Swap Out (23 page)

“Can I at least try to explain something?” she asks, and I wait. “Those nightmares…it’s not me that gets hurt.” She takes a deep breath, then says, ashamed, “
You die
, Luca. In all of them. And no matter what I do, I can’t stop it.”

I turn and look at her, and she moves back a step.

“
I
kill you,” she whispers, her face twisted as though she’s in pain. “It’s like I’m possessed or something and no matter how much I scream no, I still do it. I still pull the trigger.”

I blink and shake my head, falling back against the side of my car.

“I can’t…” I trail off, totally dumbfounded.

“I’m not
trying
to hurt you,” Zoe says and I look up at her, my eyes drawn by the pure sincerity of her voice. “And I know I’ve said a lot of things, done a lot of things, and I don’t know why I sabotage this constantly because I know it’s not fair to you… But I’m
sorry
for that and I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I would never do that, Luca. Please, believe me.”

“Zoe,” I breathe, everything in me slipping and sliding until it forms a new color. “Do you know why you kill me?”

She shakes her head, and I nod.

Slowly, I straighten, and when I step towards her, she doesn’t move away. I brush the back of my knuckles over her cheek, cupping her face in my palm before I bend to her lips and tenderly kiss her. It’s only a moment but it’s enough to tell me everything, and I lean my forehead to hers, breathing her in and letting it overflow my body and clot the wounds until nothing hurts anymore. Then with a single sweep of my thumb over her skin, I turn and go back to my car.

“You’re not going to tell me?” she asks when I open my door, and I swallow before looking back at her.

“You kill me because you’re afraid.”

She hugs her arms around herself, and I shrug.

“You kill me…because you love me.”

She sucks in a breath and I get in my car, shutting the door and starting the engine. I reach my right arm around the passenger headrest, looking over my shoulder as I back out of her driveway. And when I shift into first gear and then pull forward, I don’t look back.

She wouldn’t want me to see it: her realization that I’m right.

I head into Zoe’s house, following the sounds of her in the kitchen.

“Luca?” she calls out.

“Yeah.”

I pause and return to the door to take off my boots because I forgot, then walk into the kitchen and lean against the archway, watching her move around with her back to me.

“You’re late,” she says playfully. “And I was
starving
so I went ahead and started cooking without you but it should be—is that blood on your shirt?”

Her eyes are wide in alarm as she stares at me over her shoulder, and when I look…yep, there’s definitely blood. Great.

“It’s fine,” I mutter, but Zoe still rushes over, her fingertips scanning my face and chest and arms like I’m hiding some massive injury.

“Are you hurt?” she whispers, her hands trembling, and I shake my head.

“Scott’s got a…headache, so they’re keeping him overnight at the hospital. No big deal.”

“A headache?” she asks suspiciously, and I clear my throat.

“Where’s—”

“She went home. What happened to Scott?”

“Nothing it was…shit got a little screwed up with the jump and he got a minor concussion and—”

“A
concussion
?” she damn near shrieks, and I wince. “I thought you said this was safe!”

“
Minor
concussion, Zoe. And it is safe but it’s like…falling off your bike. It happens, and it’s not a big deal.”

I walk exhaustedly over to the kitchen table, sitting down with a sigh.

“This isn’t a bicycle,” she says as she stops in front of me. “This is a
plane
you’re jumping out of.”

I groan and pinch her shirt to pull her forward, wrapping my arms around her waist and laying my head on her stomach. She squirms uncomfortably because I’m not allowed to do this, not permitted to acknowledge or show any affection to my kid.

But she can suck it up for five minutes and get over it.

“Luca…”

“Gimme a break, I had a bad day,” I mutter, and she blows out a breath before her hand cups the back of my head. “How are you?”

“I’m worried and wondering why you won’t tell me what happened.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out, my eyes rolling when I see Scott is texting me.

“Is that him?” Zoe asks, and I nod.

So much for my next career as a secret agent. Check out ABC4…

I look up at Zoe and her eyes widen like she must have read the text over my shoulder, then she rushes into the living room.

