Then when he'd least expected it, everything flew apart. Why had seeing Spike that happy left him so damn shaken, enough to weaken and do something he'd been fighting for over a year not to do—hit on Nikki?
Next thing he'd known, he was looking at the bottom of an empty shot glass, then another, more following until.. .he couldn't remember more than spotty flashes of tangling n**ed with her in the sheets. Amazing flashes.
Flashes he also feared may have been brief and not nearly as good for her. Wasn't that a kick in the ego? And also a well-deserved punch to his good sense.
His fist clenched around the throttle. He fought the destructive urge to be with her every day. He couldn't offer her a damn thing, had tried to settle for friendship but knew now he couldn't go for half measures in any part of his life. He wasn't as strong at resisting temptation as he'd thought.
He had enough on his plate staying sober and doing his job. Speaking of which, he had a young pilot here in need of leading right now. Being an Air Force officer was about more than flying. He had a duty to train, mentor, motivate future leaders.
The failure with Owens weighed heavily on his shoulders today. He'd been certain the man was shaking his gambling problem. He'd even begun attending support meetings with other addicts.
Carson thumbed the interphone button. "Lieutenant Avery, let's talk. Career planning can never start too early. What's your goal?"
The wiry young pilot who probably weighed all of a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet answered, "To be the Chief of Staff, sir."
Seabrook snorted into the headset from the jump seat. "Lieutenant, it may have escaped your notice, but since Curtis LeMay died, all the Chiefs of Staff have been fighter pilots."
"Oh." The scrawny kid deflated in his leather seat.
Damn. You'd think she stole the kid's ice-cream cone. "She has a point, but things change. Military transport is the fastest growing airframe, and we're raking in those medals. So you never know. What's your plan for making Chief of Staff?"
"I plan to be the best aviator I can be, sir."
Ambitions were all well and good, but he definitely needed to have a sit-down with this kid later about specific choices for different career paths, or before he knew it, he would be in a job he hadn't foreseen, either. "How about we settle on a more immediate goal today, with tangible early results."
"And what would that be, sir?"
"You tell me?" Take some initiative, kid. Having a goal was great, but setting attainable immediate goals to get there was even more important. In the last three months, Carson had tried to be the mentor to Owens he hadn't found around himself near enough. A.A. meetings had taught him well the necessity of guidance and support, one-day-at-a-time steps.
"I'd like to earn a call sign, a cool one like yours, sir."
Avery thought the call sign "Scorch" was cool? Jesus, it came from the mortifying moment of setting his own mustache on fire with the flaming Dr Pepper drink in a bar.
Seabrook laughed, husky and slightly wicked. "So you're not enjoying the call sign always reserved for the newest aviator."
Avery winced. "No, ma'am."
"Then get to work earning a new name, Bambi."
Carson smothered a laugh at the lieutenant's shudder of disgust over the undignified moniker. "I'll keep my eye on you and see what new handle I can come up with."
"Thank you, sir. If it's okay, I'd like to step in back for a walk-around before landing."
"Roger, cleared to unstrap."
Bambi unbuckled the harness holding him in the copilot's seat and ducked out of the cockpit for the stairwell leading to the cargo hold. Captain Seabrook slid into the empty copilot's seat on the right and settled behind the stick, scanning the control panel. "Tough to believe we were once that idealistic."
"Maybe because we weren't." In those days his only plans centered around escaping his family legacy. The rigid structure of the military provided a blessed relief to a childhood spent not knowing what to expect from minute to minute with coke addict parents.
Lately he worried about the stress load sending him over the edge, something he was always on guard against and a part of why he kept his personal life as uncomplicated as possible. He dated, but low-key. He'd even dated Nola Seabrook three years ago, back when they were both Captains, when he was senior only in years and not her supervisor in any way. She was far more suited for him than Nikki, closer in age, they both understood the pressures of military life, combat, even captivity since Nola had been snatched during a mission in South America.
Jesus.
Surely the crappy-luck odds were about played out for them?
Of course now with his new promotion in the squadron, a relationship was out of the question even if he was interested. Which he wasn't, because the chemistry wasn't there in spite of her bombshell-blonde looks...and he couldn't shake a certain leggy brunette from his brain.
He definitely needed to keep his personal life simple for at least as long as the squadron stayed under his command. Lives depended on it.