Chasing You (The Ruby Cove #3)

Chapter One

MILES

PRESENT

The sound of metal scraping on wood echoes through the room as I pull out a small chair to sit in front of the chief of Everglades Airways.

The air felt thick out in the hallway where I waited for someone to call me in, but it feels even harder to inhale now that I’m sitting in the quiet room.

My knee begins to bob up and down under the table; it’s not every day you get called into the chief’s office. My anxiety tumbles in my stomach like a dirty load of laundry.

I don’t get it often—anxiety, only when I am left in the dark about something. I hate the not knowing. And I have no idea why I’m here.

“I won’t be a second, Miles,” the chief says. He is writing something down in his notebook that sits on the table between us, his eyes glued to the page, and it only makes me feel worse. I find my eyes surveying the room, looking for something else to focus on.

They catch on the gigantic Everglades logo pasted on the wall behind the chief, the blue and green hues perfectly representing the Everglades in Florida. The owner named the airline after his late wife, who dragged him there every year. Apparently, she loved alligators.

My eyes continue their journey, snagging on that same logo at the top of the notebook Chief Jones is writing on. It’s even wrapped around the pen in his grasp.

I try to read what he’s writing; maybe it will give me some idea as to why I’m here. But it just looks like upside-down scribbles to me, his handwriting messy like he’s rushing. I’ve seen that logo more than I’ve seen my own reflection in the last nine years.

“Okay,” Jones says, laying the pen down and meeting my gaze with a warm smile on his face. “Good morning, Miles.”

“Good morning, sir.”

“You look nervous,” he says, that smile growing.

“Should I be?” I ask, my palms sweaty. I try to subtly rub them on my jeans without him noticing.

He laughs, the sound deep but comforting. “Not at all. I wanted to talk to you today about your progression.”

“Oh.” That’s not what I was expecting.

“You’ve been First Officer for six years now, Miles. I didn’t realize how long it had been until your captain pointed it out.”

I never let myself forget just how long I've been in this position. Six years is a long time to be second in command of an aircraft. It’s a long time to co-pilot for the captain while wishing that job could be mine.

I’ve been bidding for a captain’s position for a while, but some part of me wondered if it was a lost cause, if I should just accept that this is where I’m at. But whenever I thought of letting it go, my father’s voice would echo in my mind and I would shake away the doubt.

The chief sits forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the dark wood. “Some days it feels like you’ve been with us for over a millennium and others like you just started fresh out of the academy yesterday. ”

I just chuckle, my nerves snatching my ability to speak.

It was only four years ago that I was essentially forced to take a break from this job.

My captain at the time thought I was working myself to the bone, and I was, getting in extra flying hours when I was off the clock.

But that didn’t mean I needed a forced break.

It just meant I loved to fly, I always have.

The chief’s eyes narrow at my lack of response. “Captain Williams is retiring,” he says. “He wants to spend more time with Martha after her diagnosis last month.”

Williams is one of our most senior pilots at Everglades—and my captain. But his retirement doesn’t come as a surprise after he told us last month his wife had been diagnosed with lung cancer.

“You can probably do the maths, but that leaves a captain’s spot open,” his dark eyes are trained on mine, “and I want you to fill it.”

Relief floods every corner of my mind. I got there. I did it. Yet, excitement doesn’t rattle my bones, and pride doesn’t swell in my chest. I never really feel those emotions in the wake of my achievements, only relief.

It almost feels wrong, receiving a promotion because something terrible is happening to someone.

It feels like I’m benefiting from someone else’s misfortune.

But that doesn’t stop the itch that has me wanting to reach out and grab the opportunity from where it sits on the table between us. I need this promotion.

The chief tips his head in my direction. “And look, I know you have your leave coming up for your sister’s wedding, so I thought you could officially start when you get back. If that’s something you are interested in, of course,” he says with a raised brow.

A flicker of doubt enters my mind, but I shake it off. Being captain means more airtime. More airtime means more time away from the rest of the world and all of the expectations that are waiting for me on solid ground. Not that it will be so much of an issue now, not once I’m captain.

