“It’s a yes.”
“Don’t look so excited,” he said, grinning and squeezing the hand I was still half holding. “I promise I’ll try to keep it from being too miserable a time.”
A knock on the cabin door put a stop to any further flirtation that might have taken place between the two of us. Both Drew and I looked up at the video screen at the same time and saw the elusive pilot, Fred Stevens, standing there, one hand clamped firmly down on his forehead.
“What the fuck?” Drew muttered, his frown returning instantaneously. “What, he thought it might be time to rejoin us now that all the danger is over?”
"I'll let him in,” I said. “Hopefully, the second half of the flight isn't quite so eventful as the first half."
There was a pang of regret at having to leave the cabin and Drew, but I shook it off as best as I could. This was my job, after all, not a dating service, and it was probably a very good thing for me to get away from Drew and clear my head some. I pulled the cabin door open and then held both of my hands up, staving off the full weight of Stevens as he lurched forward and almost knocked me completely over.
"Woah there,” he said. “Sorry about that, honey. I had a little mishap, and I'm feeling a little woozy. Might have to let the boy here take over the rest of the flight, if he thinks he can handle it."
"He can handle it," I answered quickly, watching Fred Stevens with a wary eye. "Are you sure you're going to be all right? It looks like you took a nasty hit to the head."
“I did indeed, my girl. Fortunately, one of your lovely colleagues took it upon herself to repair me. Nothing that a little bit of time won’t fix, right? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to take my seat back.”
I hurried back to where my designated seat was. The storm appeared to be over, but that didn't necessarily mean it was. Being belted in seemed like the smartest move while it was still an option. That was part of it. The other part was that I was feeling sort of woozy myself, but for a reason unrelated to what I'd just experienced.
My head was spinning because of what I'd noticed as I'd passed by Fred Stevens. Or, to be more specific, what I had smelled. It was always possible that it was my imagination, but when the two of us had passed by each other, I was almost positive I had smelled liquor on his breath.
Chapter 6: Drew
“Thanks, kid,” Fred said, as we landed. “You did a good job with this one.”
“Don’t. I already told you, Fred. Don’t do that.”
“What, I can’t call you ‘kid’ now?”
“You know that’s wha
t I’m talking about,” I said.
"All right, don't get your panties in a bunch, Larson. I just like nicknames, but if they really piss you off that much, I won't use them anymore. Or I'll try, okay? That's the best I can commit to. I'll try, but you should try to lighten up some. You take things so seriously. You gotta lighten up."
“Don’t you think you’re already doing that enough for the both of us?”
“Woah!” Stevens half-laughed, half-shouted. “What’s this shit? You mad at me about something else? Is that it? You mad that you had to handle the second half of this shit on your own?”
Stevens was right about one thing. I was mad. I was fucking livid, actually. Everything about the way Fred Stevens had behaved, from the moment I'd met him, right up until that exact moment, had been unprofessional as shit. It had been bad, even leading up to him taking his little bathroom break, but after that? The things he'd done were bad enough that he didn't deserve to be speaking to me at all, let alone be making jokes or trying to belittle me.
A man who couldn't even keep his shit together during a single flight didn't deserve to do anything but sit there in shame. The fact that Stevens was arrogant enough to talk to me like I was some whiney little boy took my level of anger from high to dangerous, and the amount of self-restraint it took for me to keep from strangling him was enormous.
If I didn’t love my job so much, there was a good chance that I would have hauled off and decked him anyway. There would have been consequences, but it would have felt fucking fantastic.
I didn't even want to look at him, I was so disgusted. I didn't want to be anywhere near him, and yet there I was, stuck in a tin box sitting right beside him. If he'd known what was good for him, he would have kept his mouth good and shut, but something told me that Fred Stevens wasn't the kind of man who did the things that were good for him. I didn't know him, but I had learned enough to know that much.
“Come on, kid. Or Drew, I mean. What’s your fucking problem? You landed the plane, right? You’re a fucking hero, if not in my eyes, then sure as shit in the eyes of that pretty piece of ass that was sitting in here with you. Isn’t that enough?”
“No, Stevens,” I answered through a jaw clenched so tightly it actually hurt. “It’s not enough. It’s not nearly fucking enough.”
“Again, I ask you, what the hell is the matter with you? What’s bringing all of this crap on? I don’t get it. I really and truly don’t.”
“Do you think I’m a moron, Stevens? Is that it?”
"A moron?” he asked. “No, not that. A stick in the mud prick? Maybe that. I'm not sure yet, but I'm getting that vibe off of you."
“You’re drunk, man. Okay? Do you understand things a little better now? You’re drunk in the middle of a goddamned flight.”