by KB Winters
“There’s been a protest going on since the news story broke. One of the news outlets ran with some ridiculous story and it got a lot of people upset. Some of them organized a picket. Outside the museum. It’s been peaceful so far…but a nuisance for your staff.”
“I have to get over there and put a stop to this bullshit,” I said, a flush of anger surging through my veins. I braced my good fist under me and lifted. A blast of pain hit me like a lightning bolt and I fell back, all my strength sapped as I panted and winced through the radiating pain left in its wake.
“Aaron!” Holly raced over to my side. “Remember what the doctor told you?”
I cringed and reached for my side, gingerly pressing to hold back the pain.
“I’m calling Gemma,” Holly declared, standing from the side of the bed where she’d been perched.
“Gemma?” My eyes flew open.
“Yeah, she gave me her personal number and told me to call if we needed help. I think this constitutes.”
I weakly protested, but Holly ignored me as she took her cell phone into the other room. Moments later, I heard her talking to Gemma, and from what I could hear, making plans for Gemma to come to the house.
Sure enough, half an hour later, Gemma was at the front door. Holly ushered her in and she strode into my living room like she owned the place. “Impressive, Rosen. I gave you a whole six hours before you disregarded doctor’s orders and popped a stitch…you’ve managed it in two.”
I ignored her baiting and she smiled as she came near. “Let’s take a look.”
Holly and Jack shuffled out of the room as Gemma reached for my shirt and pulled it up to check my wound. I sucked in a breath as her fingertips brushed the skin around the thick bandages. “Does that hurt? I barely touched you.”
“I’m good,” I said, exhaling slowly. “Also, contrary to your sadistic little wager, I don’t think I popped a stitch. I just tried to get up too fast and my body let me know about it.”
I knew I was being crass and grouchy, but I didn’t care. Pain engulfed my body and the exhaustion was running me into the ground. I needed a long nap. Until I got one, I was going to be an asshole.
“I’m going to take these bandages off and check the incision and redress it.” Gemma didn’t leave room for argument as she laid out her plan. She got up and swooped back out the front door. When she returned, she had a small, black medical kit tucked under her arm. She laid it down on the bed beside me and reached for my shirt. This time, she tugged it—ever so gently—up and over my head.
I watched and had to fight a smile as her eyes roved over my muscles. After Boomer’s last visit, I’d been hitting the gym harder than ever, and the results showed. Gemma obviously noticed too.
“See something you like?” I teased, realizing after the fact that she’d probably seen more than just my bare torso as she’d worked on me the first night in the ER.
Gemma’s grey blue eyes flashed to mine, holding my stare for a moment, before she rolled them. “Focus, Rosen. You’re worse than a hamster on Adderall.”
I laughed but stopped short at the flash of pain from the sudden movement. “Fuck,” I ground out between grit teeth.
“Hold still. This is probably going to get worse before it gets better.”
“Fan-fuckin-tastic.”
Gemma worked her fingers over the bandaged area with sure, but gentle, fingers as she peeled away the tape and gauze. I glanced down and sighed. It looked worse than it had the last time I’d sneaked a peek. Great.
“Well, the good news is that you didn’t pop a stitch,” Gemma said, rummaging in her medical kit. “The bad news is I have to spray some of this on you before I can put you back together again.” She held up a bottle of spray antiseptic and I grit my teeth harder. I knew the feeling and I was so not a fan.
“Go ahead.”
She held up a hand. “Here. Squeeze as hard as you want. I promise I can take it.”
I arched a brow at her offered hand. “What am I? Five years old?”
She shrugged and sprayed the area.
I gripped her hand.
Hard.
When she finished, she applied a fresh bandage and helped me shrug back into my shirt. “Here,” she said, handing me a couple of pills. “For the pain.”
“Thanks.” I downed them with a hard swallow. Gemma got up and retrieved the water bottle that had been left by the front door. She handed it to me and I chased down the dose of painkillers with a long chug.
She took the bottle back and set it on the floor beside my bed. “Are you going to behave? Or, do I need to stay and keep an eye on you?” She smirked down at me and for a moment, I wondered if she was fishing for an invitation to stick around.
“That’s up to you. I think I can manage, but if you’d feel better on supervision duty…that’s on you.”
She laughed softly and shook her head. “Are you always this impossible? Just ask me to stay.”
I chuckled. “All right. Gemma, would you like to stay? Boomer and Holly were gonna go grab some burgers and beer for dinner from this place called Harvey’s. You been there yet?”
She shook her head. “No, but it sounds good.”
“All right. Why don’t you go tell those two pussies that the blood and guts are gone and they can come get our order.”
Gemma laughed as she went to the adjoining room to get Jack and Holly. They took off a little while later to go get the food and Gemma stood by the door, her arms folded over her chest, staring out the front window. “That’s the museum?”
“Yeah. I’d offer to go take you around—you know, tour guide and all that—but whatever you gave me is kicking in, in a big way…” my voice trailed off as I relaxed back against the pillows, no longer able to hold up my own head.
Gemma came over and sat beside me. “That’s okay. There’ll be other days.”
“What were you doing when Holly called?” I asked, shifting my eyes to her.
