Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
REED
Present Day
B eep. Beep. Beep.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to remove your shoes.”
A woman in a crisply pressed security uniform points to my boots. There’s an edge to her tone that suggests uptight but no bite, so I’m not at all surprised when I look up at her and she blushes under my eye contact.
Airport security is the last place you’d find an adrenaline junkie like me. But I wasn’t the one who booked this flight. That man is the whiner behind me lacking his typical TSA PreCheck privileges. The same one who was so bent out of shape that he confronted what had to be the burliest security officer Salt Lake City Airport has ever employed—a guy with little tolerance for sob stories, even from an attorney at Morgan & Brown with frequent flier miles.
It may make me a heartless son, but I get a kick out of watching him squirm. Which is exactly what Emmett Morgan did when said officer pointed us in the same direction as the other 95 percent of the population flying out of this airport today. High five, airport security, for the comic relief.
But that was thirty minutes ago. And after listening to him relentlessly drone on, I flung my canvas duffle bag on top of the conveyor belt and cleared the metal detector in a single stride.
At the sound of that beep, maybe I should have taken my time.
“My bad,” I say, flashing the officer the cheeky grin women tend to swoon over and backing up through the archway.
Even if she looks a decade older than me, her reaction is a familiar one. Getting women to notice me has never been my problem. It’s getting them to stick around that I struggle with. But I’m not worried about that right now. All I need to do is to keep this lady happy enough so I can be on my merry way.
It takes a minute to loosen the laces on my new Whites, the premium leather manacled to my ankles and feet. Of all the items that came recommended by my recruiter, these all-terrain boots were at the top of the list, and I can see why. Once they’re on, they fit like a second skin.
She watches me jerk the rubber wedge heels and toss them on the rolling bars before plunging through the opening a second time.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sharp ringing stuns me. Not in a hit-to-my-confidence sort of way—even if I wasn’t expecting it—but more like What the hell could I have possibly missed?
“Your, um”—she fumbles over her words and nods to my lap—“belt. Sir.”
I don’t have to look down to remember the leather band I strung through the loops of my khaki denim this morning. I simply hold her stare and unbuckle it, watching her eyes heat and then blink a handful of times in the ten seconds it takes me to pull it off.
I have to admit, I enjoy this part of flustering women. The amount of control I feel. It’s a hit of adrenaline I haven’t found a replacement for. The exact opposite of that feeling slaps me across the face when I clear this machine a third time.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
This time she looks embarrassed. Like she feels bad for me. As if she’s taking pity on some kid who can’t read the signs plastered all over the walls—no sharp objects, handbag restrictions, 100 ml rule. Gigantic signs, with bright yellow borders and bold red letters. Impossible to miss unless you’re someone who is distracted because the girl you love broke up with you less than seventy-two hours ago and you need to get the hell out of town.
I startle at a firm tap.
“Sir, I’m going to need you to follow me,” demands a sturdy security officer.
That’s when it hits me—the switchblade in my back pocket. I found it in the top drawer of my nightstand when I was packing my bags this morning. It seemed like a smart thing for a hand crew recruit to bring at the time. Only, I didn’t anticipate forgetting to transfer it into my checked bag.
“Listen, man.” I chuckle. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Arms in the air,” he barks, and I extend them up like the limbs of a tree, adding a good two feet to my already six-foot frame.
He begins at the top of my right arm, waving a wand down the front of my body and up the other side before swirling it in front of me in a gesture to turn around. I do what he asks, and the wand reacts ten seconds later when it hovers over the back pocket of my pants. The officer pats my ass.
“Like what you feel?” I say as his hand dives into my pocket and fishes out the object.
Whether or not the blade is extended is irrelevant as he jabs it in the air and pins me with a glare .
He reacts quickly, gripping me by the arm like I’m a common criminal. His other hand closes in on his gun holster.
“Looks like a concealed weapon to me,” he scolds, jerking me in the direction of a nearby door. Ten strides later, he pushes it open and reveals an interrogation room. It’s dermatologist white. Empty, minus a round camera attached to the far corner and a single foldout chair and table. A long beam of light stretches overhead.
