Live for the Day (3 page)

Nothing he did stopped the swift descent. It was as though his controls were broken, every last one of them. A monotonous bleep sounded, and a red light blipped. A fucking wing had been clipped—those damn bullets, a hail of them, peppering the sky and his plane.

“Shit, my head…”

He was losing himself—losing concentration fast—and his eyes closed. The speed and confusion was too much. The fright. He knew what he should be doing—hitting the eject button—but sleep seemed the better option. What was going on? Why was he reacting this way when he should be—

“Shit, someone help me. Angel?”

A whoosh of what felt like fresh air hit him, startling him back to full consciousness. His angel had roused him? Yeah, he was sure she had, and, as he struggled with the eject button, warmth enveloped him, letting him know all would be well.

“Fucking insane thinking everything will be all right when the goddamn plane is— Press the button! Why won’t it work?”

He managed to jab ‘eject’ so hard there was no doubt it had depressed this time.

“Get me the fuck out of here safely. Let me see Michael again. Please…”

He shot out of the plane, yanked out by force, ousted by his seat shooting upward and his roof opening. His stomach seemed left behind for a moment, his heart feeling as though it was lodged in this throat. His parachute activated with a cruel yank on his body, and he wondered whether fate had played a spiteful game—he was still a prime target for the enemy. They’d be watching—could shoot him out of the damn sky any second.

The hard tug as the wind caught beneath the parachute had him losing his breath, then came the lightness, the floating. He sailed down, too slow for his liking, heading for a cement building that stood alone in the sandy wilderness. It looked as if his landing would hurt. A glance to his right gave him a view of his plane, close to the heat-hazy horizon, about to hit the ground. He shut his eyes—didn’t want to see it crash. Didn’t want it brought home how he could have still been inside it.

He struck the crude building feet first, his eyes snapping open in his shock. If he’d had his eyes open he could have prepared himself for landing. The jar on his bones sent spears of pain up his calves, into his knees then on into his thighs. He cried out—fucking leg was broken, he’d put money on it—then clenched his teeth, toppling sideways. He stuck his hand out to brace his fall, and the evil pain currently assaulting his leg also danced in his wrist.

He shook his head to clear it of things he shouldn’t be thinking in this situation, like being back home, where he was safe. Instead, he processed his surroundings—nothing but shitty dry desert, a plume of smoke in the distance from his plane, and the building he was on top of. Was anyone inside? Was this the end for him if there were inhabitants who’d think nothing of killing him? Christ, they could come right on out and finish him off. Things were dire—more than dire—and he prayed his angel was looking out for him right that second, that she hadn’t gone down with his plane, and that he’d remain safe until help arrived.

Time passed—too much of it. No one came out of the building—no one he could see from where he was peering over the edge, anyway. Maybe it had been abandoned long ago, or perhaps, if anyone
was
inside, they were too scared to come out. He dozed, going in and out of a pain-induced sleep. The sun had dipped, the heat less oppressive, but he was still too hot. He went through his options. He had no choice but to try to get off the building and gain entry. Hide out in there. Get some water inside him. Things were more than grim. Leg broken. Wrist broken. And if he wanted to be straight up about it, his spirit was also broken.

It had fled, had abandoned him.

He let his eyelids shut. Just a little sleep would do it. Refresh him. Have his mind working properly once he woke up again.

“What the hell am I doing here?” he whispered, sleepiness slowing his words. “Why did I want to do this for a living? Why would I want to put myself in danger when I have Michael back home?”

He drifted. His leg and wrist had gone numb.

That’s better…

The drone of an engine startled his eyes open. He peered into blackness—Jeez, time had streaked along and the temperature had dropped dramatically. He shivered, teeth chattering, body shuddering. Was it the same day—or had he slept the clock round?

“Please don’t let that be the enemy…”

The thwap-thwap-thwap of copter blades sliced the air around him, sending sand upward to coat his body, his face. He blinked to shield his eyes, listening to the voices of the men who had jumped out of the copter.

American accents.

American.

