fingertips just looking at him.
“Mariah, this is my new business partner, Charles Franklin. He was with Honeywell’s company, but we poached him away, didn’t we Charles!”
Charles nods, a grin curling the corners of his lips. “What can I say,” and here he slips into a terrible approximation of an Italian accent, “you made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
Dad claps him on the shoulder. “Leave the gun, take the cannoli, my good man!”
Just then, thankfully, the Host With The Most comes back bearing my red wine in a long-stemmed glass. We all slide into the booth and I sip my wine as Dad and the new guy order their drinks as well. Be patient, I remind myself. Dad hates being rushed.
“How was traffic getting here, Dad?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“You’d have to ask my chauffeur, sweetie,” he says, without looking up from the menu on the table. “You know I never spend time on things like traffic reports. Especially on a day like today.”
Here, he looks at me, a soft smile on his face. Just a hint of the father behind the businessman showing through.
“You know, when I was first starting out,” Charles interjects, “I biked across Midtown every morning to get to work.”
“That’s certainly dedication. Just another reason I’m so happy you joined the team,” Dad says.
I just nod along. I’m not sure why, but Dad’s new Teacher’s Pet is rubbing me the wrong way already. After tonight, it’ll all be worth it, though, so I push my annoyance away.
“Yes sir. I’ll tell you, I’ve ne
ver had stronger calves in my life, but it sure could be a pain when it rained!”
My dad laughs, and I smile politely at Charles. The waiter comes back with their drinks. Dad raises his glass.
“A toast, if I can.” As if it was a question. Charles and I raise our glasses as well. “To family and friends, new and old. And to new beginnings.”
Everyone clinks their glasses together, and drinks.
“So, Mariah, your dad tells me that you’ve just graduated from college?” Charles asks.
“Yes. Well, not just. I’ve been out of school for almost six months now, and I’ve been shadowing my Dad at the company since I was, what, ten?”
“That’s my girl. We like to say she got her degree in business, but she got her real education from me.” Dad sips his scotch, chuckling.
“Well, in that case, I really do envy you.” Charles inclines his glass of white wine towards me. “I’d have killed to get to watch your father work and learn from him for so long.”
“There’s plenty of time for that left still, Charles, don’t worry. I’m not a dinosaur quite yet. But still, I do have something to say on that subject, and I suppose now is as good a time as any. Mariah, this isn’t just a regular dinner.”
I know that, Dad! I want to shout with excitement, but I hold it in. When he’d called - or rather, had his secretary Henrietta call - to set this up, she’d said it was a business dinner.
Dad, wanting to talk business with me? In person? That could only mean one thing. He wants to give me more responsibility with the company, maybe even take it over from him!
It makes perfect sense. I’ve been his go-to girl for years now. I followed him around the office on school vacation days, holidays, anytime I could. Not just during those cheesy “Take your daughter to work” days like the other kids. That was just another normal day for me. I learned everything I could from him…and tonight is the night I get to start proving it.