Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Hey, training is work,” Hartman reminded them both as he checked the straps on one of their gear packs.
“Sure it is, but you know what I mean. This one actually counts for something more than training reps with the rookies.” Bronco conveniently forgot that he’d been one of those rookies not long ago. He also had far too much excitement for this early in the morning. Hell, neither Shane nor the baby had been up when Brandt had crept from the house. His head pounded like he was going to need another hit of coffee to keep up with Bronco’s energy.
“I get it.” Yawning, Brandt stretched out his back before strapping into his pack. There wasn’t any time for that coffee now as the plane would be ready any moment.
“Cross-check Bronco,” Hartman ordered him as they finished gearing up. Double-checking each other was a big part of their pre-jump routine, but Bronco still groaned as Brandt examined each of his connection points and the condition of his pack.
“Tighten this connector,” he recommended, pointing at a spot near Bronco’s groin. Dude was touchy enough about being checked that Brandt wasn’t going to do it for him, but he sure as hell was going to wait until Bronco did it himself to Brandt’s satisfaction.
“It’s fine, but whatever.” Bronco’s tone was somewhere between impatient and whiny. It was going to be a damn long morning if he kept this shit up. “Being a dad is making you all overprotective.”
“If it keeps you alive, you’ll be damn grateful.” Hartman shot Bronco a harsh look.
“Sure thing.” Bronco still rolled his eyes as soon as Hartman turned away. He was a handful, and Brandt wasn’t looking forward to babysitting him most of the season.
“Here comes our ride.” Hartman gestured at the tarmac. “Let’s take care of business and be home for dinner.”
“Amen.” Brandt was already looking forward to that. Last night, after Shane had come in from band practice, they’d had a nice chat, but the baby had taken forever to settle again. Eventually, exhaustion had won out, and they hadn’t ended up fooling around despite all their flirting. Which was fine. Brandt was an adult. He could live until they finally managed another hookup, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he was craving the taste of Shane’s mouth something awful.
And his conversation. Talking with him, both joking around and more serious stuff, had become one of his favorite things. He’d missed him when he’d been at practice last night, but tonight he’d be home and had promised to do something with chicken for dinner. Bronco might not recognize this new cautious, domesticated self of Brandt’s, but that was okay because Brandt was still figuring it all out himself.
Once they were in the air, thoughts of Shane fled, replaced by the business at hand. The din of the plane and the jostling of his crew was familiar. Grounding. No matter what else changed, he had this. Reid was acting as spotter for them, and he kept frowning as new weather data came in. “Not crazy about these wind conditions.”
Hartman nodded, an entire conversation happening between him and Reid in body language alone. Their close bond was as enviable as it was frustrating.
Giving up on trying to read their faces, Brandt asked, “You want to call it?”
“Nah.” Hartman’s tone was casual, but his eyes were sharper than usual, posture a little straighter.
“Let’s circle again first, but you’ll want to keep your heads about you to avoid getting treed.” Reid had a meaningful look for all of them, but his gaze lingered on Bronco.
The kid held up both hands. “Hey! Why does everyone assume I’m the risk taker?”
“Because you are.” Brandt might have reached the end of his patience already, and they weren’t even on the ground yet.
“Hey now. Tone it down.” Hartman frowned at Brandt, unspoken message that Brandt was older and supposed to be better than petty squabbles.
And then there was no time for arguing as the plane swung back around and the decision was made to go for it. Gear first, then them, timing both practiced and absolutely critical. Brandt waited for Reid’s signal before leaping. No hesitation, only appreciation for the blue sky and the rush of freefall that never grew old, even as he executed his training for positioning and the release of his chute. Below, the green canopy of the forest broken up by rocky sections waited to greet them.
Despite the great visibility, the trick was going to be making the landing zone in this wind. The air fought against all his steering efforts, yanking him this way and that. The ground was rushing up, too fast, and he was going to wind up in a tree if he couldn’t course correct.
And there were too many of the suckers, big ancient trees stretching up, dizzyingly high and close, wide branches waiting to snag his chute. Inches. He was inches from dangling off one of those widow-maker limbs.