His angel had done her job once again. He’d see Michael now, his beautiful Michael.

He passed out.

Michael came out of the store, an ice cream tub in each hand. Steven shuddered away the memories, feeling as cold as he had on that building. He smiled, not wanting Michael to know he suffered from daydreams that were more like nightmares. He accepted his ice cream, and thankfully, without needing to speak, they walked on, eating the soft scoop with little plastic spoons. It gave Steven some much needed time to get himself fully back in the present.

It seemed in no time at all they were at Steven’s place, a one-bedroom apartment on the edge of the valley above a small gas station run by this old guy called Jed. Steven rented the apartment above Jed’s large mechanics shed, which stood a few feet from the gas pumps, so he’d have somewhere to go other than his childhood home. Mom fussing sometimes got too much.

“After you.” Michael gestured to the metal stairs that led upward. “Always follow you so I can check out your ass.”

Steven grinned, shocked at what Michael had said, although he shouldn’t have been, not really. Michael always came out with shit that made people’s eyes bug, but it was the knowledge that Michael had checked out Steven’s ass long before now that had him stunned. Steven had had no idea…

He took the stairs, at the top after a bit of a struggle when his leg ached owing to the walk from town. Fishing about in his pocket for the keys, he gave Michael a sideways glance. Michael was looking down at Jed below. Jed’s skin was well weathered and brown as a conker from too much sun over the years.

“Hey there!” Jed called. “Good to see you back, buddy. You seen your mom yet?”

“Shit,” Steven whispered, closing his eyes briefly. “Not yet,” he said louder. “Plan on going over there soon—or at least giving her a call in a while. It’s a surprise I’m back, so keep it to yourself, huh?”

“You got it.”

Jed disappeared inside his shed and Steven let out a sigh of relief. He’d meant to call his mom before he’d caught the flight home, and again once he’d arrived in town, but he’d seen Michael in the café and everything else had gone out of the window.

Steven opened his door, greeted with the musty smell of a place locked up for months at a time. He jerked his head for Michael to follow him inside, and Steven ditched his bag in the hallway then walked through into the living room to open the windows.

“You should call her,” Michael said behind him.

Steven turned from the window to face Michael. “I know but—”

“No buts. Call your mother.”

Steven nodded, drawing his cell out of his pocket. “I won’t be long.”

“Be however long you need, man. I’ll still be here.”

Yeah, Michael would still be there. As he always was. Waiting. Patient. The best friend anyone could ever have.

“I love you,” Steven said with not a dash of embarrassment.

“Yep, and I love you too. But you still have to call your mother. She deserves to hear you’re back safe. She worries. We all worry.”

Michael was right. As usual.

“Ten minutes tops,” Steven said, going into his bedroom.

“Like I said, however long you need, man.”

Chapter Three

Concern had nipped at Michael since he’d been in the ice cream shop. While he’d waited for his order, he’d stared outside at Steven. His friend wasn’t right—he’d gazed seemingly at nothing, looking lost out there on the sidewalk, as though he was in a town he didn’t recognize. When Steven had shuddered then shivered, like he was too cold for words, Michael’s instinct had been to abandon their ice creams and go out there to see what was wrong. A whispered voice in his head had told him to stay put, though. Steven was clearly going through something—had been through something on his last mission—and he’d brought the memories of it back home with him.

Now, Michael listened to the rumble of Steven’s voice as it filtered through the closed bedroom door. He sounded cheery enough, but then again he would. Steven had never liked worrying his mom—which was strange, given the career he’d chosen. She worried more than the average mother—just like Michael worried more than the average friend.

Steven came out of the bedroom. Michael searched his face for signs of distress and found none. Only happiness and contentment relaxed his features, his mouth loose, his eyes wide and bright.

“You all right?” Michael asked.

He wanted to push, to get the things inside Steven’s head out into the open. It felt as if whatever pranced around in his friend’s mind was a barrier between them. Usually, Steven told Michael everything about his stints in the desert, but so far, all he’d gotten was that Steven had been injured and had spent time in hospital.

