Evers & Afters (Dare With Me #2) - J.H. Croix Page 0,26

moment, my ankle was resting on the floorboard. I flexed it, giving it a careful rotation. “Not one hundred percent, but definitely good enough to be flying.”

“Good,” he said firmly. “I can’t imagine going that long without being in the air.”

“Not as bad as it was the last time,” I replied.

“I suppose not. I forget you were grounded for six months before.” He was quiet for a moment before adding, “Any pain leftover?”

I shrugged. “Little bit. I’m guessing I’ll be able to predict the weather with this ankle for the rest of my life, but nothing that ibuprofen can’t knock back.” A thread of tension tightened across my shoulders, and I shifted them against the seat.

My last bout with recovery hadn’t been a plane crash. Well, except for the fact that a friend of ours—Greg—had been in the crash. I’d been on the crew that responded to help. While we’d been working, there’d been a gas explosion. It hadn’t injured me in a life-threatening way, but I got some serious burns where the fabric on the back of my shirt caught fire. Burn pain is like nothing else. They gave me pain meds. Good shit was what that stuff was. Inside of a few weeks, my body wanted more. The emotional aftereffects of my survivor’s guilt because Greg didn’t make it and I did, made me love the pillowy numbness those painkillers offered.

Not many people knew about that brief episode in my life, except Diego, Flynn, Tucker, and Gabriel. Almost every single fucking person that I worked with now. God, I fucking loved those guys, but I occasionally hated how they checked in with me about pain.

“You’re not asking, but there’s nothing to worry about. I haven’t had cravings in over five years. Fortunately, the doctors here didn’t even try to give me that shit.”

When I stole a glance of Diego again, he was looking ahead. As if he felt my eyes on him, his gaze slid sideways. “I wasn’t worried about you, or that.”

My skin felt itchy with annoyance. I hated my own hypersensitivity about my brief tumble into addiction. “Fine,” I grumbled.

Diego chuckled. “You are fine. Now, pick up the pace. The wind’s down, and the sun’s out. That’s unicorn weather in these parts.”

I chuckled, adjusting the speed. We flew along the edge of the bay, making stops in three villages to deliver mail and groceries. When Flynn texted me about coming out to Alaska to work for him, I hadn’t realized how much I would love it. Oh, I loved flying, that was practically as vital to my sanity as breathing, but the beauty was breathtaking and a balm to my soul. I also loved the remoteness of some of the places we went. We were greeted by children and anybody who happened to be around—people driving four-wheelers loaded up with groceries to deliver them to the small stores in these far-flung communities. We weren’t a passenger service, at least not for these trips. We mostly flew tourists for crazy money and made deliveries. Here and there, if we had room, we’d pick up somebody in a pinch. Today, we scooped up an elderly woman and her niece for a doctor’s appointment because she missed one of the regular flights earlier.

“How are you doing today, Marge?” Diego called over his shoulder once we were up in the air. “Haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”

Marge’s dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners in her weathered face as she beamed at Diego. “I’ve been too busy helping Shana with her new café.”

“Café?” Diego prompted.

I had a good view of both of them in the mirror we had mounted up front. We didn’t need it like a car driver did, but it was handy for conversation.

Both Marge and Shana had their hair pulled back in a ponytail. Marge’s dark hair was streaked with silver. Shana had blue eyes to her grandmother’s brown, but otherwise, it was clear as day they were related. They looked so much alike, and their smiles were identical.

Shana grinned. “I started a coffee shop at the back of our grocery store. We’re not as high end as Red Truck Coffee, but Cammi gave me all her pointers, so it keeps us busy.”

“Making money too,” Marge added.

“If your coffee is even close to Cammi’s, you’ll be making money for years to come,” Diego offered.

Of course, there could be no mention of Cammi without my mind spinning back to the feel of my fingers buried inside of