by Kylie Parker
“We can’t turn back time.” He said with a bitter smile. “And I’m glad I met you.”
“You should go.” She suggested. “Leave Vegas and never come back.”
“What did you just say?” Bruce squinted at her.
“It’s the only way.” Melissa said, as another tear rolled down her left cheek. “You’ll be safe in Boston.”
“We don’t know that.” He grumbled.
“Please, Bruce!” She begged. “I just need to know that you’re safe. I know my father. He won’t come after you. He’s never gone after anyone outside Nevada.”
“What about us?” Bruce’s voice broke, as he blinked back tears. Melissa shut her eyes, squeezing two tears out of them. With bated breath, he waited for her to open her mouth, already knowing the answer to his question. She removed her hands from his midsection and put them on his face. Bruce closed his eyes, biting his lower lip, savoring her touch.
“Remember me, baby. Remember us.” She spoke in a thick voice, as more tears spilled from her eyes. Her words broke his heart, shattering the world that they had built together in just a few days. Bruce bent his head a little and pressed his forehead against hers, tightening his grip on her back, as if he was trying to hold on to a dream that had gone up in flames.
“Always.” He whispered. Unable to fight back the tears, he sensed the salty river flowing freely from his eyes. Melissa kept stroking and caressing his cheeks. It wasn’t long before her sniffles turned into sobs. Her shaking hands were getting colder by the second. Bruce closed his trembling lips. He kissed her on her forehead, as a tear rolled off his right cheek.
“Kiss me.” Another soft, tender whisper escaped her. He slid his hands up her back, laying one more kiss on the bridge of her small nose. Their mouths joined in a soft, bitter kiss. She ran her fingers through his hair, as he caressed her upper back. Feeling her soaked lips on his own, he held her even tighter. Their kiss goodbye did not last long. Once again, Melissa collapsed in his arms, grabbing fistfuls of his hair.
“Bruce…” She sniffled.
“Don’t say it.” He whispered.
“God, I wish I didn’t have to.” One more, deep, heavy sigh left her lip, as she slid her hands down his face. Melissa stroked either side of his neck, before stopping them on his shoulders. She gently pushed him back and looked up at him. Her puffy, reddened eyes tore him into a million pieces.
“Goodbye, baby.” Melissa whispered, as even more tears streamed down her cheeks. Bruce was too overwhelmed by emotion to even consider a reply. He just stared at her beautiful eyes, taking mental pictures of the woman that he would remember for the rest of his life. A cold sensation overflowed within him, as she loosened her grip on his shoulders. He dropped his arms, as if he had no more strength in his muscles to keep them up. Melissa eased her own arms down. She took one step back, squeezing her trembling lips, gazing into his teary eyes. Bruce could only watch, as she slowly turned around, deep down knowing that he would bear the scars of this moment for as long as he lived. The cold settled in his limbs and his heart, as she began to walk away from him.
“Always, my girl. I’ll always remember you and everything we had. It wasn’t much, but it was the best time of my life. Who knows? Maybe someday we’ll meet again…”
End of Sneak Peek
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BONUS SNEAK PEEK: Chasing Bad Boys Book 6
Chapter One
“Mayday, mayday… United 106 heavy on approach to Dulles Airport. We’re at 34,000ft in an accelerated stall…”
At 7:30 pm on Saturday, March 12th, 2016, 22-year old first officer John Samuels relayed a mayday call in a panic. His much more experienced captain had just risen from his seat and was facing him before suffering a heart attack and collapsing onto the control yoke and onto Samuels himself, pushing the yoke forcefully all the way down. A rather thin man with a dark complexion could do nothing to move the enormous, 6’3” and 315lbs captain away from the control yoke or himself. His head was resting on his right leg while his large stomach kept pressing the yoke down.
“Roger that, United 106. Push the yoke up and…”
“Negative, Dulles tower. The captain has collapsed onto the yoke and will not allow me to push it up…” At that moment, Samuels paused and placed his right thumb and index finger on Captain Richardson’s neck, searching for a pulse.
