Come Fly With Me (31 page)

Kate had been deceived as well. She’d spent a life never knowing she had a sister, either. Yet she’d still come to honor her parents.

The words of Maeve’s letter once again filled her thoughts and Grier puzzled through the mixed
emotions of guilt and anger. Jonas deserved her visit to his grave.

Did he?

He’d never visited her. He had never found a way past his own grief or pain or fear. Grier knew it made her a small person. She knew her inability to see past this would only continue to hurt her, for the dead had already been laid to rest.

But damn it, she’d deserved better.

And staring down at her father’s grave, she couldn’t find it in her heart to feel anything. The nameless, faceless father Patrice had always refused to talk about hadn’t been worth a single fantasy she’d spun about him.

And all that was left in her heart was a gaping, empty hole.

Her gaze caught on the flowers once more and Grier thought again about Kate. There was a relationship that possibly she could still fix along with a person she could get to know better and see if they had anything in common.

A small spark flared in her heart, lighting up that dark, gaping hole. Maybe all wasn’t lost.

Turning to face Mick, she reached up and placed a hand on his chest. “Please, take me away from here.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Your place.”

“Grier, are you sure?”

Whatever doubts she’d harbored since arriving fled on the renewed hope that beat in her chest. Despite his absence, her father had led her here.

To her family.

And to Mick.

What she had with him was real—the sort of heart-pounding, blood-pumping real that made her feel alive. With a soft smile, she nodded. “Yes. I’m sure.”

H
eavy twilight lit the sky outside his bedroom window as Mick ran his hand over Grier’s bare shoulder. Her arrival at the cemetery had been a balm to his battered senses, and even now, hours later, he marveled at how simply and succinctly she made him remember the good times.

The violence of his mother’s death had rattled him, but it wasn’t until the trip up to Denali to rescue the researchers that he realized just how fresh the scars still were. How had she managed with one request—to tell her something wonderful about his mother—to begin a healing fifteen years in the making?

It was with that sense of awe and gratitude that he struggled to make sense of her pain. And he wished like hell he could find some way to help her.

Although he couldn’t see much of her face as they’d stood over Jonas’s grave, both of them staring in the same direction, he didn’t miss the weight of her grief that lay so heavy over her shoulders.

She was so compassionate and vibrant. He’d watched her over the last weeks—hell, he’d been watching her since she arrived—and Grier always took
great care and consideration of the people she was with.

Sloan and Avery were the recipients of her fiercest support and loyalty. She was warm and respectful of everyone in town, completely ignoring how unfriendly and unwelcoming they’d originally been and putting it behind her as if it had never happened. And despite the temporary debacle with the offered puppy, Chooch and Hooch—harsh critics on their best day—sang her praises up one side of Main Street and back down the other.

In a matter of months, Grier Thompson was universally loved by everyone. Even more important, the entire town
liked
her.

She stirred next to him and he shifted to press a kiss to her hair.

And he realized one powerful truth.

He loved her.

Over the years, he’d come to believe he’d feel some pain, or maybe disgust at being an easy mark if he ever fell in love. Instead, all he felt was a deep joy.

Bone deep.

As if he’d finally found a missing part of his soul.

In the same way flying was more for him than just a job, Grier Thompson was his more.

She was his everything.

And as he lay in the dark, holding her against his chest, Mick began to fear. Because he had no idea what he was going to do when she went away.

Avery lined up a row of margarita glasses and poured out the batch of frozen cocktails she’d whipped up in
the blender. She’d never understood anyone’s interest in drinking one when the temperature was twenty below, but who was she to judge.

She made the drinks; she didn’t have to drink them herself.

The lobby bar was in full swing as the denizens of Indigo put on their best smiles and hoped they’d be captured on film for Roman’s big TV interview.

A glance toward the open office doorway indicated they hadn’t started the latest round of filming yet and Susan paced nervously outside the door. She was up first for the interview and Avery saw the photo she had clutched in her hand.

