High Octane

by Ashlinn Craven

  She let out a watery giggle. “Then you’re a lunatic.”

  “Back there? I wanted to throw something at your stepfather—possibly a punch, but equally likely my unfinished bottle of crap beer.”

  She laughed again, softly. “He has no frame of reference, and you can probably tell he’s not big on the ‘feels.’”

  “Yes, that’s one way of putting it, but good God, we were all telling him to back the hell off. And the old goat still persisted.”

  She sat back and gazed into his serious, hazel eyes. “He’s clueless. And he’s just not programmed to give that kind of emotional support to anyone. Not my mom and certainly not me. He loves me, but he wants me to move on, accept it.”

  “Feels mighty conditional to me—follow my advice or else. That’s not the way paternal love is supposed to work, is it? Not that I’d know. It’s a theoretical question.”

  That was the first time he’d brought up his father willingly, but it wasn’t the time to bring another dysfunctional father into the conversation.

  “I think Jim’s just focused on fixing the problem, as if the problem is my career. When clearly it’s a helluva lot deeper than that. It’s been a rocky relationship, especially as I’ve gotten older and made choices he hasn’t agreed with, but we’ve managed to maintain a basic level of respect—until now.”

  “Is he the main reason you became a pilot?”

  “Only in the sense that he took me up with him on a flight and I fell in love with flying. Jim and I have struggled. I have to admit my two dads are quite a contrast.”

  “Yeah. Well, it’s clear they both love you.”

  “Anderson has been one of two very bright spots,” she gave Ronan a half smile, “in a pretty shitty year.”

  • • •

  They were back in the hotel outside of Surprise, packing up before the meeting with EvacuAir, when Ronan decided to ask the question, to get it over with. “Are you going to see his widow?”

  “I have to. But Mandy—she’s not Steve. She’s raising two kids by herself now, living with her parents in Dallas. She blames me for Steve’s death. She’s filed a lawsuit.”

  “Would it make you feel better to settle?”

  “Settle?”

  “Settle the lawsuit.”

  Her head cocked to one side and she considered him. “You know, that has occurred to me. I have assets. If it’s just a matter of money …”

  “I can give her the money.”

  She drew back. “Ronan, that’s … that’s very generous, but no, I can’t let you do that.”

  “Cassidy, I’d do anything to help you work through this. And it would be easy. I have a trust set up. Most of the drivers who make the kind of money we do have something they put aside for charity. I donate to Doctors Without Borders, but some of the trust money goes to victims of my father’s fraud—”

  “Really?”

  He drew her over to the loveseat and settled her in his lap, wrapping both arms around her. She leaned into his chest.

  “You donate to your dad’s victims?”

  “Yeah. It’s helped with some of the guilt I feel over Harry’s crimes.”

  “Why would you feel guilty about what he did?”

  “Because he might have gotten in to the degree that he did to help my career.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head. “From what Anderson tells me—”

  He stiffened. She’d talked about his father with Anderson?

  She squeezed the back of his neck. “Don’t get all bent out of shape. Anderson told me about your dad and the trial. Your dad was committing fraud long before you came along. The guy managed to avoid criminal charges because his victims were embarrassed, but my dad knew someone who had dealings with Harry.”

  “Maybe. But the magnitude … well, it’s at least partially because he wanted me to get to F1 and knew money was the way to do it. So shall I make a contribution or what?”

  “No,” she said, quickly. “But thank you for offering. It’s something I need to take care of myself. Without your help, without Anderson’s help. Without anybody’s. But I appreciate it. More than you could ever know.”

  Stubborn, independent woman. Throwing money at his father’s victims had gone a long way to assuaging his guilt. He could only hope the same might work for her. But something told him it wouldn’t be as straightforward as that.

  Chapter 15

  Cass pointed to the small trailer-like building to the side of the runway at the tiny airport.