“I am getting no pulse from the Captain, Dulles. I think he’s dead,” Samuels announced. Silence followed his last remark. Five seconds later, he received a completely unhelpful response.
“Roger that, United 106.”
The young first officer checked his altimeter. His Boeing 767 had already lost more than 6,000ft of altitude and was falling from the sky like a rock. Unwilling to wait for any assistance from the control tower, he grabbed the microphone over his head and addressed the passengers:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I request anyone with flying experience to come to the cockpit. This is an emergency. Repeat, this is an emergency.”
However, up until that moment, every passenger had already realized that the plane was near doom. Samuels could hear the screams of his 195 passengers and his all-female cabin crew could not possibly lend him a helping hand. It seemed that the only way out of this catastrophic scenario was brute force. A skinny, 5’9” man like him had no chance of pulling Richardson off of him and, more importantly, the control yoke.
midst all the chaos, a first class passenger wearing a navy-blue cashmere suit unbuckled his seatbelt and arose to his impressive, 6’4” stature. It was Dean Marshall, heir to the famous Marshall family. Indeed, Dean was an enormous and athletic 214lbs, 32-year old man with more than 3,000 flight hours under his belt in a smaller, but equally sophisticated aircraft. He used to fly all three of his corporate jets all around the States, yet, for once, he had decided not to fly to Washington in one of those. Marshall wanted to keep the reasons for his visit secret. He was on the verge of a major breakthrough: A complex piece of software that could eventually replace pilots. Handsome, eligible billionaires like him never go unnoticed, and the last thing he needed was the paparazzi chasing him around for a statement or a photograph. With short, straight black hair, sky-blue eyes, high cheekbones, a chiseled face, full lips, and a massive chest acquired by endless hours of freediving, Dean Marshall was a great-looking man.
Straightening the suit jacket, out of the corner of his eye and through the tiny opening in the blue curtain, ten feet to the left, Dean caught a flight attendant rushing through the narrow corridor of the passenger cabin. She was a beautiful, slender blonde. She had to be at least 5’9” (not counting her heels), wearing a dark-blue, knee-long dress and black pantyhose, like all United Airlines female flight attendants. However, the young man had no time for flirting. He turned his head to the right and faced the locked, cockpit door, seven feet across him.
Just when he reached it, he heard her sweet, feminine voice and sensed a featherlike touch on his left shoulder.
“Sir!” she exclaimed.
“Sir, do you any flying experience?” At that moment, Dean faced the young flight attendant and only then did he realize just how beautiful she was: She could not have been more than 25 or 26 years-old. She had long, curly blonde hair, light-green eyes, low cheekbones, a celestial nose, and fleshy lips.
“Yeah, I’ve been flying jets for more than six years, Ms…Stiles,” Dean responded in his usual, firm tone, reading the name tag on the left side of her chest, three inches below her shoulder. His voice was deep and manly. Immediately, the young woman opened a small cabinet next to her, pulled out a key and opened the cockpit door.
At that sound, Samuels looked over his right shoulder and saw the two of them entering.
“Sir? I need your help!” he yelled. Dean remained calm and composed. As a pilot, he had faced similar circumstances before, but he had to know more about their situation before he could assist Samuels.
“Can you please take the captain off of me and the control yoke?” Samuels’ voice got even louder. Without uttering a word, Dean made two steps to the right and leaned forward. He then went to squeeze his large, long arms under Captain Richardson’s stomach.
“Ok, help me out here, man. What’s your name again?” Dean kept his voice down; it was important not to add to Samuels’ stress.
“My name’s John Samuels. What would you have me do, sir?”
“Name’s Dean Marshall. Push him up. Push him way up. This guy weighs a ton…” Dean gritted his teeth and flexed his arm muscles, in an attempt to lift Richardson. Samuels put his right hand on the captain’s face and his left hand on his chest.
“Ok. 3,2,1… Push!”