Avery knew that picture. It was one of Roman, at seventeen, dressed in his full hockey gear and holding a trophy high. He’d set a record in the state league that year for the most goals and had been given the trophy after their last game of the season. It had been her sixteenth birthday and she’d lost her virginity to him the same night.

That picture had sat on Susan’s desk for years and every time she looked at it, a small knot settled just underneath her heart.

That was what no one understood.

The reminder of Roman Forsyth was so ever-present—so tangible and real in the town of Indigo—that there really was no escape. No time to heal.

There were many things she looked forward to experiencing on the trip to Ireland, but that one sat at the top of her list. Four glorious months where no one knew her. No one knew about that night she had too
much to drink and puked in Mrs. Waters’s bushes. And they had no idea she’d lost her first serious boyfriend to the NHL. And they most certainly wouldn’t look at her in pity for having given up her twenties taking care of her alcoholic mother.

No one in Ireland knew her and she couldn’t wait to get there.

“Those margaritas ready?” Mindy Trexler smiled at her across the bar before turning her attention toward the office. “It sure does take a long time to put together a TV shoot.”

“You should have seen all the setup they had to do earlier. It’s an endless process.”

Mindy had agreed to pick up an extra shift tonight and Avery was grateful for the help. She handed off the margaritas and pointed toward a door at the end of the bar that led to the storeroom. “I have to get that Cab you wanted from the stockroom. I’ll be right back with it.”

Mindy nodded and headed off to Margaritaville, and Avery made a beeline for the stockroom. She couldn’t hold back her curious gaze as the camera people continued to putter around the office door. Susan wasn’t standing outside any longer, so things must have started moving forward.

About time,
she almost muttered out loud, catching herself at the last minute.

All the fuss was starting to wear on her. The camera crew had stayed up extra late the night before, drinking in the lobby until two. She’d then gotten up early to help deal with the breakfast rush. Images of her bed flashed through her mind and she slapped lightly at
her cheeks, willing away the walking dead image she had to be projecting.

A few more hours and it’d be over.

And Ireland awaited, she reminded herself once more, the idea glowing like a beacon in her mind as she opened the door to the stockroom.

“You’re Avery Marks?”

Avery turned from where she balanced on a small step stool, attempting to pull the desired bottle of wine from a top shelf. The voice was familiar, but it wasn’t until she turned that she recognized its owner, Priscilla Davies, the woman interviewing Roman.

“Yes, can I help you with something? Is there something you need for the shoot?”

The woman waved a hand in the direction of the lobby. “My crew’s still setting up.”

“All right. Do you need something to drink, then? I can get you some bottled water or a soda if you’d prefer.”

“Actually, I’d like to talk to you.”

The slight confusion that had her asking Priscilla hospitality questions faded as a small frisson of awareness skated down her spine. Avery snagged the bottle she wanted and stepped down off the stool.

The polite proprietor’s smile she’d put on evaporated in the calculating gleam of Priscilla’s narrowed blue gaze. “About?”

“You and Roman Forsyth.”

“I don’t think I’m on your interview schedule.” Avery held still, even though the urge to rush past her through the storeroom doorway was strong.

“I’d consider you a last-minute addition. The town’s
awfully friendly and people have been very quick to point out your history with Roman.”

The woman practically purred Roman’s name and Avery bit back her annoyance. “I’m sorry, but as you can tell by the crowd in the lobby, we’re very busy tonight.”

Avery did push forward this time, moving steadily toward the door so Priscilla was forced to step outside of it. With a hard snap, Avery pulled the storeroom door closed behind her.

“You can tell your story. I’m more than willing to be fair and present your side.”

Panic swam in her stomach in hard, stifling waves and it felt as if hot clammy fingers gripped the base of Avery’s neck. “There’s nothing to present, Ms. Davies. Nor do I have anything to tell.”

Priscilla’s voice had her turning back despite her best efforts to keep moving toward the familiar comfort of the bar. “But you
are
the one Roman left behind to pursue his goal of the NHL. Love’s collateral damage.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“And yet here you are, still single from what I hear. And working in Roman’s mother’s hotel, too.”

