It Wasn't Me - Lani Lynn Vale Page 0,4
both opened when she was listening to me talk, went a little wide.
She started to shut down again, but I reached for her hand like a complete and total dumbass.
Why, I couldn’t tell you.
Honestly, I already had her hand before I’d even made the conscious decision to reach for it.
And before I could take it back away, she curled her fingers around my larger ones like a lifeline.
She bit her lip and tried not to give away too much, but it was no use. I could tell that she was downright terrified.
“Listen, Pip,” I said as I squeezed her hand. “You’re not going to die. They’ve flown in this weather so many times that this is like an average day in the park to them.”
“You don’t know that,” she argued, sounding breathless. “It doesn’t even have to pertain to the weather, us going down. What if the pilot suffered a heart attack, and the co-pilot slipped and fell and hit his head, knocking him unconscious?”
Her hand felt good in mine.
Very good.
She was also nuts and had the imagination of a four-year-old—all creative and far out there.
“I do,” I confirmed. “The pilot and the co-pilot have done this thousands and thousands of times. If they couldn’t fly the plane, I could.”
She swallowed hard.
“What if a freak lightning strike takes out the plane?” she pushed.
“What if we land in Seattle and everything’s a-okay?” I countered right back.
She licked her lips and tried to think of something to say that wasn’t negative. I could practically see her wheels turning.
“I’m scared,” she admitted.
I squeezed her hand just a little bit tighter and wondered how the hell I’d gotten myself into this position.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, sounding shaky.
Instead of telling her to fuck off like I would’ve any other person that had asked me that same question this week, I answered her.
I didn’t know if it was the paleness of her cheeks or the way she looked like she needed the distraction.
Whatever the reason, I told her exactly why I was there.
“Had some trouble in my hometown,” I admitted. “Needed to get away for a few days. Decided to help a buddy out and teach a class for him.”
“Where’s your hometown?” she questioned.
“Kilgore, Texas,” I answered, not thinking twice about giving the information to the woman.
It’d taken me a few seconds to place her, but the name ‘Piper Mackenzie’ had struck a memory in me from a long time ago.
“You live in Kilgore?” She paused. “That’s where I’m going, too!”
“I know,” I admitted. “It took me a while, but I finally figured out where I know you from.”
She frowned. “Where?”
“You made quite a name for yourself when you left,” he said. “Plus, you graduated top in your class from high school, then top in your class from boot camp. Your dad was talking you up when that happened. I had to take my motorcycle to him, and he talked my ear off about his girls for an hour.”
Her face flushed. “My dad is proud.”
He was. He more than was.
Her face fell, though, at the mention of her dad.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She swallowed hard.
“I was going home anyway,” she said. “Just not on this particular flight. I had about four more days until I left, but I got a call yesterday that my dad was almost killed in an accident. He’s okay…but he’s banged up pretty bad.”
Worry crossed my features. “What happened?”
“Some lady pulled out in front of him when he was on his motorcycle,” she answered. “He hit her going about thirty miles an hour. She got out and was all ‘my back,’ ‘my neck,’ all the while my father was on the ground.”
The words ‘my neck’ and ‘my back’ were hauntingly familiar to my reason for leaving.
I was telling her my story before I’d thought better of it.
“I hit someone in my police cruiser before I left,” I said, swallowing hard. “I was driving, heading back to the station for my end of shift change, and was making a U-turn. Got almost completely turned around when some bitch pulls out of the Starbucks parking lot on her phone. I couldn’t stop in time and ended up barely tapping her. I’m talking zero damage to the police cruiser, and a dent in the door, one about the size of a golf ball, of her car. At least where I hit her.”
“And let me guess,” Piper said. “She got out of the car complaining about injuries?”
I nodded. “You bet. God, she laid it