After Dean’s countdown, both men flexed their muscles. The young first officer soon blushed while gritting his teeth. Squinting at him and also gritting his teeth, Dean saw a large vein on Samuel’s forehead; it was about to explode. Realizing how heavy Richardson was, he held him even tighter in his grasp, leaned forward, and stuck his left cheek on his back. Then, flexing every muscle in his body, he continued his seemingly hopeless attempt to remove the captain from the control yoke.
A drop of sweat ran down his forehead. Athletic as he was, he still had to give it his all. Finally, after a thirty-second struggle, the two of them managed to pull the captain up. Dean was so exhausted by the effort that he felt his knees shaking. He dropped Richardson at once. The overweight airman landed hard on his back on the cockpit floor.
Meanwhile, the plane’s altitude was dropping, fast. Samuels squinted at the altimeter.
“What’s our altitude?” Dean’s voice was trembling; he was gasping for breath.
“17,000ft and dropping. Mr. Marshall…?” Samuels faced Dean again, on his left.
“Have you ever recovered from a stall, sir? This is my first flight. Ever. I don’t know if I can do this.” The inexperienced officer was terrified. Dean nodded with his mouth partially open. Before he sat in the captain’s seat, though, he knew that he had to push the control yoke all the way up in order to push the nose of the plane down and reduce the angle of attack. No airplane responds immediately after such action; they all take four or five seconds to respond and those seconds could eventually prove vital for the survival of everyone on board.
Dean strapped himself in and faced the first officer.
“Samuels, we can do this. All I want you to do is handle communications, ok? Don’t worry…” Dean then averted his gaze from Samuels and looked outside the cockpit window. It was a dark, moonless night.
“It’s all gonna be alright,” he added. Dean checked the airspeed and took the controls in his hands lightly. His heart was pounding in his chest. Both men then sensed the plane leveling off, slowly and steadily. The plane flew at 172mph, and its speed was slowly increasing. Before the stall, and due to Richardson, the plane had slowed down dangerously, gradually losing lift. He watched the airspeed increase—175,180, 190. When the plane finally reached 200 miles per hour, Dean posed a question:
“What’s the plane’s VY (the best rate of climb)?”
“Uh… 250 is good…” Samuels wiped the sweat from his brow and went on to notify the control tower in Dulles International Airport but, before he did, he chirped:
“Mr. Marshall, you did it!” He opened his eyes widely and faced Dean; the first officer was delighted. Dean then went on to trim the airplane to a speed near 250 miles per hour. He rolled the trim wheel back a little; it resulted in a decrease in trim speed. His actions did not result in a steady climb. The plane was now less than 10 miles away from the airport. Neither of the two men could hear screams anymore.
At only 4,000ft, a sigh of relief escaped Dean. He lay back in the captain’s seat and closed his eyes before he addressed the first officer again:
“Tell them to clear our path for landing. The last thing we want is a mid-air collision. You got control…”
Chapter Two
A few minutes before 8pm that night, passengers and crew burst into wild applause. The United Airlines Boeing 767 had just touched down, and they were relieved that their ordeal was finally over. They would all live to tell the tale of their sudden and nearly fatal descent. Isabelle Miles, the flight attendant who had earlier run into Dean Marshall was the first to get up from her seat at the rear exit of the plane. With a huge smile on her face, she ran towards the cockpit door while her colleagues were checking on the passengers to see if anyone was hurt.
Her eyes were fixed on the cockpit door. It opened just when she arrived at the first class section. Dean opened it and sauntered towards the rest of the passengers. He was the man of the hour, the hero they all had to relied on in order to get out of that predicament alive. But, the only ones aware of that fact were Isabelle and the rest of the first class passengers. Samuels did what he thought was right: He stayed in the cockpit and addressed the passengers using the microphone:
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer speaking. Captain Richardson passed away a few minutes ago. If it weren’t for Mr. Dean Marshall, we’d all be dead by now… We helped each other, but I’m afraid he deserves most of the credit. He was incredible. Let’s hear another round of applause for Mr. Marshall!”