“Zoe, don’t,” I plead, but she still turns on the TV to the local news station and I stop beside her, my mouth gaping and temper flaring when I see what they’re showing. “For fuck’s sake! Isn’t there crime to report?”

“Shut up,” she snaps, then turns up the volume so the voice of the reporter comes in loud and clear.

“I’m standing here at the site where earlier today, many witnessed an event that could only be described as a daring act of heroism when what began as a training exercise in Accelerated Freefall quickly spun out of control.”

“Zoe, turn this crap off. Let’s go eat.”

“This is you?”

“I…it could be anybody,” I fumble, and she huffs and turns back to the screen.

“We have for you a video that captures the turn of events, taken by a bystander who was gracious enough to share it with us, and you.”

Oh. Fuck.

“Now, as you can see in the video,”
the reporter says when it takes over the screen,
“the three men jumped from the plane at approximately 12,000 feet above ground level. Conditions were clear and the exercise was on track to be successful. The purpose is for one student, accompanied by two instructors, to experience the sensation of falling until their parachute is deployed at roughly 6,000 feet. As you can see, one of the two instructors is holding onto the student as part of the ‘Harness Hold Training’ until the student is in a steady and safe position to deploy.”

I scrub a hand over my face when the video zooms in on the yellow canopy, billowing up and out as Scott and I break away before my blue main opens, then his red one.

“Just as we’re seeing, once the student has safely deployed, the instructors will then follow suit and deploy their own parachutes, ensuring all three have a smooth ride back to their loved ones.”

Oh they just had to throw that shit in there. Fantastic.

“But today, just when everything seemed to be going right, that’s when it quickly became a test of time for one of the jumpers. As you watch along with me, we can see the student in yellow, and the two instructors: one in red, one in blue. Now watch closely…”

I cross my arms and press my fist to my mouth. The video slows down and zooms in on the guy we were training, Jake, showing him steady and vertical before he loses control, banks and drops out of fucking nowhere, then collides with Scott.

Zoe jumps and gasps as they rewind and show it
again
, in slow motion, because once was obviously not enough. Assholes. But this time they let it run so you can see Scott limp and spinning from the force of the impact, his cords twisting as Jake just sails away.

“We’re going to pause here for a moment,”
the reporter says, her voice grave as the video stills.
“Before we go any further we do wish to inform our viewers that everyone walked away from the incident, and while extraordinarily thankful for the lives saved, local instructors have requested we make clear that what follows is neither taught nor sanctioned when it comes to aerial safety. The two instructors are highly trained, and while we have not been allowed to obtain their names or reach them for comment, local jumpers have told us they are rumored to be ex-Air Force Specialists, part of an elite group of combat search and rescue entitled Pararescue. That name takes on a whole new meaning when we see what happens next.”

“God, they just…” I grit out, gesturing angrily, and Zoe grabs my hand, squeezing it tight.

“Now, watching the instructor that is slightly above in blue, you can see him surveying the situation. The student in yellow is back under control, but the first instructor in red—angled down and to the right of our screen—appears to be unconscious and the cords of his parachute tangled. Let’s slow the video down and then we’ll show it to you again at full speed.”

I sneak a peek at Zoe and she’s breathing hard, and if this gives her an anxiety attack I’m going to lose my shit at so many people it’ll be sure to make the top story again tomorrow.

“As we watch, the instructor in blue performs what is known as a ‘cut away,’ releasing himself from his parachute. As it drifts away from him and with the ground quickly approaching, he dives toward the other instructor in a maneuver known as ‘freeflying,’ angling his head down and tucking in his arms and legs to maximize his aerial speed. And despite reaching speeds of up to two hundred miles per hour, somehow he manages to make contact with his partner and hold on. Local instructors on the ground have relayed that never before have they seen this done and that the likelihood of this working is beyond comprehension. In short, it is nothing less than a miracle complemented by years of training and a refusal to accept any other outcome when it came to saving the life of his partner.

