27. Demodulation
TWENTY-SEVEN
DEMODULATION
Flynn
I’ve always loved staring out the window overlooking the expanse of grazing land that’s been in the West family for generations. A lot of that land is now overrun with oil machinery, but you can’t see it from this vantage point.
An egret swoops down toward the pond, the water rippling out from its landing. Yeah, I love this ranch. Though it’s been a long time since I’ve been back.
Holt bangs around in the kitchen making coffee. Or tar that he likes to label coffee. Seeing as my brother’s coffee helped me shake off the worst of my hangover, I shouldn’t complain.
It meant a lot that Holt asked me to come visit after he helped me drop Jackie’s car off last night. Even if I know it’s probably more to keep an eye on me than anything. And seeing as working nonstop for days to finish up Jackie’s ‘vette had taken a lot out of me, I’m glad for the rest.
I glance over at Holt through the cutout between the living room and family room, still amazed at the lack of resentment I feel toward him.
Holt burns himself on the pot, waving his fingers in the air. “Shoot.”
I smile at his ladylike expletive and flop down hard on the couch.
“Damn it, Flynn, why can’t you sit on a couch like a normal person?” He carries two mugs into the living room. “You break it, you buy it.”
Yeah, my older brother missed me. “Yes, ma’am,” I say with a mock salute.
“Idiot.” Holt hands me the mug and sits on the nearby recliner.
I take a sip of my coffee and sputter. “Jesus, Holt. Warn a guy the next time you make the coffee Irish, will you?”
“You were damn near drowning in it last night, didn’t think you’d notice.” Holt’s lips curl into a smirk. “Thought I’d give you a little hair of the dog. A little whiskey in your coffee today is all you get. I hid the rest of it.”
“Please, like I don’t know all your hiding places.”
Holt just snorts.
I grab the remote before he can and click on the TV. “I’ll probably head back to Clear Lake tomorrow. I’ve got a new rebuild coming—what the?”
“Is that Jackie?” Holt asks.
I don’t answer. I simply sit up and raise the volume. The two headshots, one of Jackie that I’d seen on her NASA ID badge, and one of Brian Hampson from his baseball card, are featured in the top right corner on the screen, while the news station plays a video on the other side.
My hands grip my mug as I watch what I’d only heard about till now play out. Jackie standing up, trying to walk away. Brian grabbing her arm and dragging her around. Shoving her back in her seat.
My vision narrows. I don’t even realize I’m standing until Holt grabs my arm, now dripping with hot coffee.
“I’m going to destroy that son of a bitch.”
Holt pries the now half-empty cup from my hand. “Well, I can definitely see how you’d think you’d need to do that—big man that you are and all—but I think Jackie’s taken care of it.” He gestures to the TV with his free hand.
I refocus on the screen where Brian is now on his knees, his face contorted in pain, while Jackie jerks him around by his index finger. She looks fierce and focused and so goddamn beautiful. Her glasses slip down her nose as she pushes Brian back.
Those fucking glasses.
The pictures and video vanish to reveal a roundtable of women.
“What you just saw was a video of NASA’s Darling, the newly appointed astronaut, Dr. Jackie Darling Lee, that has recently gone viral.
She can be seen defending herself against a man, and not just any man, but Houston’s newly acquired shortstop, Brian Hampson.
PR for the Astros released a statement that the team was looking into the incident, and that the Astros would not stand for any unbecoming behavior from their players,” one of the ladies says.
Another woman pipes up about how violence is out of control in professional sports.
And yet another praises Jackie’s knowledge of self-defense. “Such a remarkable woman.”
I shake my arm out, then wipe my hand across my shirt to dry up the remaining coffee.
“She is, you know,” Holt says.
“She is what?”
“Remarkable.”
I sink back down onto the sofa. “I know.”
“Then why aren’t you with her right now?”
“I don’t deserve her, man.”
“Flynn…”
I glance back at the TV, now showing footage of Brian leaving practice, his black eye partially covered by designer sunglasses.
He smiles at the camera, ensuring them that the video has been blown out of proportion.
My eyes narrowing, I push myself out of the chair. “That’s it. I’m heading into town.”
“Flynn, don’t.” Holt tries to block my path, but I move around him. “It’ll be worse for Jackie if you confront him again and they connect you to her and then the ballplayer’s black eye to you,” he calls out.
At the front door I lift my keys from the hook on the wall. “They won’t.” And they damn sure shouldn’t as I’d made sure my bribe to the building manager had included shutting off the garage’s video feed.
“You want to chance that? With Jackie starting astronaut training soon?”
“Fuck.” I don’t know NASA’s policy on idiot exes, which I guess I’m now a part of along with that dickhead Hampson. I curse again, not wanting to have anything in common with that fucker.
I loop my key ring back on the hook, too restless to go sit down again. “I guess I’ll just have to ride my other Mustang then.”
Jackie
I’ve made it. I think. Almost.
Okay, technically I’ve made it. The sign on the metal archway, between two lengths of fence, has the words West Ranch scrolled out of iron.
But just as I reach the gate, I stall.
Again.
This whole manual transmission thing is harder than I thought.
I don’t even want to think about all the middle fingers waved in my direction or horns honked as I’d coasted in the slow lane on the highway.
I let everything pass me, even sixteen wheelers, so I could keep the amount of shifting to a minimum.
The upside, I hadn’t stalled all that much until I got off the interstate.
The downside, it’s almost dark, the fifty-minute drive taking twice that amount of time.
I push down on the clutch and brake to start the ignition again.
Apparently, I can direct astronauts flying thousands of miles away in space on how to hotwire billions of dollars’ worth of complex equipment while they wear the equivalent of snow gloves, but I can’t shift and clutch fast enough not to stall out on a dirt road.
Awesome.
I get the car moving again, the Corvette not liking the bumpy ride. I fight to keep it in first and avoid any obvious holes or ruts. Those big pickup trucks everyone in Texas drives make a lot more sense now.
Between the snail speed and the length of the driveway, it takes me a while to reach the house. There’s a lot of land.
I pass a few outbuildings along the way and see a huge barn behind the white clapboard house.
I say house, but really, it’s a mansion.
The style is that of an old farm house complete with a wraparound porch and Queen Anne posts.
Unpretentious in every way except when it comes to size.
Three stories and multiple columns of windows.
I guess farming cattle is a lucrative business.
I’m pulling up to the main house when I stall again. This time not from the bumpy road but from the mini orgasm coursing through me from the single most magnificent sight I’ve ever seen.
Flynn on a horse.
He’s riding hard toward the barn, slowing his horse as he hits the main road. Next thing I know, I’m standing next to my car with the door open. I have to glance back in to make sure I remembered to pull the brake. I didn’t.
I jump back in and yank the brake up, scrambling to get out again before Flynn rides by.
But Flynn must’ve already seen me, as he’s stopped a few yards away. The sun setting behind him, both his and the horse’s chests heaving with exertion make him look like some sort of angelic horseman. A really, really hot cowboy angelic horseman.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My mind blanks.
Well, that’s not entirely true. It’s just laser focused on Flynn’s thighs gripping the saddle, the sweat soaking his shirt, and his hands loosely holding the reins, as if he rides horses on a daily basis. As if he’s a real cowboy.
I shudder from an orgasm aftershock.