"Good," he answered, his voice so.. .dead? "Are you free?"
What did he need to say that couldn't be relayed over the phone? "Just hanging out with Chris and Jamie, watching Jungle Book."
"Could you explain to Chris what's going on so he can tell your mom if she wakes up and there's something on the news?"
"Sure, but do you really think there will be anything on TV?"
"It was bad over there, Nikki." Cell phone static echoed along with the silence and what sounded like a heavy swallow. "I'm pulling into the driveway now. Could you meet me outside?"
He was upset. Of course he was. And oh God, he'd come to her.
"Give me thirty seconds to update Chris, and then I'm out the door."
"Thank you."
His bass rumbled even deeper, hoarse with emotion. If the accident didn't involve her father, there could only be one reason Carson had driven over.
He needed her. A couple of weeks ago she would have expected to take satisfaction from that. Now, she could only think of racing out the door, her heart as heavy as his voice over the phone at just the thought of him being in pain.
Studying the tops of his flight boots, Carson slumped against his truck tailgate, not sure why he'd driven here, but knowing if he didn't he might land in the bottom of a bottle before morning.
Even though he'd wanted to run to Nikki from the start, he'd tried to find his sponsor. Nikki shouldn't have to deal with his crap. But his sponsor hadn't been at home or at work or even picking up his cell phone.
Streetlights flickered on, doing little to brighten his mood. He needed to stop thinking about the past hours spent informing a woman her husband wasn't coming home. Of more hours telling two other women their husbands were being flown to Germany for surgery and God only knew if they would survive.
Still checking out his boots and that lone dog tag attached to ID a dead aviator when his body was blown to bits, Carson heard the front door creak open and bang closed. Nikki's footsteps—he was too tired to question how he knew it was her without even looking—thudded down the porch stairs. Closer, until her gym shoes and the hem of her jeans appeared in view.
He looked up and let himself soak in the sight of her makeup-free face, hair straggling from her haphazard pony-tail. He'd been right to come here.
Carson fished out his keys and passed them to her. "Feel like driving? I even brought along your CD."
"Sure. Who would turn down the chance to drive a great new machine like this?" She took the keys from his hand, lingering for a quick comforting second before pulling away as if sensing he couldn't take too much emotion.
Without another word—and God bless her, no questions, yet—she slid behind the wheel, cranked the engine and rolled down the windows.
She handled the vehicle with her typical confidence, so he relaxed, only as his eyes slid closed realizing he never sat in the passenger seat. Even in the plane, he was the aircraft commander. His copilot days were long past.
Having an equal partner was rare.
He homed in on sounds to blot out thoughts—cars roaring past, the road reverberation shifting in tune as they ascended a bridge. A barge chugged in the distance, a long mournful horn echoing.
Inhale. Exhale. Forget. Inhale beach air. Salt water. Marsh. The scent of Nikki's soap. He was being selfish making her wait.
He turned his head along the seat. "I guess you want to know what happened."
"You'll tell me when you're ready." She kept her eyes forward, hands at ten and two, a rock when he needed one so damned much.
"I'm ready to talk whenever you want to pull over."
"Okay then. I know a quiet place not too far from here." A few miles later, she took the next exit off the highway, down a two-lane road along the shore, finally turning onto a dirt road leading to a tiny deserted historical landmark. The small battlefield boasted little more than a couple of mini-cannons, a broken cement bench and a sign explaining what happened here over two hundred and twenty-five years ago.
Shutting off the engine, Nikki shifted in the seat, leather creaking. "How about we sit in the back of the truck and look at the stars?"
She understood him so well it shook him sometimes since he didn't much like people rooting around in the cobweb-filled darkness of his head.
Well damn. Could that have been a part of why he'd run so hard and fast in the other direction after waking up in her bed? Not a reassuring thought in the least since he'd always told himself he stayed away for her, rather than risk hurting her again.
He leaned over to the backseat and pulled a bedroll of blankets forward. "I sleep outside sometimes."