by S. E. Hall
“They’re not antsy, they’re headed to paradise, a vacation for all of them. Just getting started early.” I explain.
“Well, with any luck, they’ll pass out from their early start as soon as we land.”
“Baby,” I now laugh freely. “There’s nothing strong enough on this plane to put them on their asses. Takes more than a few hours and all the alcohol on board to lay out men of their size.”
“Shoulda slipped ’em a Mickey,” she grumbles, crossing her arms.
“You don’t even know what that means, gangsta. Why don’t you read that book you bought? You set them straight, so they won’t get any worse.”
“Okay.” She sighs, her shoulders relaxing marginally. “How much longer till we’re there?”
“Don’t ask, just read your book.”
Crew Control
This is not our first trip, or wedding, as a group, so why certain people are acting like it’s the first time we’ve let them out of their cages, I’m not quite sure. A blind man could see I’m already on edge… they know better than to test me.
But this is my Crew. A crazy, crude conglomeration of people that are more than just my friends; they’re my family—we’re a family. The ones who can make each other laugh or cry the hardest, the people who you never have to question whether or not you can count on them.
Over the years, we’ve lost, and gained, some members. Some by choice, others by fate. Life has tried several times to splinter our foundation, topple our fortress—and failed. Our faith; in God, ourselves, and each other has been tested beyond measure, multiple times... but in the end, the crew saves the ship—Every. Single. Time. And we make it through the storm.
Our vessel may have cracks and dings, tatters in its sail, and sometimes takes on water… but it still cuts through the waves with authority.
Unsinkable.
The overwhelming amount of loyalty and camaraderie that, occasionally, comes along with bouts of mayhem and disorderly conduct, is more than worth it. Reminding myself of this is the only thing stopping me short of slapping some sense into the yahoos back there—needing my foot up their asses as badly as I need a Xanax.
“Slugger,” my dad—who still calls me Slugger, and I still love it—leans forward to speak to me from across the aisle, no more fooled into thinking I’m actually reading this damn book as he is that I’m over here silently contemplating Astrophysics. “You talk to Brynn about what I said?”
Make that two Xanax, STAT.
“No, Dad.” I turn my head away from him to roll my eyes, just in time to catch Dane make a half-ass attempt to cover his smirk.
Only my father would somehow mistake now as a good time to discuss, and by discuss I mean his giving a full-on critique, of one of my pitchers.
There’s not a thing wrong with any of my pitchers, least of all Brynn. She’s an amazing athlete, with a natural, God-given talent that’s truly an honor to watch, and my father knows it. He’s just… well, he’s just how he is about softball. Never gonna change. Works for me—wouldn’t have him any other way.
Except now, on the flight from hell, when I’m already feeling postal… and certainly not in the mood to dissect Brynn’s technique.
“The ball’s coming out before her foot’s down.” Maybe once every twentieth pitch; heaven forbid she’s not perfect. “You’d think she’d have learned to plant and peel in 10U,” my dad shakes his head and clucks his tongue. “Guess not. Some of my coaching could’ve stopped that problem a long time ago.”
When I don’t immediately answer him, he leans back his chair, giving me a chance to jerk my head to Dane. “Hello? Feel free to jump in here anytime!”
“Correct your father on softball? Um, pass,” he winks and kisses the end of my nose. “Your dad, your team, your sport.”
Damn right it’s my team.
After graduating from Georgia Southern, with my degree in Kinesiology, minor in History, I was asked to stay on as one of the assistant softball coaches. So I did. And worked the young women who graced the diamond into finely-tuned machines, while waiting… until I was the head coach.
“Perhaps Brynn’s problem is the gray-haired communist barking at her from the fence on every pitch?” I suggest in a low growl.
“Maybe.” Dane chuckles. “You should tell him that. Lemme know how that works out for ya.”
“Fine. Sit there all silent then, but you’re not getting laid this entire trip.” I quirk a brow as I hiss out the kill shot.