Despite her efforts to remain calm, Avery heard the slight quaver in her own voice. “As are several women in this town.”

“I’m simply looking to paint a full picture of Roman’s life. Tell his story, as it were.”

“Well, clearly you’re looking in the wrong place.” Roman’s voice rang out behind her and Avery turned to find him striding forward, murder in his gaze.

She’d seen that look before—he usually wore it just before he got into a wicked fight with an opponent on the ice. The image had often reminded her of a warrior headed into battle.

“I’m just talking to an old friend of yours, Roman.” Priscilla’s voice was smooth, but Avery didn’t miss the dark light that filled her eyes with calculating menace.

“You’ve got that right. Avery is an old friend. And as I told you before we began this process, I wasn’t going to burden my friends with an intrusive peek into their lives.”

“I didn’t think someone you’d known as well as Ms. Marks here was included.”

Roman extended an arm to her. “Well, she is. Now, if you’ll join me, the camera crew is ready and you’ve kept my mother waiting long enough.”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Ms. Marks.” Priscilla took Roman’s arm and allowed him to turn her back toward the lobby.

Anger lit the depths of Roman’s eyes, coloring them a bright shade of green. He gave her one last, long look before turning toward the lobby and marching the errant reporter back to the staging area.

Avery took a deep breath as they walked away. Her hands shook and her legs had a decidedly rubbery feel, but she was safe.

Roman had come to her rescue.

And if she wasn’t mistaken, the apology in his eyes was about far more than a nosy reporter.

*    *    *

Grier smiled to herself as she rooted through Mick’s refrigerator for the ingredients to make breakfast. And she wasn’t surprised when she came out with bacon, eggs and a packet of hash browns.

Everything about the man screamed hale and hearty. The fact his pantry wasn’t a bachelor wasteland of Pop-Tarts and Froot Loops only reinforced that.

She ran her hands over the large long-sleeved T-shirt that covered her to her knees and rolled up the sleeves to start preparing breakfast. She’d found the shirt folded on a chair in his bedroom and reveled in how his scent surrounded her.

Twenty minutes later when he came out of the bedroom, freshly showered, his hair still wet and curling around his neck, she had the eggs scrambled and waiting to cook last as the bacon and hash browns merrily hissed in skillets on the stove.

“That smells good. Usually I have to do this myself.”

“I’m impressed you cook at all. And I’m even more impressed I’ve seen nary a Pop-Tart in your kitchen.”

He smiled as he pressed a kiss to her lips, then moved to the coffeepot to pour himself a cup and refill hers. “Oh, I’ve been known to ride the morning sugar rush on occasion, but I prefer something a bit more substantial.”

“Very self-sufficient of you. Sadly, I fall all too often in the bachelorette camp of ‘grab it and go.’”

“Strawberry or chocolate Pop-Tarts?” He looked over the rim of his mug.

“Granola bars. And forget the fruity ones. I want chocolate with my breakfast.”

“Sustenance from a box and no hidden nutrients like dried fruit for you.”

“In short, yes.” Grier turned back to the stove to flip the bacon strips.

“You’re a woman on the go. I’m sure an hour making breakfast isn’t doable.”

She hesitated briefly at his words, not sure why they caught her up short. There wasn’t any censure or criticism in his tone, but the sentiment chafed all the same.

Shaking it off, Grier transferred the bacon onto a plate and did a fresh whisking to the eggs. The temptation to drop them into the skillet was great, but she grabbed a new pan. No matter how often she worked out or how much she enjoyed a hearty breakfast, there was no way she was frying her eggs in bacon grease.

A gal had to draw the line somewhere.

“Go ahead and grab some plates and I’ll get the eggs going.”

His footfalls were heavy behind her back as he padded around the kitchen and she couldn’t deny the sweet coziness of the moment, especially when it came on the heels of a night spent wrapped up together.

“Thank you for yesterday.”

He stepped up behind her and pressed his lips to her neck. “For what?”

“Everything. You helped me through my first trip to the cemetery. I didn’t want to go alone but knew I had to. And then you were there.”