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“What?” Mopsy roused briefly as the EMTs transferred her to a stretcher, wrapping her in blankets for the cold night outside.
“You’re going for a ride.” I stepped closer to the stretcher, surprised at how scratchy my throat had turned. “Helicopter. They’re going to take good care of you.”
“You’re going to be okay, Mopsy,” Zeb added.
We both followed the stretcher and crew to the parking lot, hanging back while the EMTs transferred Mopsy to the helicopter crew. I couldn’t help my shudder as the chopper prepared to liftoff.
“What’s wrong?” Zeb asked, touching my arm after the helicopter departed and we could hear each other again. “Bad sense about Mopsy?”
“Not that. If they can get her into surgery, her prognosis is decent.” I tried to pitch my voice to be reassuring, but my apprehension came out anyway. “I just don’t like choppers.”
“Says the guy who got one here pronto.” Zeb rubbed my biceps. “And you ride in them all the time, right?”
“Yeah. Don’t have to like them though.” I jammed my hands in my pockets. “All it takes is a few rough landings for the novelty to wear off.”
Zeb studied me closely. “You ever think about getting out of the navy? Then you wouldn’t have to ride in helicopters.”
His cautious tone said this was more than a casual question, but I couldn’t let myself think of the deeper implications right then. A different place, a different time, and yeah, we might have…
Nope. Not letting my brain go there.
“Nah.” I met Zeb’s caution with faked indifference. “I’ve got my sights on making senior chief before I do my twenty. I want that retirement. Security my folks never had with a steady paycheck. But also, I’ve got a team counting on me.” My voice turned more serious. Zeb needed to understand this part too. “My team…it’s the closest I’ve got to family.”
Zeb frowned. “You’ve got friends. Like Gabe.”
“Gabe’s got his own family now.”
“True.” Zeb measured out the word. He and Gabe might be biological brothers, but he understood what I was saying. Depressing but true. He glanced back at the building. “Speaking of my brother, I better get to cleaning up. Sooner I get that done, sooner I can get home. You staying with me tonight?”
“Yeah.” Probably wasn’t smart with all this adrenaline. I needed to do something smart before I followed Zeb’s earlier advice and did the wrong thing. Too bad the wrong thing was so damn tempting.
Twelve
ZEB
“You’re really good at that.” Atlas’s voice startled me into swiveling away from my monitor. I’d missed the sound of the shower shutting off while recording a quick video for my channel. He’d waited till I flipped the mic off, but the compliment made my skin buzz like static from a wonky audio. I wasn’t used to in-person critique or praise.
“You were watching me record?”
“Just the last few minutes. I like listening to you talk.” Atlas sounded slightly puzzled as if he were reasoning something important out. He’d seemed off ever since the emergency at Seasons. He’d been amazing with spotting the crisis, getting the helicopter in, and getting Mopsy the help she needed with a good chance to save her life. While we were cleaning up, we’d heard that she was already in surgery, thanks in large part to Atlas’s quick thinking.
But instead of acting triumphant, Atlas had been quietly reflective. Reminded me of a friend I’d had during one of my attempts at college who’d been the type to get calmer with a buzz on rather than loopy and extroverted. Atlas had headed for the shower as soon as we’d returned to my apartment, giving me little chance to ask if he was all right.
“Well, I like talking.” Exiting out of my recording program, I turned more toward Atlas as he crossed the room. He had a towel around his neck, but he was otherwise dressed in sweats and a NAVY T-shirt. “People say I’m entertaining. I hope so.”
“I think you are.” Atlas stood right next to me. Close. Really close. Definitely not a friends-only distance, but hell, if I could read his mood. “I don’t even play that new Odyssey Online game, and I thought it was fascinating.”
“Do you play any video games?” I had to work to keep my voice steady as he touched the back of my chair.
“Sometimes the guys on base talk me into it. The first-person shooter game from Space Villager is always popular, but I’m not very good.”
“I could teach you.” I smiled up at him, trying to cover how shallow and shaky my breath had become. “Show you some tricks.”
“I bet you could.” Was Atlas flirting? Did he do that? And then, before I could think of an appropriate retort, he touched my hair, letting the strands fall softly through his fingertips.
“What are you doing?” I asked, knowing full well that he’d stop as soon as I pointed it out.