He leans into me, his warm breath bathing my ear, and rubs my leg slowly, climbing closer to the apex of my thighs with each glide. “You and I both know that’s not true, baby. Need me to prove it? I’d be more than happy to keep talking, get those legs of yours rubbing together even faster, that sweet ass squirming in your seat, right in front of your father. Is that what you need?” He murmurs, in a low, raspy taunt, his lips hinting to touch my heating skin. “If you think you can hide your reaction, I’m positive I can hide what my fingers are doing to you. Wanna give it a try?”
“I hate you sometimes,” I seethe, forcing my thighs and ass to remain as still as possible and the building desire out of my voice.
“But you love what only I can do to your body all the time. Now turn around and finish your conversation, if you’re not too worked up to concentrate that is. Oh, and look.” He peers over my shoulder. “Your mom’s awake. Should be a real party now.”
I glance back and sure enough, Mom’s up and at ’em, bright eyed and bushy tailed. My parents are now… hmmm, best friends? Company for each other? Not sure, and I don’t need a label for it, I’m just thrilled they get along so well and I can invite them both to things.
There’re still some days Mom doesn’t know who is who, but they’re fewer and farther between since Dane got her the best doctor to be found. I thank God, and Dane, every day that I have her back in my life, to stay. Pretty sure my Dad does too—especially since his dating Rosemary ceased a long time ago. Fine by me. Sure, Rosemary was nice enough, but she had this one hair sticking out of this one mole on her chin… I mean seriously, how do you not see it? Everyone else does! Grab the tweezers, one good yank, done! Drove me insane.
Everyone should have at least one person in their life with the balls to tell them, “no ma’am, that’s just not okay.” A friend who sees the booger in your nose, or knows damn good and well that the pants you’re wearing were too tight five years ago and says nothing?
No friend at all.
Anyway, I digress.
“Morning, Mom,” I chirp, giddy and gearing up for the tag team I have planned that my dad will never see coming. Another benefit of my parents being together so much—the “two against one” strategy I often employ. “I’m glad you’re awake. Daddy here was just telling me all the things wrong with Brynn’s pitching. Any thoughts on the matter?” I ask, infused with an almost choking amount of innocence.
“Pure evil,” Dane mumbles in my ear, and receives a friendly reminder that he bowed out of this conversation, in the form of an elbow to his ribs. Didn’t dodge that one now did he?
“Jefferson Walker!” My mother swallows the whole lure I cast in one gulp, screeching at a volume that exceeds my expectations. “What exactly is it that you have to say? I’m awake and listening now, so please, do fill me in.”
“Trish.” My dad stink eyes me then runs a hand down his face. “You know absolutely nothing about pitching, and I made one comment. Your daughter just can’t take the slightest criticism.”
Bull’s-eye! When mom’s lucid, she’s razor sharp, and Daddy secretly loves the interaction. So, that oughta keep my parents occupied for a while. I smile to myself and pull out my notebook; time to capitalize on this new adrenaline rush and work on my upcoming speech.
I’m more than positive Whitley has some spotlight stealer of her own planned, highly likely in the form of song (insert eye roll) and I refuse to be outdone.
Love Whitley to death, and she may know more than me about super i
mportant stuff such as which fork to use when or the life-threatening hazards of wearing black and brown at the same time, but words? The right one, at the right time, in the right way?
That’s all me.
“At this time, we ask that you please turn off all electronic devices, make sure any items are securely stowed under the seat in front of you and that your seatbelt’s fastened as we begin our initial descent into Jamaica. The local time is 4 p.m. with a current temperature of 82 degrees. Thank you for flying with us today and enjoy your stay.”
This is it. One step closer to the life changing event.
“You ready for this?” Dane asks me with a confident tilt of his lush lips, silently telling me, as always—everything will be alright.
And anything that’s not; he’ll fix.
“Yeah,” I find his hand and squeeze, feigning a grin in hopes of reassuring him, which he’ll no doubt see right through. “I’m good.”
Even if I’m not, he is.
Where I fall short, he’ll carry me. So whether or not I’m actually ready doesn’t matter, because Dane Kendrick will always pick up where I leave off. And in that, I draw a strength not entirely my own.
