Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Ace left Smitty’s cabin feeling like he’d been shoved through a hamburger grinder and spit out on the other side.
The air outside hit him warm and bright with the kind of clean summer heat that didn’t last long in Knife’s Edge.
Sunlight filtered through the tall spruce, catching on dust and pine sap.
Birds were loud again now that the storm had moved on. Everything looked peaceful.
That feeling of peace eluded him. He stopped short when he saw Christian leaning against the front of his truck, arms crossed, one boot hooked over the bumper as he watched him.
“Hey, Ace.” Christian straightened and looked him over. “Wow. Did Smitty punch you a few times or what?”
Ace scrubbed a hand over his jaw. His face felt tight, like he hadn’t blinked enough in the last hour. “No. It just felt like it. Why are you here?”
Christian’s expression didn’t change much. If he didn’t want to share his feelings, there was no getting past that wall. “I was just scouting around.”
Ace slowed. “Did you follow me?”
“No.” Christian shifted his weight. “I often swing by here to make sure everything’s okay with Smitty. I saw your truck, so I figured I’d wait. You look like you need a drink. Or five.”
“He gave me one,” Ace said. It had been enough to loosen things he’d kept locked tight for months.
Christian grinned, a dimple flashing deep in his cheek. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. The edge that defined him was in full force today. “That tracks.”
“What’s going on with you?” Ace asked.
Christian shrugged, then put two fingers in his mouth and let out a whistle that cut clean through the trees.
A blur of gray and white burst from the brush. The half-dog, half-wolf bounded across the clearing and launched itself at Christian’s side before spotting Ace.
“Hey, Tika.” Ace dropped to his haunches and braced as the animal crashed into him with solid muscle.
He buried his hands into the ruff at Tika’s neck and gave him a hard scratch down his spine.
The animal leaned into it, tail sweeping wide arcs.
He had one blue eye and one bluish-brown and was smarter than the rest of them put together.
“You got him chasing wildlife again?” Ace asked, glancing up.
“He’s been restless lately,” Christian said. “I think he likes snow better than sun. Maybe it’s too warm for him right now.”
“Maybe.” Ace stood, brushing dirt from his jeans, his frayed instincts still humming. His brother seemed off. “What’s going on with you, C?”
“I don’t know.” Christian moved around the truck and opened the back door without another word. Tika didn’t hesitate. He hopped up onto the seat and turned in a tight circle before settling, his tongue lolling.
Ace watched them both. “I guess I’m taking you and your dog somewhere?”
“Yeah.” Christian slid into the passenger seat and shut the door.
“All right.” Ace walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in.
The interior of the truck smelled faintly of oil, pine needles, and last winter’s snow gear that still lived behind the seat.
He started the engine. It rumbled low and steady, dependable in a way flying no longer felt.
He eased the truck away from what could generously be called Smitty’s drive and turned onto the narrow forest road. “You want to talk about it?” Ace asked.
Christian stared out the window, elbow resting on the door, jaw tight. “It’s Amka.”
Ace adjusted the rearview mirror. “What about her?”
“There’s something off.” Christian kept his eyes on the passing trees.
“Huh.” Ace shifted around a pothole and let the truck climb the brief incline toward the main road. “Amka’s a pretty open book. What do you think is going on?”
Christian exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”
“Try.”
Christian dragged a hand through his hair. “Maybe she doesn’t want me to go to training. I’ll be gone for three months. Off and on. I plan to come back during weekends and stuff.” He finally looked over at Ace. “I’m hoping you’ll be flying by then.”
Ace gave a humorless huff. “By next week?”
Christian didn’t smile. The forest opened briefly to a view of the valley below, green and wide under the blue sky. “You talked to Smitty for three hours.”
“Yeah.” Ace kept his eyes on the road. “I’m not fixed, C. After a session with Smitty, I kind of want to crawl in a hole with a bottle of Jack.”
Christian’s wide shoulders shifted as he faced forward again. “I think that’s part of what they call the process.”
