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He’d been with me when I needed him most. He’d raised me. He’d protected me.
And, in the end, Quinn had left when Costas had stayed.
That was the quick of it.
“You’re never here to see me, sis,” he said.
“I’m here right now,” I pointed out.
“You’re about to go catch a flight to Tampa, and fly back, so you can get some flight hours in with the airlines. Then, while you’re at the airport, you’re gonna talk ol’ Tom into flying you up to let you skydive,” he said. “You saw me for ten minutes today. Tomorrow, it’ll be more like five since you have to work.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t really care about that, Costas. I care that you have people coming in and out of this house when I’m not here, and I don’t like leaving my stuff unattended with people I don’t know. I can’t hang my bras up in the bathroom either, because they’re always moved.”
“They’re moved because you hang them up in the bathroom, then I have to take them down to take a shower,” he pointed out.
“You’re taking a shower in the master bathroom, which I’ve been using since I moved back. You have a bathroom in your own side of the house,” I said. “You don’t respect my boundaries.”
Costas snorted. “We’ve never respected each other’s boundaries.”
“And I could deal with that when I had my own place and could force you to respect my boundaries. But things need to change. This is my home,” I told him. “And I don’t like what you’re doing here. I want peace, Costas. I don’t want gang shit getting anywhere near me.”
Costas sighed. “It’s…”
My alarm sounded, indicating it was time for me to head to the airport.
“We’ll be talking about this later,” I said. “And don’t sweettalk the mail lady again. I want my packages delivered all at once. Not once a day so she has a reason to come to the door.”
Costas snorted.
“That’s not what I did,” he argued.
“It’s exactly what you did.” I caught up my backpack that had snacks and drinks in it—there was no way I was paying airport prices for those, and I didn’t have time to go to the pilots’ lounge today—and headed out.
Today I was flying to Tampa in a quick turnaround. The same flight crew would be handling both flights, and since I cherry-picked which flights I piloted to keep up my required flight hours, I also chose the flight crews that I wanted to work with.
Today I was with an old timer who liked to sit back and allow me to do everything, as well as a couple of flight attendants I’d worked with before and I knew would keep the passengers happy.
Years ago, when I’d decided to get my commercial pilot’s license, I’d thought it would be fun.
But now it was more of a burden.
I’d promised myself that I would keep the hours up so I could keep my license, but now I was regretting that promise to myself.
It wasn’t like it was bad flying, but it just took up so many of my days.
And there was this certain person I wanted to go check on after yesterday.
Ande had let it slip in our conversation at the station that Quinn had taken a gunshot wound to the calf. It’d only been a graze, but my heart didn’t care that it was only a graze.
It wanted to make sure that he was all right, and hearing it from other parties, secondhand, wasn’t going to cut it.
Not this time, anyway.
I could handle hearing about his wellbeing when he wasn’t hurt. I couldn’t do it secondhand when he was.
Unfortunately, I had to practice some patience, which I wasn’t very good at.
I had to work.