  “Are you sure this is the place?” Ronan asked, his tone doubtful. Cass attempted a smile, which she was pretty sure fell flat. “No frills in aviation, Ronan. This is a totally different world than the one you inhabit.”

  She reached for the door handle, climbed out of the rented sedan, and grabbed her duffel with her gear.

  There wasn’t much. A few flight suits with the company logo, a jacket. Some manuals. Her night vision goggles and helmet had been repossessed at the hospital after the crash.

  “This won’t take long. I’ll text you when I’m done,” she said.

  She’d only been to regional headquarters twice for training, but she remembered the cramped office near the small airport’s hangars with white lettering indicating EvacuAir.

  Ronan gave her a long look over his shoulder.

  “There’s a breakfast place in town I hear is good, but I doubt they have kippers or stewed tomatoes.”

  He smiled at her attempt at humor, but his eyes were worried. “Good luck.”

  She slammed the door wordlessly, slung the bag across her body like armor, and marched to the office door.

  The office was bare bones. Like most things in aviation, it was all about function over aesthetics. She wouldn’t be surprised if the corporate office in Georgia had this same utilitarian look, the same cheaply made furniture, with sheets of paper filled with regulations tacked onto the walls. The only decoration framed photos of a dozen helicopters and aviation pin ups.

  A man in his mid-fifties with military bearing came through the door with a Styrofoam cup in his hand.

  “Cassidy Miller?”

  “Yep.”

  He switched the cup to his other hand and extended his arm. “Butch Villars, chief pilot for the region.”

  “What happened to Leon Summerfield?”

  “Moved up to Georgia.”

  “Oh.” Leon had been a known quantity at least. A stickler, but mostly fair.

  “Why don’t you come into my office?” He indicated a door to her right. She led the way and took a seat opposite a cluttered desk.

  Instead of sitting behind the desk, he took the chair next to her. “I’m sure you know why you’re here.”

  At her nod he continued. “We’ve completed our preliminary investigation. The FAA is still conducting theirs. We’re letting you go.”

  No matter how much time she’d spent preparing for this moment, it still hit her like a blow, sucking all the air out of her body and leaving her dizzy and hollow with despair.

  She nodded stiffly, focusing on her hands, twisting in her lap.

  “I can imagine it feels pretty shitty—but before you go, I wanted to tell you a few things, off the record.”

  She looked up at his kind, sympathetic tone.

  “I’m an old military pilot who hasn’t been in the civilian world as long as you might expect. I saw a lot in my years of active duty service so I wanted to tell you not only what you did wrong, but what you did right.”

  “Thanks,” she rubbed her forehead, “but that’s not necessary. I know what I did. And I can’t do it over the right way.”

  “Cassidy, you could be a pilot for a long time.”

  She stared, uncomprehending.

  “You’re a good pilot. You did as many things right as you did wrong. I’ve seen my share of bad weather and bad events, and nine times out of ten things just go to shit. I’ve been in that circumstance myself—you fly long enough, it can happen. Believe me, I understan
d the instinct to turn around and go back to where you came from. Our protocol—while still the safest thing to do—goes against instinct. And once you turned back, you probably could see again, yes?

  She nodded.

  “And then it got worse.”

  This was all in the report, but from the weary tone of his voice it sounded like he’d been there, done that.

  “Putting down on mostly flat, isolated terrain at night—it wasn’t a bad decision. Don’t get me wrong—it wasn’t the best decision you could have made. Following protocol would have been. But you did good landing her under those conditions. Unfortunately, the terrain didn’t do you any favors.”

  Cass twisted her fingers in her lap.

  “But—and this is the part I want you to take away, and why I think you’re a good pilot who should stay in the profession—” That was the last thing she’d expected to hear. She held her breath as he continued.

  “You shut her down as soon as your skids came down. That one action, that most critical thing, is something most pilots can’t or don’t do. With everything happening it gets overlooked, and without the shutoff, the risk of fire is damn near 100 percent.”

  She nodded. They’d been lucky.