Ace didn’t answer. The truck started descending, engine working harder as the trees thinned. Above them, the sky stretched endless and clear. He used to crave that view.
He glanced at his brother, whose shoulders were as wide as Ace’s.
They definitely couldn’t fit three of them across the front seat of a truck, not without having to twist their torsos somehow.
The morning light sifted through towering spruce and birch, burnishing the dust on the dashboard and lighting up every nick in the faded paint.
The truck ride was quiet except for the occasional twitter of a distant bird and the soft thrum of engine over old gravel.
“Have you talked to her?” Ace asked.
Christian glanced sideways. “I’ve asked her what’s wrong and she said everything is fine.”
Ace grimaced at that. “Fine? Even I know that’s a bad thing.”
“That’s what I thought,” Christian said, looking behind him where Tika was already snoring, belly rising and falling like a soft drum against the worn canvas of the seat.
“Wish I could sleep like that.” Ace let his eyes drift over the dog’s plush coat.
“Ditto,” Christian said. The words came quiet and thoughtful. “I won’t sleep until I figure out what’s up with Amka. Maybe she’s not enjoying sleeping outside like she used to. Or maybe she’s fed up with my idiosyncrasies.”
Ace considered that, taking in the patchy sunlight flickering across the dashboard, the forest breathing green and alive outside. “Amka loves camping and has slept outside since we were all kids. That’s not it.”
“Well, then what is it?” Christian growled.
“How the hell should I know?” Ace let out a dry laugh. “I’m seeing an ancient drunk to fix my head right now. You think I have any answers?”
Christian sighed. “That’s a good point.”
“Thanks,” Ace said, steering around a fallen limb that had been dragged partway into the road.
“Why are you finally seeing Smitty?” Christian asked. He had been threatening to drag Ace to the old guy for months.
“May,” Ace said, blunt as a river rock.
“That’s what I thought,” Christian said.
Ace pulled the truck around the downed tree and then slowed down.
“I’ll come back and get that later,” Christian said.
“We need to get it out of the road.” Ace started to pull to the side.
“Don’t worry about it. For now, would you take me to North Reach Alcove?”
Well, if Christian wanted to handle it later, then he could. “Sure.” Ace turned back onto the rutted main road that stitched the mountain toward lower ground. “You didn’t seem surprised I mentioned the doc.”
“I’m not. The two of you didn’t show up at the tavern last night where the rest of the town was,” Christian said thoughtfully, gaze on a patch of sunlight on the truck hood.
“I’m well aware of that.”
Christian cocked his head. “So your grand plan of staying away from her until you could fly again flew out the window?”
Ace let out a stiff breath, one shoulder rising then falling. “That wasn’t my plan.”
Christian used silence like most people did oxygen.
Ace rubbed the back of his neck. “Fine. Maybe that was my plan.”
“As a plan, it wasn’t horrible,” Christian allowed. “But maybe you just took too long on the flying part.”
Ace’s gaze flicked over to where the forest opened low and wide. “Maybe. I figured my brain would just work itself out.”
“That makes sense.”
Crap. Ace was seriously screwed up if Christian hadn’t taken the opening to make fun of his brain. “May’s one of a kind.”
“I know. The whole town needs the doc,” Christian agreed. “Turn right here.”
Ace did so, taking the one road toward the North Reach Alcove. The area was too difficult to reach in the winter, so nobody lived out here all year. In fact, almost all of the palatial cabins were just rentals. Tension ticked down his spine. “Why are we here?”
“Just keep driving,” Christian said.
Ace looked at the houses on stilts arced around the small bend in the river.
One massive cabin sat silent at the far end, where the Dalika river rushed by.
It was owned by the Kayrs family, who only visited a couple of months in the summer to fish.
They didn’t rent the house out but were generous with their funds to local businesses when in town.
“Drive to the east end of the cove,” Christian said.
