Under the pretence of taking a bathroom break, I scampered out of the office and down the corridor, my phone concealed in my skirt pocket.
After Maddock’s highly delicious shot sent this morning, we’d been texting all day. I’d vetoed sexting while in the office, because ew, the sight of my miserable manager’s face was enough to kill any sexual fantasy dead. But Maddock had flown back to his accommodation and had dinner, sending messages to me as he went.
I locked myself into a cubicle, ignoring the sign for the annual Christmas party—to which non-permanent staff weren’t invited—and read the messages waiting on the screen.
Maddock: Still can’t stop thinking about earlier.
Maddock: If my heli goes down in tonight’s training, at least I died a happy man.
Rory: That would be a waste of one hot body.
A reply came almost immediately.
Maddock: *blushing
Rory: Bull, you know you’re pretty.
Maddock: I just snorted a laugh, and now all the other pilots are looking at me strange. Listen, can we talk later? I need something fun after this evening’s trial.
Rory: Love to. What time will you be done?
Maddock: About six in the morning. I think that’s evening for you.
I leaned on the cubicle wall and bit my lip over a grin. Quickly, I searched the time difference between California and Iceland.
Rory: You’re eight hours ahead, so yep, I’ll be sure to be in my sexiest PJs and draped on my bed.
Maddock: I’ll call you then. Can’t wait. Gotta fly.
Rory: Stay safe.
No further reply came, and I slunk back to my desk, butterflies in my belly made up of nerves for his night flight in a storm plus a healthy dose of lust for what we might get up to after.
I left the offices of Bokeh International at the end of the working day with a spring in my step that remained there the whole of the way home. At the end of my street, I waved goodbye to the two other women from my car share ride and approached the house.
My mother used to live in Los Angeles, which was where I was born. She’d been an aspiring actress but had quit trying to break into the industry when she got pregnant with me. She and my stepfather moved out to Temecula for his job, but he soon lost it, and Mom’s salary had paid the mortgage. It was the only reason we hadn’t lost the house when he’d left.
I grabbed the mail from the box, ignored the fact the yard needed work, and stepped onto the tiny porch.
The front door was ajar.
“Mom?” I called out.
No reply came. I entered the house and peered around.
Temecula was one of the safest cities in the US, but that fact didn’t stop my heart pounding. Every day, I double-checked that I’d locked up. Sometimes, triple-checked. Just to be safe.
I crept through the lounge and into the kitchen. From the cupboard, I grabbed a pan—the first weapon that came to mind. Not that I had a chance against a home invader. Maybe I could throw the pan at them then run.
I tested the back door. Locked.
A creak sounded behind me, and I spun around.
Nobody there.
A shiver crept down my spine.
“Mom?” I called again. “I’m home. How was your day?”
I snuck back into the hall. The two bedrooms and bathroom waited ahead behind closed doors. Padding silently, despite the fact I’d been calling, I gripped the handle of the bathroom door, then swung it wide.
A quick glance confirmed there was no one here either. A heap of towels and damp clothes lay on the floor, but I moved on.
My room was opposite, and I repeated the action, this time crossing the wooden floor to open my wardrobe door. All empty of strangers.
Which only left Mom’s room.
I gently tapped on the door, then swung it open. With the blinds lowered, my mother curled on her bed in the dimly lit space. Her shoulder rose and fell in sleep.
My hackles lowered.
She was clearly unhurt, and the house undisturbed. No one had broken in, Mom was okay.
She drew in a breath, then turned as if detecting me. “Baby, is that you?”
I approached her bed, automatically checking the hollowness of her cheeks and the sharp angles of her bones. Pale with yellow hair, she and I looked nothing alike. I had twenty pounds on her, too, as she didn’t carry a single ounce of fat. Or muscle.
Yet she was still utterly beautiful. Waiflike and ethereal. A sickly angel, fallen to Earth.
“It’s me. Done with work.”
Mom shuffled up on her pillows. “Are you cooking? Why the pan?”
I started on a laugh and raised the pan I forgot I was holding. “When I got in, the front door was wide open. Did someone come here?”
Mom blinked, her gaze darting left as if she were seeking a memory. “Sean stopped by. This morning, I think. I tried to take a shower after he left, but I was so tired, I came back to bed.”
Irritation wound through me. Not directed at my mother, but at her ex-boss, Sean Arcadia, and the fact Mom still sometimes helped him with questions on stock control for his chain of stores. He’d fired her, for God’s sake, and now he was showing up here, uninvited, and leaving my vulnerable mother all day with an open door while she slept.
I swallowed the feeling, banking it for later. “I’ll get you into the shower, then I’ll fix dinner. I’m thinking tacos for Tuesday.”
Mom smiled, and it was like being blessed by some dainty, magical creature.
I set about my tasks, trying not to obsess over Mom’s every word and look. She was coming out of the other side of her depressive episode. They left her exhausted, but at least she was smiling and eating again.
At the table, I forced myself not to watch her eat and instead tried to entertain her with stories from work.