Nowhere to Hide
Just a fact, and quite possibly a recurring nightmare for any outsider to have witnessed an occurrence, any “crew” activity is an automatic guarantee for some sort of spectacle—often before it’s even totally underway. Which is why, I’d be shocked if Whitley wasn’t outside, squawking and wildly flapping her arms, trying to get past the armed customs guards. So much for waiting inside the airport. Or the enforcement of FAA rules, of which I’m positive she’s violating at least three.
Somewhat hidden behind the fan of her blond hair, blowing out in all directions with her rigorous attempts at subterfuge, stands Evan, the most patient, easy-going man I’ve ever known. Calm, hands in his pockets, immune to Whitley’s spastic behavior, he simply watches on and laughs. Along with Bennett, also seemingly unfazed by the very real possibility Whitley may be shot and/or locked up in a Jamaican holding at any point.
“I’d spank your ass if you tried that,” I growl in Laney’s ear, wrapping my arm tighter around her waist.
“I’m aware,” she deadpans, and I know without looking, rolls her eyes.
Guess the guards are in a god mood today, or know the difference between a threatening crazy and just plain crazy because Whitley’s waiting, unshackled, for us when we make it through the line.
“You made it! Yay!” Whitley shrills, throwing her arms around Laney. “Where’s everyone else?”
“If by everyone else you mean Shitfaced, Instigator and poor Emmett, they were all several rows behind us, should be coming along any minute. Sobered up, I hope.” Laney grimaces. “Zach was at two sheets, Sawyer borderline unconscious, Ryder scared to breathe and Emmett…probably still contemplating suicide.”
And one thinks Whitley exaggerates? I say nothing, biting back my laugh.
“Oh no, they don’t.” Whitley’s brow crinkles and both hands fly to her hips. “I simply won’t tolerate it.”
Here we go.
“Dane, grab Trish’s bag please,” Mr. Walker says to me and I rush to help, leaving the girls to plan their counter-attack.
“So handsome.” Laney’s mom pats my cheek, like she always does. “Why, if I weren’t old enough to be your mother and—”
“Trisha,” Mr. Walker interrupts her in grave disapproval and saves me the familiar, but no less embarrassing, admiration. “Keep walking, dear, it’s hot out here.”
Finally inside the actual airport, Evan and Bennett join the rest of our group, no longer just hangin’ out as if in no one else’s way, each giving Laney and her parents hugs.
“Where’s Zach and Saw? Lemme guess, they’ve been detained for questioning, regarding some incident, I won’t even wager a guess on, during the flight?” Evan laughs while shaking my hand.
I’m about to tell him how scarily close to the truth he actually is, when Sawyer’s voice booms out. “We’re right here, you twig packin’ mother—”
“Sawyer! My parents, much?” Laney scolds him, loudly, “Help your wife with her bag before I kick your ass and do it myself!”
“Come on, Emmy.” Sawyer’s voice and expression immediately soften as he turns to his Achilles’, one of only two people he’ll literally morph before your eyes for—his wife. The other, his daughter Presley.
“You wound me, man,” Zach claps Evan on the shoulder. “Even if I’d been held up, it’d only be to cover Sawyer’s back. You know I never cause trouble.”
“Oh, please,” Laney scoffs. “Emmett, you sat with them, help me out here.”
“Tempting.” Emmett grins. “But looks like we’re ready to go.”
And we are, Ryder having arrived, leery and standing as far back as possible without actually exiting the airport. But Whitley wastes no time hugging and including him. “Okay, that’s everyone this round! We’ve got a van waiting out front, let’s load up. Wait until you see the resort, it’s amazing! You did well, Dane.”
I couldn’t be more down with that plan, ready for things to be “less crowded,” a.k.a alone with Laney.
“You go ahead with your folks to the van and make those phone calls I know are killing ya. I’ll grab the rest of our luggage.” I kiss Laney’s cheek and she readily agrees.
“I’ll help ya,” Evan offers, Zach and Sawyer nodding in agreement. So the men head toward baggage claim, the women, parents and Ryder, to the van.
“So, you boys ready for this?” Zach asks, antagonistic lilt to his voice and spring in his step.