She looked like she’d come from walking the beach, but I’d learned that she looked that way whether she’d just pulled off a twelve-hour stint in the ER, got done with a workout, or was drinking coffee in the morning. She had an effortless beauty to her that only enhanced her gentle, but steady spirit. “Nothing super important. I’ve got this idea in my head to grow a little herb garden. See, in Chicago, I lived in a high rise apartment. I didn’t even have window boxes. But here, I’m renting a little beach cottage and the previous tenant must have had a green thumb, because there are these little garden spots all over the back yard. I just kind of want to keep that going, and figured, my first foray would be herbs and spices.”
“You like to cook?”
“When I have time. Usually on my days off, I’ll cook up a big batch of something to pop in the freezer and get me through the busy work days.”
“Smart.”
“What about you?” She asked, looking down at me. I could barely keep my eyes open, but stared at her through the hazy slits my eyelids had become as they drooped lower and lower. “You like to cook?”
I shook my head, but couldn’t tell if it actually moved. Everything felt heavy and light at the same time. “Not really. My mom though…she was a chef. Like, I’m talking a real master.”
Gemma bit her lip and I could see the question in her mind. I forced my eyes open again. “She’s been gone for fifteen years,” I said quietly. “Cancer.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I nodded. “Me too. She was the best.”
I must have drifted off entirely at some point, because when my eyes opened, Jack and Holly were sitting cross legged on the floor around the coffee table, digging into their burgers and fries.
“Hey Player, we got you a milkshake and a double combo with onion,” Jack called over to me. “Your favorite.”
“Where’s Gemma?” My voice came out scratchy, like I’d been sleeping with my mouth open. Bet that was sexy.
“I’m right here,” her soft voice warmed me as she step
ped back into the room. She grinned at me like she’d caught me with my hand in the cookie jar. “Did you think I’d abandon my favorite patient so suddenly?”
I laughed and shook my head.
I didn’t know what she was doing to me, all I knew was—I liked it.
Chapter Seven
“Open up Mr. Rosen! We need to speak with you! Open up.”
Shit. The day of reckoning had come. I rolled to my uninjured side and slowly worked my stiff muscles out of bed.
“Mr. Rosen.”
“I’m coming!” I bellowed in the general direction of the door. “Fuck,” I muttered irritably under my breath. “No fuckin’ patience…”
I slipped into my waiting pair of slippers and padded gingerly across the hardwood floors towards the front door. A peek through the security window confirmed my suspicion. The FAA agents had rooted me out and they weren’t going to leave without answers.
“Good morning, agents,” I sneered, flinging the door open.
There were two agents standing on the front porch. A stocky male, a few inches shorter than me, but about twice as wide. Then, to his left, a female agent with dark shades, dark hair, and a thin lipped smile that fell as soon as I glanced at her. “Mr. Rosen, my name is Gary, and this is Frankie,” he gestured to the woman. “We’re here to talk to you about the crash.”
I sighed. “All right. Come on in.”
They stepped into the living room and both took a quick, sweeping glance over the odd setup with my mattress taking up most of the space, and the couches all pushed against the walls. “Stairs are tricky right now,” I explained.
“Right. How are you feeling?” Frankie asked.
“Been better. Been worse.” I shrugged. I wanted to cut to the chase as soon as possible. The last thing I felt like doing was rehashing the crash in graphic detail for them, but I knew it was a necessary evil. They wouldn’t leave me alone until they had their answers. “Let’s go to the dining room. That might be more comfortable.”
They followed as I led them into the kitchen that had a small dining room attached through a large arched opening. Gary and Frankie sat on one side of the table and I took a seat opposite Frankie. Gary pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapped the screen, and set the device on the table. “Mind if we record?”
I shrugged.
“I need an audible yes or no. For the record.”
“Okay, yes, you can record.”
“Great.” He punched one more button and a red light flashed on the center of the touch screen. “So, let’s start with the basics. You were flying the Cessna when the crash occurred?”
“Correct.”
Gary stared, obviously waiting for more details. When it was apparent I was only offering simple answers, he sighed. “Mr. Rosen, we’re not the enemy here. I know a lot of pilots may have the impression that we swoop in at the slightest mistake to strip licenses. I want you to know that’s not the case. We’re here to help.”
“Slightest mistakes?” I repeated the odd choice of words. “Someone died, Agent. This wasn’t a little event. Not to me anyways.”
Frankie leaned in. “We didn’t mean to trivialize. Obviously, we understand the gravity of the situation. What my partner means is that we’re not on anyone’s side. We’re only here to get the most information we can as to the events leading to the crash.”
“I understand. Next question?”
Gary eyed me and I could tell I wasn’t winning him over. Not by a long shot.
I really didn’t care.
“What was your destination?”
“San Francisco.”
“For?”
“I was taking a friend—Talia—to visit some family she had in the area,” I lied. I highly doubted they would follow up with her family to check my statement.
“I see. And Talia Soto was just a friend?”
I held his stare for a moment and flexed my jaw. “I don’t see how that falls under the scope of the investigation.”
Gary shrugged. “It helps us to get a full picture.”
“Next question,” I growled.