  “Two of three crew survived; that is the part you need to focus on. That and following the four C’s in the future.” He finished, looking at her, his expression expectant.

  “I … I’m not sure I have a future,” she said. “As a pilot, I mean.”

  “Then that would be a shame.” He stood, indicating the interview was over. “There are some forms over there I need you to fill out. Your John Hancock and the date. They’re marked with stickies.”

  “And the FAA?”

  “You never know with the FAA; a suspension is possible. Revocation, unlikely.”

  She signed the documents he indicated.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Best of luck,” he responded.

  She walked out into the sunlight, too dazed to call Ronan immediately. She spied an EvacuAir helicopter in the hanger, an Airbus AS350—an A Star, they called it. She crossed over the tarmac, into the hanger, and stared silently at the beautiful machine. She felt, rather than saw, Ronan’s presence behind her.

  Dashing away a few tears, she turned. He took two steps forward and caught her in his arms. Her breath escaped in a shuddering sob.

  “That bad?” he asked, drawing back to look at her, concern making his eyes wide.

  “It’s hard to accept, even though I knew it was coming.”

  Butch had given her a degree of hope. A degree of understanding. And perhaps most important, hope that the FAA wouldn’t take away her most important identity.

  • • •

  “Cass, I won’t be around much the next three days.” The words drifted into her sleepy consciousness as she rolled over in the enormous bed. Everything in Austin, Texas, was oversized it seemed. The suite was gigantic. She urged her limbs into action and lifted her heavy eyelids. Ronan was toweling off his hair in the bedroom.

  “What? I’ve been asleep.” She glanced at her watch, “Three hours?” And you—you’ve been down at the gym again, haven’t you?”

  He raised his eyebrows and swiped up his jeans from the chair in the corner, eyeing her. She sat up fully. She’d slept in the middle of the day, and she’d been cold stone sober. That hadn’t happened in a long time. “You make me feel like a sloth.” Who knew racecar drivers were such health fanatics? Pilots most definitely aren’t.

  “Indeed,” he said, as he dumped the pants back onto the chair. Even from across the room his intense gaze on her camisole-covered breasts sent a flood of desire through her.

  He made his way purposefully across the room.

  She straightened, pulling her hair over her shoulder and toying with the ends, on eye level with his swelling erection.

  Any residual sleepiness cleared out, leaving the throb of desire and anticipation. What was it with Ronan? Whatever it was, her libido was perpetually in hyperdrive.

  “Maybe you need some exercise now to atone for this laziness?” His hand rested on the top of her head.

  She went to her knees, shoving sheets aside. Her hands grasped his hips, curling around the thick elastic of his boxer briefs. “Shall I begin atoning—this way?”

  He drew in a breath.

  She leaned forward and licked his rock-hard abdomen—his taste and smell barely apparent beneath the bath soap he’d just used. Pity. She liked the scent of him after a workout. All musky man. Her hands maneuvered his underwear down. He stepped out, his breath coming jerkily.

  Cass raised her head, meeting hazel eyes slit with passion, and his hips bucked as her hand clasped his thick shaft.

  “Cass,” he said hoarsely.

  Never breaking eye contact, she lowered her mouth, taking the fullness of his cock into her mouth inch by slow inch.

  He shuddered, one hand gripping her shoulder, the other stroking the back of her head.

  She pushed his legs apart, and he grunted, surging into her mouth.

  Her mouth and tongue toyed with the tip and shaft of his cock as her fist worked the base.

  “Cass,” he growled. “Enough.”

  When she didn’t stop, he moved his hips back, reaching into the drawer for a condom. “Okay, you’re not listening, and I’m not arguing with you … definitely not …” His voice trailed off.

  She flipped over onto all fours at the edge of the bed, shivering in anticipation and the chill in the room. Desperate. Impatient.

  There was the sound of the condom being opened in the silence of the room, quickened breaths from him, and then he was there—his cock at her slick entrance.

