much, how long, what times? And what hours could she schedule volunteering? Because she worked, often more than the 40 hours a week full time.
The girl on the phone, Gemma, gave her directions, emailed her a link to a video, emailed her links to the games, explained training in such detail Taylor thought she could skip the training and still do just fine, and explained everything with such loving detail Taylor vacillated between feeling this was a good decision and fearing she'd simply somehow gotten the founder on the phone.
Founders were bound to be happy about volunteers. Right?
"Can you come down on Friday?" the girl asked. "There's training late afternoon, starting at 4:30, over by 6:00."
"On a Friday night?" Not that she had other plans, but it seemed presumptuous of whoever scheduled it.
"I know, right? But it's over early. Can I schedule you?"
Of course she could.
Wasn't like Taylor had other plans.
Maybe this was the first step in changing them.
Chapter Eight
T he week following the Palomar National Forest fire Tanner overhauled the chopper, cleaning and oiling and checking every last detail. Military had their own specialists for helicopter care, but now that they were civilians, the DIY aspect meant not relying on any outsiders.
He hit the gym consistently, struggling to get his bench press back up to where it had been, then working his shoulder until instead of feeling more fluid and more like his old shoulder it began to ache and burn with a sullen intensity that made him expect to see steam curling up for it. He began favoring the damn thing while he worked with Jake on the Vegas demolitions contract, Knox with a building fire and Mike, when he reappeared, with a water rescue. Mike made diving look more natural than walking. He was like an otter or something, more at home in the water than on land.
Mike was the one who called Tanner on his shoulder.
"It's loosening up," Tanner said, ignoring the four Advil that had yet to detonate in his stomach – they were probably all still pill shaped.
"It's not loosening up, and you know it. It's stiff and unresponsive and still injured."
"I've got it handled, bro," he said, starting to walk away and Mike shot a hand out and grabbed him by the shoulder.
That shoulder.
Tanner dropped nearly all the way to his knees. "Look, ass hat – "
"Nah uh," Mike said. "I get you don't want to deal with it. Just imagine it froze up on you mid-rescue. You want to do that to someone who thinks they're on the verge of getting out of some disaster alive? How 'bout your former team members, now your business partners and friends?"
Well, fuck.
Mike met his gaze head on. Tall, sandy haired and blue eyed, he had deceptively lanky limbs that were actually more muscled than the rest of them combined, he came from a career military family where everyone seemed to learn how to ask the hard questions without blinking and then wait for an answer.
"All right, all right. What do you think I should do. Another surgery?"
Mikey seriously considered the question, then said, "I think you go back to PT, boss." He held his hands up without bothering to learn if Tanner was objecting to the content of his speech or to the word "boss." "I know, you tried it. Results not good. Progress slow. I get it. Frustrating. I've been there too. All I'm saying's you're not getting over it on your own. Maybe you're hurting it with the weights. Six weeks of – " and here he got a glint in his ocean blue eyes, and looked devilish with his carefully groomed goatee framing his smile – "Desk jockeying is preferable to being out of the game permanently."
"Six weeks on the desk. You're killing me."
"Yeah, I know. Better me than some desperate client who scales you like a sequoia and takes you down with her."
Tanner was still trying to figure out the analogy when Mike fired up his Harley and was out of there, MIA again for a week.
At the end of the week he came back and looked pointedly at Tanner, who
The girl on the phone, Gemma, gave her directions, emailed her a link to a video, emailed her links to the games, explained training in such detail Taylor thought she could skip the training and still do just fine, and explained everything with such loving detail Taylor vacillated between feeling this was a good decision and fearing she'd simply somehow gotten the founder on the phone.
Founders were bound to be happy about volunteers. Right?
"Can you come down on Friday?" the girl asked. "There's training late afternoon, starting at 4:30, over by 6:00."
"On a Friday night?" Not that she had other plans, but it seemed presumptuous of whoever scheduled it.
"I know, right? But it's over early. Can I schedule you?"
Of course she could.
Wasn't like Taylor had other plans.
Maybe this was the first step in changing them.
Chapter Eight
T he week following the Palomar National Forest fire Tanner overhauled the chopper, cleaning and oiling and checking every last detail. Military had their own specialists for helicopter care, but now that they were civilians, the DIY aspect meant not relying on any outsiders.
He hit the gym consistently, struggling to get his bench press back up to where it had been, then working his shoulder until instead of feeling more fluid and more like his old shoulder it began to ache and burn with a sullen intensity that made him expect to see steam curling up for it. He began favoring the damn thing while he worked with Jake on the Vegas demolitions contract, Knox with a building fire and Mike, when he reappeared, with a water rescue. Mike made diving look more natural than walking. He was like an otter or something, more at home in the water than on land.
Mike was the one who called Tanner on his shoulder.
"It's loosening up," Tanner said, ignoring the four Advil that had yet to detonate in his stomach – they were probably all still pill shaped.
"It's not loosening up, and you know it. It's stiff and unresponsive and still injured."
"I've got it handled, bro," he said, starting to walk away and Mike shot a hand out and grabbed him by the shoulder.
That shoulder.
Tanner dropped nearly all the way to his knees. "Look, ass hat – "
"Nah uh," Mike said. "I get you don't want to deal with it. Just imagine it froze up on you mid-rescue. You want to do that to someone who thinks they're on the verge of getting out of some disaster alive? How 'bout your former team members, now your business partners and friends?"
Well, fuck.
Mike met his gaze head on. Tall, sandy haired and blue eyed, he had deceptively lanky limbs that were actually more muscled than the rest of them combined, he came from a career military family where everyone seemed to learn how to ask the hard questions without blinking and then wait for an answer.
"All right, all right. What do you think I should do. Another surgery?"
Mikey seriously considered the question, then said, "I think you go back to PT, boss." He held his hands up without bothering to learn if Tanner was objecting to the content of his speech or to the word "boss." "I know, you tried it. Results not good. Progress slow. I get it. Frustrating. I've been there too. All I'm saying's you're not getting over it on your own. Maybe you're hurting it with the weights. Six weeks of – " and here he got a glint in his ocean blue eyes, and looked devilish with his carefully groomed goatee framing his smile – "Desk jockeying is preferable to being out of the game permanently."
"Six weeks on the desk. You're killing me."
"Yeah, I know. Better me than some desperate client who scales you like a sequoia and takes you down with her."
Tanner was still trying to figure out the analogy when Mike fired up his Harley and was out of there, MIA again for a week.
At the end of the week he came back and looked pointedly at Tanner, who
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