“I have to go,” I say. “Love you.”
“Love you, too, sweetheart.”
I end the call.
“Your mom?” Miles disconnects his seatbelt.
While we worked side by side the past two days, we didn’t talk all that much.
Instead, Carly invaded my thoughts. The way she looked outside the bar as she rocked her hips onto my fingers. The feel of her hand clenching my wrist. How her eyes closed halfway as she was about to come. How I wanted to get her there, and did just that at the spring. I pushed her over and she was fucking gorgeous.
I let go of my dick-hardening thoughts of Carly and focus back on Miles’s question. “Yeah. She’s got MS and I worry, being so far away.”
“She okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah, it’s in the early stages, but she can’t fly any longer.”
“She a pilot, too?” Chance takes off his sunglasses and tosses them on the dash.
“She started the seaplane company. Had to support herself—and me—after dear old Dad dumped her. She took all the flights when I was a kid. I got my pilot’s license the second I was old enough and I’ve been working beside her ever since. I took over all the routes when she was grounded last year.”
And the bills. And all the other shit.
“Now you’re not there,” Chance says.
“Nothing gets by you, does it? Now I’m not there. But she’s hanging in there. So’s the business with a guy who’s filling in for me on the routes.” For now, anyway.
“Sounds like your mom’s a badass,” Miles runs a hand over his scruffy jaw. “And our father’s a dick.”
“No shit.”
Chance grabs his Stetson from the center console, opens his door but doesn’t climb out until he says, “Our father was a dick.”
I meet Miles’s gaze after that truth bomb. Chance hasn’t shared his feelings about anything other than Carly Vance. I assumed he’s just a cranky fucker, but it seems there’s more to it than two half brothers taking his hard-earned money.
I hop out and catch up to Chance on the sidewalk. “You lived with the guy. I thought you two were—”
Chance tips his head my way. “Close? Best buds?”
Miles is right on our heels.
“You two don’t know shit,” Chance snaps.
“Fine,” Miles cuts in. “Then tell fucking tell us. You lost your dad. Regardless of what we think of him, I’m sure it’s hard.”
Chance laughs, but it’s clear he’s not amused.
“Is it about the money then?” I ask.
Chance stops on the sidewalk and crosses his arms. “You think I care that you two take a cut? What the fuck am I going to do with three billiondollars?”
Donate it to charity? Pay off small business debts and buy a fleet of seaplanes? Pay for multiple sclerosis drugs and treatment programs?
“If it’s not that,” Miles says, “then what the hell crawled up your butt and died? I mean, are you cranky all the fucking time?”
Chance starts walking again and his long gait eats up the distance to the bar, but he slows. “Shit.”
Miles and I look around. “What?”