  She spread her legs wider, resting on her shoulder and face, barely able to see him behind her. He thrust, hard.

  “Agh,” she moaned.

  He froze. “God, sorry—did I hurt you?”

  She moved her hips against him in answer, seeking, desperate. “No, just—ah, don’t stop.”

  “Sure?” he asked, in a strangled voice. And then he was driving into her, over and over. Her hand sought the swollen nub of her clit; she stroked herself and came hard, the mattress capturing her gasps.

  His body stiffened behind her, and she watched from over her shoulder as his face contorted with ecstasy, the angles of his face sharply defined as he pulsed into her. Her hand found his balls high and tight against his body as he came, shouting her name.

  He collapsed next to her on the bed and gave her an exhausted grin. “What the hell are you doing to me, woman?” Ronan hauled her up to his body; she curled against him.

  What had he been saying before their needs obliterated conversation?

  She pushed his shoulder playfully. “You mentioned something about three days?”

  “Practice starts in a few days. We’ve signed up for the extra two-hour test session. Remember that tech I told you about? I think we’re attempting it this race. Then debriefing, then press conference. Then sponsor function. And Saturday is—”

  “Qualifier before Sunday. I know the deal.” Cass flapped her hand at him. “While I lounge around here and live the life of leisure, you kill yourself with your fifteen-hour schedules.”

  He shrugged and trailed his finger down her side.

  “Do you ever wonder whether it’s worth it?”

  He looked up sharply. “No.”

  “Your job really impacts your ability to have a life, doesn’t it? Between the pre-race stuff and the promotion and sponsor events—”

  He sat up, body half turned toward her, his mouth drawn into a determined line. “This is the life I want, the job I want. It isn’t just about driving the bloody car around the track every Sunday.” His tone was clipped. “I have to be there. I’m the one who’ll be out there. I’m the one who’ll go up in a blaze if I crash or go spinning off the track for whatever reason. Not the test driver, not the engineer, not the team coach. Me. No one else.”

  All playfulness had deserted
him. No teasing. No sparkle in the eyes. Of course he was stressed this close to the end of his season. And something must’ve gone down at his meeting last night. He’d been more stressed than she’d ever seen him. And though he hadn’t mentioned his father’s release, it had to be weighing on him. And still he’d taken her up to Arizona for that disastrous family dinner and then the EvacuAir meeting. She swallowed her defensiveness and gripped his hand.

  “Sorry. I’m keeping everything crossed for you. Listen, Anderson’s picking me up for breakfast and I’ll find stuff to do.”

  “Look, Cass—”

  “No—it’s okay, it’s go time. I get it.”

  “It’s not just that ... I … I’ve been down this road before. The demands of the job. The demands of the relationship.”

  She held up both hands. “No, listen, that’s not me. I’m not using the ‘R’ word. I’m concerned about you.”

  “Well I am using the ‘R’ word, and I know I’m a difficult person to be involved with. It’s part of why my serious relationships have been few and far between. The job, the team, come first in my life.”

  Her stomach twisted. Well. That was blunt. And it hurt more than she’d expected. Not that she hadn’t realized winning, his career were everything to him. And it wasn’t like she was asking him to pledge his undying love or anything, but to be told in no uncertain terms where she stood in his life—it was off-putting.

  He stood up again and moved about the room, tense as he gathered his watch, sunglasses, and phone-charging paraphernalia. He was jittery as all hell. Unreachable. It was always like watching a whole different person.

  “I’m going to head to Dallas tomorrow. Mandy’s living there with her parents; it’s only three hours away.”

  He stared at her.

  “Up and back. No big deal.”

  “Can you wait until after the race? I could go with you then.”

  “No, it’s okay. I’ve decided to get it over with.”

  “Let me talk to my team. How many hours away? Up and back in a day?”

  “Forget it, Ronan. You’ve got enough on your mind. I’ll leave at noon and be back after dinner.”

  He blew out a breath. “That works then. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning. Can we leave at one?”