Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
It was a recipe for success, if one asked Gray.
But yeah, Ryan had constantly fucking hurt himself while building the cabin. Gray had lost count of the times he’d run over with his medic bag. So many deep-tissue bruises, one nail gun on the prowl that’d shot two nails into Ryan’s hand, probably a fractured rib after falling down a ladder, countless cuts, countless stitches, countless, “It happened again, Gray!”
Good times.
It was kind of bizarre because Ryan was so goddamn skilled. He was creative, practical, and he’d had a lot of practice. Then…well, he was also reckless. And a fair bit lazy. Who needed a ladder that was fifty feet away when he could just stack a few crates on top of one another and jump up on a roof?
“Okay, almost done.” Gray wrapped a new bandage around Cullen’s thigh, tightly, atop plenty of absorbent compresses. “I don’t want you to remove this until you see a doctor, preferably the minute you get home. I have enough antibiotics for you to take for three days, just to be safe, and no alcohol, no smoking, no straining your leg. I’ll remove the tourniquet when we’re in the air again after Dangriga, and then you gotta be still. Got it?”
“Let’s back up to the no-alcohol part,” Cullen replied. “You’re saying, after this hell ride, after getting my son back, I’m not allowed to have a celebratory drink during our twenty-four-hour R&R in fuckin’ Cancun?”
Gray smiled. “That’s what I’m saying. Booze is a blood thinner. Don’t be stupid.”
Cullen snorted and dug into his pocket, and he retrieved a fucking pack of smokes. “Thank fuck I have selective hearing.”
“Are you kidding me right now?” Gray exclaimed.
As if this wasn’t bad enough, Ryan held out two fingers in silent question—and then Darius followed! Motherfucker! He’d been so good! Darius hadn’t smoked in over a year—aside from a handful of times he’d lied about. As if Gray couldn’t fucking smell it on him.
“We all have our limits, baby,” Darius said. “It’s been a long night.”
Gray scoffed.
Then he coughed for good measure as three grunts lit up cigarettes.
CHAPTER THREE
Sometimes I’m convinced that love is the best way to torture ourselves. I don’t know how many times I’ve lost you in my nightmares and the worst-case scenarios I can’t help but conjure when life is a little too good.
I’m not the kind of man to sabotage myself, but I am the kind of man who will try to prepare for any catastrophe that might take you from me too soon. I’ve learned your blind spots, I see the hazards you tend to overlook, and I have a dozen plans in place in case you decide to go do something stupid, like injure yourself.
We can’t have that.
You’re my lifeline, knucklehead. The thought of losing you, the thought of going back to the existence I had before you, turns my stomach and makes breathing painful.
But I can’t write this in my vows. People want the lovey-dovey shit, right?
They don’t want my neurotic fear of having you ripped away from me in a freak accident.
This is on me. This is my biggest fear. It’s not a reflection of the man you’ve become. Because that man…? Jesus Christ, I admire you. I love your strength, your vulnerability, your openness, your determination. And somehow, you’ve made me more comfortable with who I am.
Okay, see, this is the shit I gotta tell the guests at the wedding.
Gray found an ally in Greer when it came to smoking. He eyed his brother with contempt every time Cullen lit up a smoke.
“Don’t give me that fucking look,” Cullen bitched.
“Don’t give yourself cancer,” Greer shot back. “Goddamn idiot.”
“What he said,” Gray added, eyeing Darius.
“It’s twenty-four hours, knucklehead.”
Gray chose not to argue. To be honest, he wasn’t irritated for real. It had been a long night—and day. He’d let Darius have his break. And now they could finally relax too.
Cancun was looking very beautiful this evening.
Far from everyone was staying, though. Crew’s partner Lawrence was on the next flight to Texas, to deliver Marcos to his parents. The men in the third group had gone to their gates, heading for Boston and New York, with both Kyle and another pilot hot on their tails. The third pilot had aimed for the lounge to wait for his Florida flight first thing in the morning, and even River and Shay were ditching those who stayed.
They were being secretive about it too. And since Reese was staying…?
“I just don’t get it,” Gray said, hopping into a cab. “They’re going to DC now? When they’re coming to the wedding in nine days?”
Actually, it was sooner than that. They had bachelor party festivities a couple days before, and the Tenleys were obviously invited.
“You ask too many questions, kid,” Reese drawled. “But no, they’re not heading to DC.”