Frankie opened her mouth, ready to jump in, but Gary started before she could. “What happened before takeoff? Did you perform a safety check?”
“Are you questioning whether or not I’m a good pilot?” I scoffed. “This is ridiculous. I don’t have time for this shit.”
“Answer the question, Mr. Rosen,” Gary’s tone was sharp—almost like a warning.
I glared at him from across the table. “Yes,” I replied, tersely. “Of course I did the fuckin’ checklist. You can ask any of my employees. I’m a damn good pilot and I will not sit here and have you question that. Whatever happened on that plane was some kind of a malfunction.”
“So, when the results from your blood test come back, we won’t find any alcohol or drugs in your system from the night of the crash?”
The air left my lungs and was quickly replaced by fire. I bolted up from my chair—ignoring the pain tearing through my side—and pointed at the open archway. “Get the fuck out of my house. You have any other questions—you can call my damn attorney.”
Frankie stood and put an arm between myself and where Gary was still sitting. “Please, Mr. Rosen, if we can just—”
“Out!” I roared.
Gary stood slowly, his expression stern but unruffled. Frankie sighed. “As you wish, Mr. Rosen. Please get your attorney’s information to our office so we can contact them with the rest of our questions. In the meantime, you’re grounded. There will be no flights in or out of your little operation here.”
“You can’t do that!” I slammed my good hand down on the table. “My other pilots are not involved in this. You can’t damage my business over something that has nothing to do with it.”
Gary shrugged. “If you would answer our questions, we could see what we could do, but as it is, we don’t know if this accident was a singular incident, or the sign of a much more serious problem.”
I wanted to throttle him when he tossed me a smile and a helpless gesture. “We’ll see what my attorney thinks about that…”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Gary smiled again, cold and reptilian, and then stood slowly from his place at the table. He pushed his chair back in and strode from the room, taking the same path back to the front door.
I followed, my side splitting, and waited until they both left, before I exhaled and allowed myself to collapse into the nearest chair. Adrenaline and rage were coursing through my veins, but I couldn’t move without more pain, so I forced myself to calm down as I sat in the living room, staring at the door I’d just slammed behind the two agents.
“What the fuck am I gonna do?” I asked myself, burying my face against my casted arm.
* * * *
“What are you doing here?” Lana’s voice was a mix of happy and alarm when I walked through the front doors of the museum a couple of hours later. After the agents left, I took another dose of meds, fell asleep, and woke up feeling better than I had since leaving the hospital the day before. I figured it was time to get back to work, and crossed the gravel driveway between the house and the museum to see how things were going.
“I’m here to clean up this shit show,” I growled in reply. “What the hell is going on out there?”
When I’d crossed over to the museum, I found a growing group of protesters at the front doors, waving signs about getting justice for Talia. They’d somehow managed to get her picture and had signs donning her face. I’d sneaked around the side of the building to avoid the circus—but even from a distance, their chants and angry cries pissed me off.
Lana glanced at the large windows and glass doors that made up the majority of the entrance into the museum. Like she hadn’t noticed the chaos breaking loose just on the other side.
“Lana!”
Her eyes snapped back to mine. “I don’t know, Mr. Rosen. They showed up this morning, waving signs, and chanting for us to close our doors.”
“
Why?” I asked, completely bewildered. How had they gotten the pictures of Talia? As far as I knew, her identity was still concealed until her family could be notified. Maybe they had already…God…that was an awful thought. I scrubbed a hand over my unshaved face. “Why do they want us to close? Has anyone gone out to talk to them?”
Lana bit her lip and her eyes went beady as she stared back at me. “They’re under the impression that we’re flying illegal planes here, that the planes are too old to be safe…and some of them…well…they think you don’t even have a pilot’s license.”
“Seriously?”
She nodded.
“Assholes.” I stomped off to the back of the museum where my office was located. I dug through my paperwork, collecting inspection paperwork, and before I left, I grabbed my pilot’s license off the wall where I left it hanging next to my dad’s. I carried it all out to the front with a roll of clear tape and starting taping the papers to the window, facing out to the group of protesters. They quieted as I worked, staring with interest as I attached each new piece of information.
“Call the media,” I barked over my shoulder to Lana. “I want this thing spun in our favor.”
Lana scurried away and I crossed back to the front desk. Kylee, one of our interns, was standing there, gaping at me. “Have we had any traffic today? What flights are scheduled? Have the FAA agents been back over here this morning?”
Kylee shook her head.
“No? To which part?”
“All of it?” She replied, her voice unsure and apologetic.
“Fuck.” I shook my head and pushed past her to take over the computer. I scanned the schedule and saw red cancellation stamps over every previous tour slot. “We haven’t had any walk-ins?”
“No.” Kylee tapped her fingers on the counter as I searched and the irritating sound only added to my foul mood. “Lana!” I pushed off the counter and started back towards the offices in the back, knowing I’d find Lana in mine. She was nothing, if not reliable.
“Lana,” I said, stopping in the doorway of my office. She was sitting at my desk, my phone raised to her ear. She motioned for me to wait a minute and I planted my feet wide, each booted foot touching one side of the doorway.