I hadn’t told her anything about Maddock. I wouldn’t dream of mentioning the money I had still sitting in my account. Anything that could cause her worry was out of the question.
After dinner, I helped her from her wheelchair onto the couch.
“I just need to make a call,” I told her. “Be right back.”
But instead, I left the house.
Outside, I let my flood of frustration wash over me once more, and I fast-stepped down the street. Mom’s ex-boss lived in the same subdivision as us, and I homed in on his house, my fists clenched at my sides.
She’d worked that job for years. Sometimes, she and my stepdad had invited Sean over for dinner, when times were good. Twice, we’d gone to his house. I knew his daughter, a year younger than me and now at college in another state, leaving Sean on his own. But more importantly, Sean knew Mom. Knew her issues.
I thumped on his front door.
After a beat, he answered. “Aurora, is everything okay?”
“No, it isn’t. You came to see Mom today, right?” I had to check my facts first.
“I did, I wanted—”
I shook my head at the older man. I was being rude, but today had scared me. “Did you know Mom spent the day in bed with the front door wide open? I can’t be there all the time to look after her, but please, if you do have to disturb her, in the future could you check she’s safe when you leave?”
The older man blinked a couple of times behind his glasses. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“I mean, anything could have happened.” Emotion rushed through me, overspilling though I tried to cram it down. “It’s enough that she doesn’t have a job to keep her occupied now, and spends all day in bed, but the minimum I want is for her to be secure while she’s still so weak.”
He went to speak, but I shook my head, not wanting to cry in front of this man.
“She’s not your problem anymore, I know that, but I’d appreciate your help in this if you ever stop around again.” I spun on my heel and stomped back the way I came.
Marching back along the warm pavement, I had a big old dose of what-the-fuck realisation over what I’d done. But it was too late now.
If I was to analyse myself, I could probably pick out that my reaction was a product of stress. Misdirected from the burden Mom’s care put on me and how I couldn’t cope with being everything for her. But dwelling on that would get me nowhere.
This was my life, and I couldn’t see it changing anytime soon.
Left alone, my mother wouldn’t take care of herself. I could get respite from her sister visiting, but Aunt Rebecca lived a four-hour drive away. It was all on me.
Back at the house, she was dozing off again, so I gently roused her and got her ready for bed. With her head on her pillow, she pressed my fingers and smiled, her eyes already closed.
I took my MacBook to my bedroom and made a nest in my quilt.
All day, the email from SpaceTechOne had been on my mind. As a test, I opened my drawing app, the last piece I’d been sketching half finished—a battle scene with dragons in the sky and a ravaged city underneath. If I won the internship, now would be my time to start work. It was closing in on nine PM, and I had three or four hours before I’d need to collapse in sleep.
I grabbed my stylus, an idea coming to mind. In the second third of the image, I’d left a space for another dragon, but instead, I found my fingers sketching a different shape. A helicopter, at odds with the fantasy style I’d been going for.
More like Maddock’s tattoo.
In neat swipes and swirls, I amended it into more of a steam punk image. Then in the cockpit, I had enough space to add the outline of a man with a shock of auburn hair, peering out at the fight he was winning.
Somewhere, a continent and an ocean away, Maddock was in a scene similar to this. Well, minus the city and mythical creatures. The more I thought about it, the more alarmed I became. Boy had skills, but helicopters were dangerous. Helicopters and storms…
I shivered, then saved my drawing and grabbed a quick jpeg. Transferring it into my phone, I added it to a message and sent it to Maddock.
Rory: Picturing you fighting dragons.
No reply immediately came, and I tapped my fingers on my leg. On autopilot, I scrolled through social media, then opened my banking app to yet again peer at the crazy sum it contained.
It had increased.
I went into the account details and read the last line entry.
“Interest added?” I muttered to myself. “You have to be freaking kidding me.”
Now I had an extra two grand on top of the money that wasn’t mine.
Over the past couple of weeks, while Mom was suffering, I hadn’t needed the stress, so I’d ignored it. With no leads from the bank or my school friends, I’d settled on being the custodian of the cash, waiting on the true owner to contact me.
“Who knew that a million would just sit there getting bigger all by itself,” I said into my dark bedroom.
Yet even the strange case of the mystery money couldn’t stop my mind from lingering on Maddock. He was meant to be finished by now. I’d taken my time over my sketch, and his time slot for calling had come and gone. It was now after midnight.
What if something had gone wrong? What if he’d been hurt? This was a training exercise, sure, but a wrong move would mean disaster so high above the ground. Oh shit, did lightning take out helicopters?
I sat up. How would I even find out if something had happened? I could contact Max, but did he even know Maddock was doing this tonight? Or had I made a mistake and he’d said tomorrow?
No. He was late. Missing. Fuck.
My heartbeat picked up, and I considered the different ways to find out about helicopter incidents in a whole other country.
My phone buzzed, Maddock’s name brilliant in the dark.
I yelped and swiped to answer. “You asshole. I thought you were dead.”
He was very much alive, and I needed like never before to blow the hot Scot’s mind.