I glance behind me, my dad gaping from the other side before I’m shoved into the opening. He mouths, What the hell , as the heavy metal seals shut.
“What are you doing with a concealed weapon?” The officer circles my body like a starved vulture.
“Well, it’s not concealed anymore, is it?” I wink at him. By his beady eyes and scowl, that was the last thing I should have said.
He shoves me down onto the metal seat and continues his pacing in slow, even strides.
“What’s your name, kid?”
I let my gaze follow his dance.
“Reed Morgan.”
He grabs a clipboard from the table. Jots something down—I’m assuming my name—then tucks it under his arm. He stops in front of me, bending at a forty-five-degree angle to look me in the eye.
“Why do you have a knife on you, Mr. Morgan?”
If he’s trying to scare me, it’s not working.
“Used to,” I remind him.
“Excuse me?” he spits.
It’s entertaining how personal he’s making this encounter. Mad at a complete stranger for not following his trusty rules.
I smirk at his hand. “I used to have a knife on me. ”
He tracks my gaze and squints. Then a sly smirk twists across his lips.
“Is that how you get everything you want in life, Mr. Morgan? Attention?”
I don’t know, if I were to flag that female security officer over here, would I be able to get out of this situation?
“Pretty much,” I say.
He inches closer to my face, his stare drilling a hole through my forehead.
“I was kidding.” I hold my arms in a goal post.
Jeez this guy is uptight . This is exactly what happens to people in a job like this. Like the one my father has. They forget that life shouldn’t be taken so seriously all the time. They forget to have fun! I refuse to get like that—in a dead-end job doing the same shit every day. It’s not me. I need stimulation. Adventure. A challenge.
“The way I see it, you have two options, Mr. Morgan. You can either cooperate and answer my questions, or I can go ahead and slap you with a civil penalty and you can forget about your flight today. There are rules for transporting weapons. I know I don’t have to tell you that knives are prohibited on an airplane. Or maybe I do since you seem to act like the rules don’t apply to you.”
I roll my eyes. “I forgot it was in there, okay? I got a last-minute job out of McCall. I’m looking at a six-week camping trip and thought it would come in handy. I never meant to leave it in my pocket.”
He blows out a gust of air. “What job requires you to camp?”
“Wildland firefighting.”
His smirk settles, and he straightens. “Consider this your verbal warning then. Don’t expect to go through an airport checkpoint without anticipating that every part of you will be checked. Understand?”
I nod.
“You can go.” He motions for the door and the metal feet of the chair drag against the cement floor, the sound echoing off the walls like a prison cell.
“And my knife?” I ask.
I doubt that I’m getting it back at this point, but it belonged to my dad. Add it to the long list of ways in which I disappoint him.
“You should have checked your pocket, kid,” he says.
Thought so.
He tugs on the exit door, propping it open with the toe of his boot. I meet the eyes of the next obstacle in my journey on the other side.
“Keep it real, officer.” I salute the guy.
Was that a chuckle?
Regardless of the consequences, it makes me feel like I won. Like I might’ve made this guy’s day a little less dull.
“What the hell, Reed?” The door isn’t even shut before he’s closing in.
“What?”
“Your pocketknife? Are you insane ?”
A wicked smile lances my face. “Thought we could do a little sparring on the flight like those old Indiana Jones movies you love so much.”
“You mean the plane we almost missed because of your little stunt?”
“First of all, it was an accident. And second, I’m still getting on it, aren’t I? It’s not like I said screw it and bailed. I just had a hang up.” I shrug.
“A hang up that cost you a family heirloom!” he shouts.
I sigh. That part I feel bad about .
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
“Dammit, Reed. It’s not just that it was sentimental. It’s that you never take anything seriously. There are consequences for your aloof behavior.”
“Wait—” I hold out a hand, stopping him. “I’m sorry, aloof behavior? I spent the better part of last year preparing for this. Getting my red card, training to be in the best shape of my life and applying to every open slot on the western coast that usajobs.com listed. Then yeah, I didn’t get hired at the start of the season. It wasn’t my fault that every position got filled with someone other than a rookie.”