“I’m interested, sir.” My mind floods with the image of my mother’s bright smile, the one I know will beam at me when I tell her about this. There is nothing she loves more than success.

“Wonderful.” Chief Jones relaxes back into his chair, an arm resting over the side of it. “I’ll have Darcy write up the paperwork and we can get it signed on the dotted line before you head away.”

I shake my head, almost in disbelief, before I reach my hand across the table. “Thank you so much for thinking of me, sir.”

He takes my hand, shaking it with a firm grip and a beaming smile. “There’s no one better for the job.”

I walk out of the revolving doors into the wet heat of a summer day in Florida.

Sweat almost instantly beads on my forehead as I start wandering down the street, but it doesn’t bother me one bit. Not when I just got what is arguably the biggest promotion of my life.

It’s what everyone wants, what every pilot is working toward—captain. And now I have it.

It feels odd, silently sitting with this news as I find myself settling on a bench at what seems to be a dog park just a block away from the Everglades headquarters.

I watch a poodle prance around in circles, his owner watching with a ridiculously wide smile. She looks happier than I am about my promotion, simply watching her dog spin around like a show pony.

It hits me then, that level of joy isn’t something I’ve felt in years. Even now—I feel as though I should be beaming from ear to ear, screaming internally with excitement, but I’m just…not.

I feel thankful, finally able to say that I made it, but it doesn't feel as gratifying as I always imagined it would.

Don’t get me wrong—I am grateful. It’s what I’ve been working towards for as long as I can remember, but sometimes I forget why I started working towards it in the first place .

The last time I felt that heart fluttering, face-hurting-so much-from-smiling kind of happiness, well, that was four years ago now, and I gave it all up for this.

For the chance at this very promotion that doesn’t make me feel half of what I did back then.

But I have to believe it was worth it; if I don’t, then it was all for nothing.

This is what I wanted, what I knew would make me someone my family could be proud of, and I love to fly. I do. Even though I sometimes second-guess that one choice I made.

A bark from my feet has me looking down to see a scruffy little dog who looks like he could be a member of the muppets latch his teeth around the hem of my jeans and pull.

“Hey!” I say, jerking my leg back toward me. The dog just growls, tightening his grip on my favorite pair of jeans. What the fuck?

“Uhhh, excuse me,” I say, looking down at it. His eyes meet mine as he yanks even harder.

“Dude!”

My phone rings in my back pocket, the vibrations sending me into sudden sensory overload as I can still feel my leg being tugged on by a set of small canines.

My sister’s name lights up my screen, and my eyes flick between my phone and the little shit still attached to my leg. It’s not like I’m going to kick him off me. So I just answer the phone instead.

“Hey,” I say, searching the park for whoever this little denim muncher might belong to.

“Hey! How was the flight to Florida?”

“It was good,” I say. “Smooth landing.”

The dog at my feet growls once more and I give it a sour look before a woman in activewear comes jogging up to me. “I am so sorry,” she whispers after glancing at my phone held up to my ear.

I just wave my hand in a ‘it’s fine’ kind of manner before she picks up her dog, pulling it from where it’s attached to my pants. The dog instantly lets go of its grip, its tongue wagging as it looks at me over its retreating owner's shoulder. Little shit.

“Rating out of ten?” Isla asks, drawing my attention away from the little devil in furry form.

“Hmm,” I mutter. “I might be biased but I’d say a solid nine point seven five.” We play this game at least once a week. It might be silly, but it’s a way for us to connect.

It’s difficult to believe that less than a year ago, I barely talked to Isla. I never made time for her.

When I first left for college I distanced myself from my parents, wanting to escape the weight of their judgement—even though I went on to do exactly as they wanted—but in doing that, I distanced myself from Isla too. Without meaning to, I created a rift between us when we used to be inseparable.

I have her fiancé, Caio, to thank for more than just making my sister happy.

He also brought us back together, organising for me to go to Ruby Cove to surprise her on her birthday last year.

Since then, we have been talking regularly, and I didn’t realize how much I missed my sister until I saw her again.

I made a promise to myself after seeing the smile on her face that night to never be complacent with our relationship again. I haven’t faltered yet.