Ace bit his tongue and glanced beyond the cabins on stilts. Wide decks faced the water with Adirondack chairs lined up in hopeful rows. He idly wondered which one the senator was renting. He’d be more than happy when that guy left town. “Christian?”
“Trust me.”
Ace followed the narrow strip of cracked pavement as it curved closer to the shoreline. More houses lifted on pilings passed by, some with kayaks stacked beneath them.
At the far end, close to the rushing river, sat a newer dock, its boards still pale and not yet silvered by weather. Tied to it was a sleek floatplane that hadn’t seen many winters yet. The paint gleamed white with a dark navy stripe running clean along the fuselage.
“Christian, what are you doing?” Ace asked.
“Just come look at her,” Christian muttered.
Ace parked and cut the engine. The ticking of cooling metal filled the brief silence. Christian hopped out and opened the back door for Tika, who leapt down and shook once before trotting ahead, claws clicking on the planks.
Dread pooled low in Ace’s gut. He slid out of the truck and followed his brother over the rough rocks and onto the dock.
Up close, she was even more impressive. “She’s a Cessna 208 Caravan on amphibious floats,” he murmured, more to himself than his brother.
The high wing stretched broad and confident overhead.
The windows were large and tinted, the nose clean and aerodynamic.
The cockpit glass was modern with the digital panels visible through the windshield. “What are we doing?” Ace asked.
“This is Solomon Torrington’s plane,” Christian said.
“I know that. I saw him fly it last week.” Torrington was a retired lawyer from Phoenix who had decided Alaska would be his second act.
Christian tugged a pair of sunglasses out of his back pocket to slide into place. “Yeah, well, he’s moving back to Arizona.”
Ace paused. “He is?”
Christian nodded. “Yep. His daughter just had twin boys and he wants to be closer to his grandkids. They’re not leaving Arizona, so he’s selling the plane.”
Ace stared at the Caravan again. The lines were clean and the rivets tight. No rust streaks showed along the seams. “I’m not buying a plane.” His blood felt hotter inside his veins and not in a good way.
“Maybe I’ll buy her.” Christian stepped toward the cabin door. “Just sit in her.”
“You’re such a fucker,” Ace snapped.
Christian only smiled and pulled the door open.
Ace drew in a slow breath and stepped forward.
The metal rung felt solid beneath his boot.
He ducked into the cockpit and lowered himself into the pilot’s seat.
The leather was firm, not yet broken in.
The yoke sat centered and waiting. The digital display screens were dark but clean, with the switches lined in neat rows.
Memories hit him fast, bringing back the weight of the throttle in his palm, the steady hum of the engine before liftoff, and the split second when the wheels left the ground and gravity seemed to lose its claim.
His hands began to tremble as sweat gathered at his temples, and his vision narrowed around the instrument panel in front of him.
“All right,” Christian said, reaching in and gripping his shoulder. He pulled him gently back out and shut the door.
Ace shrugged him off. “What are you doing?”
“Helping,” Christian said calmly. “That was long enough for the first time, don’t you think?”
Ace swallowed hard. The dock seemed to tilt under his boots.
“Do you need to puke?” Christian asked.
“No.” The word scraped out, and Ace forced air into his lungs.
Christian clapped him once on the back and steered him down the dock. “That’s a lot for one day. Your night with May, probably a morning when you acted like a dork with her, meeting with Smitty, and sitting in the plane.” He grinned. “Good on you, Ace.”
“I may have to hit you,” Ace noted.
“That’s okay. Feel free.”
Ace swallowed again, fighting the wave of nausea. It had been quite the morning. His body wanted a drink. Bad.
“What are you thinking?” Christian asked as they neared the truck.
“I’m thinking I want a drink.”
Christian pushed the glasses up his head, his gaze mellow. “Do you want to go get one?”
Ace looked at his brother. The river rushed by the cove behind him, while the gorgeous plane sat quiet on its floats. Decisions lined up in his head. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t need alcohol.”
Christian’s smile was slow and satisfied. “There you go.”