Chapter 40
Chapter
I am alone.
The realization doesn’t fully hit me until the airplane’s wheels lift off the runway and the airport grows small beneath me.
For the first time in my life, I am alone in an airplane. My fate is entirely in my hands. The only one who can safely return this aircraft to the ground is me.
“Hell,” I mutter. “Fucking hell.” My hands sweat, and the yoke grows slick under my anxious fingers.
But I don’t panic.
“You’ve done this,” I remind myself. “You just did it. You can do it again.”
Tim was happy to give me his flight instructor’s number when I asked, and talking to Aden on the phone, I found him to be as kind as when I first met him months ago at the club BBQ.
To prepare for my first solo flight, I took off and landed the plane multiple times with Aden in the seat beside me. He was there as a backup, staying quiet and not touching anything as I made like I was flying the plane on my own.
To make sure I was ready for this moment.
My eyes flick from my instruments to the skyline, and with my heart clamoring to beat its way out of my chest, I turn the plane, staying in pattern to return to the airport.
I keep all of my cursing and reassurances to myself, and I’m proud that I sound like an actual pilot when I broadcast my plans to land on the common frequency.
“Here we go,” I mutter, lining up the nose of the Cessna with the runway while making sure I come in at the proper angle and height. “Stay steady. Be a good girl.”
Talking to the plane like George did gives me an odd boost of confidence.
You’ve got this.
And the moment before the wheels touch down, I finally believe that I do.
The landing isn’t the smoothest. I bounce more than once, the yoke shudders in my hands, and I say “Hell” a few dozen times.
But then I roll forward, on the ground, safe and sound.
“I did it,” I whisper. Then I push my microphone away from my mouth and scream it. “I DID IT!”
I want to cry. I want to dance. But most of all, I want to tell everyone I love that I freaking flew a plane all by myself.
Instead, I put a pause on celebrating and taxi back to the runway to go again.
Two more successful landings and I’ve proven without a doubt that I can fly a plane on my own.
I carefully guide the Cessna toward the tie-down spot where I meet up with a grinning Aden.
After I shut down the engine and pull off the headset, I return his thumbs-up through the window.
When I push open the door, he gives me a round of applause.
“Amazing, Beth. You did great.”
“Thank you. For the advice and for fitting me into your schedule.” When I contacted Aden about acting as my flight instructor, he was surprised but didn’t hesitate to say yes.
When we went up together for my practice passes, I admit it felt odd to have someone other than George guiding me.
But Aden was great. Professional and helpful.
Ready with advice and also with praise. He has a more enthusiastic approach than I’m used to.
I didn’t mind it, but if I had to choose, I’d opt for George’s stoic manner.
Still, flying with Aden was a test in a different way. I realized when we were about to take off that it was my first flight without George. Without the man I knew could take over and land us if we had an emergency.
Theoretically, Aden has the same capability. But George has proven himself in that arena.
Even though I missed the familiar presence at my side, I think it was good to fly with someone else before going up by myself.
I needed the reassurance that I could fly a plane without George as a safety blanket.
Like a final step toward making sure the aftermath of our emergency landing didn’t have lasting negative effects.
Doesn’t change the fact that I wish he was here. That George is the one I wanted to share this success with.
“I’m going out of town next week,” Aden says conversationally as we work through the steps to tie down the airplane. “We can check in when I get back about the next time you want to go up. Maybe map out a route to another airport if you’re feeling ready to go solo for a distance.”
“Really?” My voice quivers with a mixture of nerves and excitement.
Aden circles around to check my knots and gives me a nod of approval. “You’re a natural. And Bunsen taught you well.”
“Thanks.” The deep voice has me whirling around to find the speaker.
George stands not far off. Looks like he came out of the hangar door.
“I didn’t know you were flying today.” My greeting leaves much to be desired.
From the firm line of his mouth, George seems to agree.
In the days since I stormed out of his apartment, we’ve exchanged only a handful of texts. Mainly good morning and good night messages. Not because I don’t want to talk to him. More because I still don’t know what to say.
Especially if he asks about who has made me insecure about not paying for flight time.
He takes another step toward me, then pauses and tucks his hands in his pockets. As if maybe he needs to restrain them to keep from reaching for me. And I hate that I’ve made him feel that way. That he needs to tuck away all signs of affection.
This man, who’s lived his life with so little from the people who were supposed to shower it on him.
As I try to figure out the best way to fix whatever I’ve fractured, Aden unknowingly comes to my aid.
“Hey, George! Beth mentioned you two are together,” he says with a genuine smile. “Maybe we could go on a double date? I’ve been trying to convince my fiancée to go after her license.” He turns his smile my way. “Maybe you’d have better luck talking her into it than me.”
Because he’s faced away, Aden doesn’t see how his words affect George. But I do.
He jerked at together, then the guarded mask melted into hope as Aden talked about dates.
It’s true. I told him about George and me. I’d considered keeping the fact to myself, but I’m trying to be more honest.
“Isn’t George Bunsen your instructor?” Aden had asked when I called him after Tim gave me his number.
“He is. But we’ve started dating. So now we’re in this situation where he doesn’t want to charge me, but I’d feel more comfortable paying. I think it might be better if he’s just my boyfriend.”
And as I held the phone pressed against my ear, I braced myself for some snarky comment.
“Of course. Whatever makes you most comfortable. How about I email you my rates and availability for next week?”