I think back to how different my summer would have turned out. I’d planned to be fighting wildfires, not going back to the small town in Bear Lake where I’d see her all of the time.
“I get that, but it didn’t stop you from getting distracted all summer either.”
He’s talking about Teddy. I know he is. But I’m not about to hash out my feelings for my ex-girlfriend with him right now. And it pisses me off that he can never seem to notice or acknowledge any of the good things I do.
“You mean the summer I spent working doubles at your new restaurant?” I argue.
He glares at me. “I didn’t know guaranteeing you a paycheck was such a trial. I didn’t see your brothers complaining.”
I shake my head. Unbelievable.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you? Rex, the strait-laced, rule-abiding son with the aspiring law degree, or Ronny, the baby of the family who, despite wanting to spend a summer backpacking around Europe, can do no wrong.”
I want to add I’m not just your middle child but your middle finger. The one you want to flip the bird to the world for. To pretend I didn’t happen. But I bite it back.
“Reed, I didn’t mean?—”
“No, I think it’s pretty obvious what you meant. Well, don’t worry. I won’t be the thorn in your side for much longer.” I start to walk away from him, then stop. “But just for the record, you’re making it sound like I sat around freeloading off you all summer, which is simply not true.”
I pick up my pace, passing a community restroom, several gift shops, and a Cinnabon before he stops me in front of an illuminated Starbucks sign with a sigh. A long, heavy, weighted one. Deep enough to drop the conversation.
“We have ten minutes,” he says. Another way of reminding me how ill-equipped I am at keeping track of time. He motions inside the coffee shop. “Do you want anything?”
What I want is to get to this job in my own way—without him in tow. But now we’ve got two booked flights, and we’re way past our usual banter.
I shake my head. “No thanks. I’ll just meet you at the gate.”
The fact that I’m turning down a pastry should be enough to show him my commitment to this. That I’m not screwing around with this opportunity the way I did my first semester at Idaho State.
I partied. Skipped classes whenever I was hungover. I didn’t understand why Teddy wouldn’t message me back after her car accident. I thought it was because I didn’t stay. I visited her in the hospital the night it happened, but my parents were worried I was getting in the way. I knew she was healing from a traumatic brain injury, but she didn’t wake up for seven days. It was the end of summer, and I had to make a decision for my future. I committed to going to Idaho State. Paid tuition with the hope that she’d eventually join me there. I didn’t know she’d need an entire year off the grid to recover, or that she wouldn’t even remember I existed.
The memory loss was not something I saw coming .
By the second semester, I got my act together and tried to move on. Drove forty miles one way to the Downey Volunteer Fire Department every Tuesday night for eight weeks. I took a two-hour wildland fire course there. Not to mention the hours I logged training: pull-ups, push-ups, chin-ups, trail runs, all for what’s on the other side of this flight.
Besides a raspberry milkshake from LaBeau’s this summer, eating as clean as possible was a choice I made a long time ago. A commitment to myself to be ready for this. I’m not about to blow that streak on a sugar-induced coma from a whipped cream–covered Frappuccino and a chocolate croissant.
He drops his gaze to the leather band fastened around his wrist and mine follows. The shorthand is clinging to six a.m., which means he’d better hurry.
“I’ll meet you at the gate in five minutes then,” he says, jogging over to the line that snakes outside the confines of the store. The one that screams You’re gonna be late.
I push forward, passing gates ten and eleven before double-checking my boarding pass.
Gate 16.
It’s another quarter-mile walk before I sink into the nearest empty chair and drop my head in my hands. The length of my trimmed hair between my fingertips feels foreign. The sandy brown ends no longer curl up over my ears after the haircut I got on a whim last night. It was necessary though. Where I’m going, there’ll be no barber of any kind for a while.
The terminal starts to quiet with my head dipped low. Here I was thinking I’d breathe a sigh of relief the first moment I had to myself. But now that it’s finally here, I’m in the middle of a crowded space as lines from a letter I wrote just forty-eight hours earlier replay inside my mind, suffocating me.