Page 32 of Keeping a Warrior

“Ah.” Linking his fingers over his belly, Rhys tilted his head back. “So what was it like, growing up with a pilot dad?”

Devon mirrored his pose. “Didn’t see him all that much, to be honest. Seemed like he was always TDY somewhere, always deployed. When he was home, it was wonderful, though. He was so tall, so handsome, in his flight suit.” Devon sighed at the memory. “What’s your dad do?”

“Um, which one?” Rhys asked flatly. “My mom’s been married six times.”

Devon gaped at him. “Wow. I, uh—” she floundered. “Sorry.”

“Dudes came and went like a revolving door in my house. I’d get used to one, and bam, there’d be another.”

Devon had no idea what to say. Her father hadn’t been around much, but at least it’d just been him. Mostly. “Were they—”

“Abusive? Nah. They were all just bums.”

“Were you close to any of them?”

Rhys snorted. “Oh, sure. I started drinking with number three when I was, what, ten? Did some pot with number four. Tried coke with number six...”

“Jesus.”

“I was the literal redheaded stepchild, Devon. Didn’t fit in anywhere. No one really paid attention to me unless I was partying with them.” He shrugged. “By the time I was fourteen, I was destined for jail, or rehab, like most of my half siblings and friends.”

“How’d you get away from all that?”

For a moment Devon didn’t think he’d answer. Before she could change the subject, he said, “Lani. She needed me to get my act together. So I did. We both had to grow up really fast.”

By his tone, Devon could tell there was a lot more to that aspect of his story, but she didn’t pry, instead asking, “Which dad is the one who saved her?”

“That was actually my bio dad. Kevin.” Rhys stood up and started opening the overhead bins at random, peering inside and then slamming them closed. “I bounced back and forth between living with him and my mom. Wasn’t too bad. Hey, check this out.”

He pulled a small stuffed bunny from one of the bins and tossed it to her. It was dusty, and brittle, with one droopy ear. It was also missing an eye.

“Oh, poor little thing.” Devon cradled it in her arms. “I bet your human missed you. How long have you been here?”

“Years.” Rhys wandered down to the plane’s galley and poked around a little. “Want some petrified peanuts?”

“Uh, pass.”

Still holding the bunny, Devon followed after him. She propped her shoulder against the open exit door at the tail. “Wonder where this plane’s last flight went?”

“Duh.” Rhys gripped the side of the door over her head and leaned out. “Paris, of course.”

His armpit was right in her face, its tuft of red hair glittering with moisture, the faint smell of clean sweat tickling her nostrils. He was wearing a loose tank top, so loose Devon could see part of that colorful tattoo hugging his ribs and disappearing down toward his waist.

Fighting a sudden urge to trace it with her fingertips to find out where it led, Devon stepped back. “Um, I think we’d better go. It’s late.”

Yeah, good plan, Devon. Lust after your newest coworker. Prove the doubters right.

She headed back down the aisle, Rhys right on her heels. When they passed their seats, Devon stopped and gently put the bunny down on one.

“Enjoy your flight, little guy,” she whispered. “Visit the Eiffel Tower for me.”

Rhys dug in his pack, and triumphantly produced another sleeve of peanut butter crackers, which he laid across the bunny’s lap. “Snacks for the road, dude. Have fun.”

He led the way back down the ladder to the baggage hold, then held the flashlight steady while Devon climbed the landing gear to the ground.

As they jogged toward their barracks, Rhys cleared his throat. “Sorry about all the word vomit back there,” he said gruffly. “I feel like a complete idiot.”

“Why? It was a long flight. People talk on planes.”