“As I’ll ever be.” Evan groans. “Makes for a long trip when Whit insists on arriving so much earlier than everyone else.”
“Sucks to be you, man. But it’s damn good to be me. I’m gonna sit back in the pool, let them bring me my drinks and find some nice, exotic beauty who nods and shoves her tits further against me with every word I say.” Zach laughs.
“No shit? What happened to that one chick, Donna, was it?” Sawyer asks. “She was hot.”
“It is Donna, and she’s still hot. I’ll see her when I get back, but we’re not committed or anything. Not even close.”
Because Zach doesn’t do commitments, I don’t add aloud. Zach Reece is the nicest guy you’ll ever meet, level-headed, honest, successful…but burned one too many times, never really fully rising from the ashes. Found out his high-school sweetheart was cheating via Facebook, a girl he invested all his most vulnerable, developmental years in, and I suspect, genuinely loved. Then he saw Avery cheat on him, a raunchy display, in the middle of the K, humiliated and deceived once again. And the real doozy? Some random biker-chick threesome we never really got the whole story on—but he spent a while stewing over that one—debating whether to go track her down or sleep with a loaded gun and one eye open.
Can’t say I really blame him for his commitment phobia and faithlessness in faith. He seems happy enough now though, coaching football at a junior high where he also teaches Algebra, owns his own home and motorcycle, and has a gorgeous date for every gathering. Except this one.
“Ya’ll gotta come up with a golf game or something for just the guys,” Evan begs. “Whitley’s driving me crazy with all this wedding planning stuff. Hummingbird’s not so cute when she’s on event coordinating crack.”
“Um, I paid for the all-inclusive package. The wedding is planned,” I interject, confused.
“You should ask for a refund,” Evan laughs. “Better yet, don’t say anything, cause they might demand more money, hazard pay. Whitley’s been bugging the crap out of them.”
I honestly… don’t know what to say to that.
Zach and Sawyer laugh at our expense as we grab our suitcases off the turn belt and head out to the van.
“Okay, so everyone get checked and changed or whatever, then we’ll all meet at the pool, in say, an hour?” Whitley, self-deemed social director, who’s obviously taken to freebasing Adderall, claps
her hands when we reach our ride.
“Or—” I step forward. “Laney and I find you all later, after we’re rested.”
“Dane.” Laney pretends to disagree in a low hum, but with one glance her way, and her hand already gliding down my back to land on my ass, she loses her protest.
“Seriously? It was only a three hour flight! Surely you can, um, wait to—”
“Whit.” Evan chuckles, cutting off his wife’s stammering protest with an arm around her shoulder and kiss to her head. “Let’s head to the resort, get some food in you, and play it by ear. When’s the last time you down shifted to eat?”
And just when I think Evan’s squashed further announcement in front of Mr. Walker that I’m about to ravage his daughter… Sawyer chimes in.
“I like Kendrick’s plan. Everyone load your asses in! Emmy, you can help me sweat out some of this alcohol when we get there woman.” He all but pushes her in as she offers everyone an apologetic smile over her shoulder.
Yeah, not an awkward ride at all… luckily, the resort’s only about twenty minutes away.
And Whitley, doesn’t quit yammering the entire time, saving the rest of us any effort at filler conversation.
“Well then,” Mr. Walker clears his throat and shrinks me with a pointed scowl when we’re unloaded. Seriously, if the furrow in his brows were any deeper, they’d declare it a landmark and name it after a dead president. “Trish and I will need to get settled in too, perhaps catch a nap. I’m sure we’ll see everyone later.”
Sawyer dragged Em away almost before the van even came to a full stop, so after Laney’s parents depart and Evan persuades Whitley to go eat that leaves me, Laney, Zach and Bennett. No idea where Ryder disappeared to.
“Come on, Ben. Let’s find some fun.” Zach takes her hand and with a timid look back over her shoulder at me, strange, she accepts and lets him lead her away.
“You ready to go see where we’re staying?” I sidle up, flush against Laney’s body and seek out her neck, her sweet, signature scent of lavender calling to my baser desires.