Of course, none of the passengers needed any motivation. As soon as he emerged, every single one of them applauded and cheered for him. Isabelle had to step aside to allow them to get closer to him and shake his hand. Some of them went on to hug Dean. He had a crooked smile on his face and kept thanking everyone separately. His commanding presence, his earlier feat, and his polite nature had Isabelle smitten. She felt the urge to talk to him, so she took a step forward towards him and laid her right hand on his right forearm, gently squeezing it to draw his attention.
“Mr. Marshall, on behalf of the crew and everyone on board, thank you so much.” The young flight attendant was overwhelmed with emotion. After finishing her sentence, she wrapped her arms around his back and hugged him. She sensed his strong arm on her back. Dean never passed on beautiful women, especially when they looked like her.
“I’m just glad we made it…” he muttered under his breath. Then, he pulled a business card out of his left pocket and handed it over to Isabelle. However, she did not want to lose sight of him and kept staring at the tall, handsome man in front of her.
Monica Miller, Isabelle’s 27-year old friend and colleague, was amidst the cheering passengers. By standard procedure, the plane had to be evacuated. No one seemed to be in a hurry and all five flight attendants had to lead them to the front, middle, and rear exits. Dean waited patiently while gazing at the passenger cabin. His eyes met with Isabelle’s just before he stepped outside. Then he turned around, extended his right hand, and placed it on the wall next to the front exit. He ran his fingertips up and down twice before he looked at Isabelle over his right shoulder. Dean winked at her, and she smiled back at him.
Monica was 5’11”, 152lbs, with long, layered raven hair which made her face looked sleek and straight. She and Isabelle had been friends since their freshman year in college and were lucky enough to be working together. With oval-shaped, light-green eyes, a thin nose, high cheekbones, and classy lips, Monica Miller was a stunning woman by any standards.
Watching the whole incident less than fifteen feet away, Isabelle’s friend wanted to tease her, as she often did.
“I see you’ve made a new friend there. You’ve always had good taste in men…” Monica’s voice was usually fruity, yet, whenever she had something similar in mind, she would lower it and attempt to sound as sexy as possible. For all her effort though, she got no response. Isabelle kept staring at the open plane exit.
Monica then walked towards her friend. The sound of her 3-inch high heels resounded in the empty cabin. Finally stopping two feet to Isabelle’s right, she tried to draw her attention by waving her right hand in front of her.
“Earth to Isabelle? Hello?” Monica raised her voice. Isabelle blinked. She snapped
out of it and faced her friend.
“What?” Her voice was almost inaudible. Monica burst into laughter.
“Oh, my God! Thanks a lot, darling. I needed that…” Monica put her shoulders on two airplane seats behind her and sat on an armrest.
“What did you need, Mon?” Isabelle could still not understand.
“Look at you… You’re totally in love with this guy!” Monica’s voice got thick all of a sudden.
“What, you mean Marshall?” Isabelle used her right index finger to point to the exit.
“Yeah…” Monica then arose to her impressive stature and got serious.
“No, I’m not in love with him!” Isabelle said, getting upset.
“But, did you see what he just did?” she went on.
“Yes, I did, Izzy. I was here, remember?” Monica’s tone was firm. Putting her hands on her friend’s shoulders, she leaned slightly forward and looked at her right into her eyes.
“And yes, you are. You are hopelessly in love with him…”
Born and raised in Washington, DC, Isabelle and Monica would be on a planned leave starting the next day. They would visit their friend and former colleague, 26-year old Kate Stinson. She had married Jonathan Stinson, a 44-year old, successful lawyer seven months earlier and was currently living in North Haven, New York. Kate loved her job, but her husband was a little old-fashioned and did not want her to work at all. More than that, the man was afraid of flying. Ironically, the two of them had met aboard a flight to Los Angeles.
The two friends knew that they would have to talk to the NTSB about the whole incident, but did not want to wait until the next day. So, they volunteered to be interviewed first. At about 11pm that night, they were at last free to go and pack. Monica would pick up Isabelle from her apartment on 16th street the following morning at 9am. It would be their first road trip in more than two years and they were really excited. They would have a chance to discuss their experience throughout the 330-mile long trip to North Haven in Monica’s red Toyota RAV-4.