After that call, I’d felt almost lighter.
Although still weighed down by our argument and the information I was keeping from George.
“Yeah,” he rasps, eyes on me. “That would be—”
“George! Buddy! We doing this?” The shout comes from the hangar door, and my stomach bottoms out with dread. I recognize that voice. “Hey, is that Aden?”
There’s the slap of footsteps on asphalt as Vernon strolls up to our group. I try my best to tuck away my discomfort, but the move is hard when I’m jittery from a flight and on the tail end of an emotional moment.
Looking anywhere but at the guy who thinks I’m only a pretty view, my eyes catch on George’s. He stares at me, brows furrowed. I try to smile. I really do.
And I maybe even kind of manage it.
“Look at that. Pretty Miss Beth is here, too!”
My skin crawls, and I cross my arms over my chest as I wish I’d worn something other than a tank top. The day was going so well, but I can already tell this interaction is going to stain it.
“You all just getting back?” Vernon asks.
“Yeah,” Aden answers. “Beth just did her first solo flight. Nailed it.”
George leans toward me, and his expression of wonder and pride warms me. “You did?”
I nod, digging my teeth into my lip but unable to stop the triumphant grin claiming my mouth. “I did.”
“Kept it steady the whole time. We’ve got a pro on our hands.” Aden claps a friendly hand on my shoulder. “Not long before you’re out-flying me.”
Vernon snorts. “I doubt that.” He glosses over the sting of the comment by adding, “You’re former Air Force!” I swear I can feel his attention on me. “And how was flying with Aden here?”
I breathe in and out and keep my voice professional. “Aden was great.”
“I’m sure he was. Let’s see”—Vernon makes a production of tapping his chin—“you’ve tried out George and Aden.
Skylar is also a certified instructor if you want to give him a go, but I bet you prefer the young, handsome ones.
” He chuckles at his own—bad—joke and slaps George on the back like we’re all having a good laugh together.
I bite my cheek and try to think of a response that will make him focus on something other than me.
“Vernon,” George snaps, in a harsh tone I’ve never heard him use with his mentor before. “What the hell was that?”
The older man snorts. “I’m just joking. Beth is a good sport.”
“Beth is a potential club member, a flight student, and a human being who doesn’t need you making inappropriate jokes about her.”
Vernon holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I get it. Don’t tease your lady. As long as she and Aden don’t have the same deal you two do, no harm, no foul.”
Goose bumps race over my skin as the temperature around us seems to drop dramatically.
“The same deal?” George’s voice cracks with the chill.
Vernon huffs, annoyance stealing his humor, obviously not used to having to explain his off-color comments.
“Everyone knows you weren’t charging her and were covering the cost of fuel for your flights,” he mutters. “I’m just asking, is she paying Aden or trying for the same discount?”
George turns to me, his face completely blank. “It was him.”
Not a question. I want to stick with my honest streak, but I don’t want to be the one making George choose between important people in his life. It’s like the Shawn conversation all over again.
But apparently the answer was clear on my face because next thing I know, George has the collar of Vernon’s shirt in his fist and the older man’s face is turning purple as the fabric tightens around his neck.
I wonder if that’s George’s go-to battle move, like Grumps with his headbutting.
“Do you know what kind of shit she has to put up with every day to support herself? And then you’re here trying to make her feel cheap.
” George’s voice is a rumbling growl of fury.
“Did I pay you for my flight lessons? No. My dad did. But you took his money and never said shit.” George gives him a shake, then drops him.
Vernon stumbles back a step and splutters but doesn’t get a response in before George is looming over him.
“No wonder our club is one hundred percent male. It’s not because women aren’t pilots.
It’s because they don’t want to associate with pricks that call them ‘pretty miss’ and insinuate they ‘fuck for flying lessons.’ ” George grits his teeth so hard I can see the muscle in his jaw pop.
He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, walks away, then stalks back.
Vernon trips backward, hands held up in true surrender now.
“Two of the four aircraft the club leases are mine. You can say good-fucking-bye to ever using them again.”
The color drains from Vernon’s face.
In addition to being club president, Vernon is also an instructor and making money off the members who are student pilots. The club might fold if there aren’t enough aircraft. Vernon would lose his audience and his money.
“You can’t—” Vernon’s affronted response cuts off with a yelp as he flinches back from George’s intimidating step.
Then my boyfriend turns his attention on me. “Can I walk out with you? Please?”
“Uh, yeah. Okay.” I turn to Aden and find my new instructor giving Vernon a disgusted grimace. “Thank you for instructing me today. I’ll pay you what I owe.”
He turns away from the glowering man. “I never doubted you would. And I hope you know not everyone in the club thinks the way he does.”
I manage a half smile and nod, then start walking to my car, George falling in step beside me, feeling kind of like a bodyguard.
When we reach the parking lot, I open my car door but don’t immediately get in, wanting to speak to George first. But I’m surprised to watch him stalk up to the passenger side and climb in.
Still too shocked by the turn of events to question him and wanting to get away from the airport, I slip in, start the car, and pull out of the lot.
Silently, we drive back to my house, but I keep going down the road until I reach the semiprivacy of the dead end.
There, I pull the keys from the ignition, suck in a bracing breath, and face George, still not completely sure what I want to say.
“Hey—”
“I’m sorry,” he cuts me off. “I’m so fucking sorry.”