Maybe he can’t talk about it, even to me.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Steven said. “Mom’s fine. Excited to see me, but I put her off until tomorrow. Said I was tired.”

“Tired. Right.”

He thought it best not to go down that road—of persuading Steven to go see his mom. Steven clearly wasn’t ready for that.

“So,” Michael said. “This leg of yours. Needs a lot of massaging, does it?”

He’d waited far too long to get his hands on Steven. His boldness just now came from years of keeping his feelings a secret. Plus, with Steven admitting he’d never kissed anyone—Michael had to take the lead if anything was going to happen between them now. Although Michael wasn’t exactly an expert, he reckoned he could steer them in the right direction, then they could discover things together.

“In the morning and before bed, the nurse said.” Steven winced. “It gets pretty sore. The walk from town was a bit much. I haven’t really exercised it to that extent since I got hurt. It was broken in a couple of places in my shin. Didn’t set in the best of ways, either.”

“Ouch.” Michael waited for more information. It didn’t come. “Uh, you want me to make us coffee?”

He headed for the kitchen. He always made them coffee here, treating the place like his own. It was their ritual and besides, Michael needed something to do. Things weren’t quite the same—it could have been their admissions to one another or it could have been another type of elephant in the room. One that belonged back in the desert. Either way, the hulking presence was making him uncomfortable and he didn’t know how to get rid of it.

In the kitchen, he waited for Steven to come in and give him his usual account of what he’d been up to since they’d last been together. Steven came in all right, but he didn’t spill the beans. He just stood there, butt against the counter, staring into space.

That damn concern came back, flooding Michael’s body and mind. His hand shook as he spooned sugar into their cups.

“Look, I realize you might not want to talk about it this time, but what’s up?” Michael placed a pod in the coffeemaker and set it to pour. “Just give me something, even a little bit, so I know I should back off with any questions. You’ve usually told me all about stuff by now. You haven’t even told me anything about Rory—and he’s one of your best buds—so what’s up with that?”

Steven took a deep breath then turned his head to look at Michael. “I’m not sure I can go back there—figuratively and literally.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “What? But that’s your life. It’s what you do. What you love…”

Steven shifted from foot to foot. “I, uh… I haven’t been in a plane for weeks. I…um… I got shot down.”

“Oh, fuck…”

Alarm shoe-horned its way inside Michael, sending his legs wobbly, his stomach knotting. This was something he’d always dreaded, but so far Steven had been so lucky, managing to get out of every scrape, to always be on the fringes of danger, never right in it. He joked that Steven had an angel watching over him.

“Why didn’t you…?” Michael snapped his mouth closed. Who the fuck was he to demand an answer to his so far unasked question?
Why didn’t you write me and tell me?

This wasn’t about him and his feelings. Steven obviously had his reasons for keeping this to himself.

“I didn’t want you worrying.” Steven shrugged. “And the more time that passed, the more I couldn’t write. I wanted to blurt it all out—seriously, I did—but with you here and me over there… I knew you’d go nuts thinking about ‘what if?’ I was doing enough thinking about that for the both of us. No sense in you doing it too.” He shrugged again. “But I’m back now—for a couple of months—then I have to go in so they can assess me. I sorta went a bit stir crazy in the hospital. The plane going down… It was rough on me. I didn’t think… I mean, I thought I was mentally able to cope with that shit. Seems I wasn’t. That I’m not.”

Steven not being in the Air Force? Unheard of. Not an option. That career was his everything. Steven was in the military for the pair of them, doing things Michael didn’t have the courage to do. It was all Steven wanted—right?

Michael handed Steven a coffee. He busied himself setting his own to pour. Parked his ass against the counter too, and side by side, they stared at the opposite wall. The fridge gurgled then whirred. Something tinkled in the living room from a breeze that wafted through into the kitchen. The air seemed to pulse with unsaid words, with Steven’s memories and Michael’s need to fix everything so that Steven didn’t feel so shitty. And it was obvious he felt that way.