“As we continue to watch along with you, we can see the two men are joined in the air only for a moment, the instructor in blue no doubt riddled with panic as they spin wildly and he grapples for control, all while his partner appears to remain unconscious. But in the midst of their descent, the red parachute is the next to be cut away and amazingly, in fewer than a few precious seconds they are steady and in prime position for an emergency parachute deployment. The instructor then pulls to release his partner’s second, or reserve, parachute—which we see expanding in white—before he obtains a safe distance prior to deploying his own reserve.”

“Oh my God,” Zoe whispers, the remote slipping out of her hand and thunking on the floor as she covers her mouth, her gaze locked on the screen as they show it at full speed.

“While we watch as the three men float safely back to the ground, we can see the instructor—originally in red—regain consciousness, and most likely wracked with confusion over the events that took place to bring about the deployment of his safety reserve. But thankfully, he’s alert in plenty of time to maneuver for a safe landing.”

“That’s quite an amazing story,”
a man’s voice says, and the video disappears into a split screen of the reporter at the landing site and another in a studio. “
Samantha, I know you said earlier that they all walked away, which is nothing short of incredible, but is there any word of injuries due to the collision?
”

“None that appeared to be serious, John. Bystanders say the two instructors were quick to depart, going to recover their main parachutes from where they had fallen a distance away and refusing to comment about the incident. One witness described the instructor who was knocked unconscious as having a bloody nose, but that was all. I would wager he feels it a small price to pay for walking away with his life.”

I pull my hand away from Zoe’s and bend down, grabbing the remote and shutting off the TV. I toss it onto the couch and turn to see her shaking, her hand still clasped to her mouth as tears streak down her cheeks, and I shake my head, stalking off while muttering, “I’m going to take a shower.”

*              *              *

My eyes fly open, my body gasping for breath as I find a point to stare at in the darkness, focusing on the ceiling of Zoe’s bedroom. I try to get myself under control, pushing away the nightmares of the day and the past, then I remember I’m living in another one.

She didn’t say a word to me the rest of the night. I took a shower and came out to find her sitting dead still at the table, her hands folded in her lap with a plate in front of her and another set out for me. I sat and we ate, then she got up and harshly set the dish in the sink before going to bed.

I debated leaving, knowing how pissed off she is, but I just…I needed to be close to her after this afternoon. I needed to know she was safe. So I went and laid down, her back to me and clearly not asleep, but I still didn’t say anything. The last thing I wanted was to fight, and I wouldn’t have had the energy regardless.

I glance over at Zoe to see if I accidentally woke her, but her breaths are steady. Something in me softens and aches when I realize I haven’t kissed her since last night when I left. It wasn’t long ago that I wasn’t kissing her at all, but now… I turn onto my side, my hand settling gently on her shoulder as I lean in and my lips brush the back of her neck, and Zoe suddenly scoffs and angrily throws back the covers, getting out of bed.

My eyes widen in surprise as she stomps out of the bedroom, seeing the drape of light fall like she must’ve flipped on the overhead in the kitchen. One moment, one moment to know what I’m going to have to do before I curse and get up and follow after her: finding her sitting at the table with her elbows on the wood, her head in her hands.

I calmly sit next to her, my cheek resting on my fist.

“I don’t…” she trails off. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“The beginning is usually—” I cut off when her hands fall to the table, eyes narrowed. “I’ll feel free to shut up now.”

She scowls, and I sigh, just waiting. But instead of yelling, she stays quiet and her eyes begin to water. I reach over to take her hand, and she snatches it away.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she hisses. She shakes her head sharply, then sits back in her seat, arms crossed. “Never mind. I know what you were thinking.”

I’m going to stay quiet.

I’m going—

“And what was I thinking?”

“That it didn’t matter if you died.”

My mouth opens, then I snap it shut.

She leans forward. “I understand the risk junkie thing. With your mom and everything you’ve worked to overcome, and being alone your whole life… And I understand that to a certain extent, you can’t help but to be stupid and irresponsible.”

“You don’t know—”

“Quiet,” she bites off. “I know plenty. I know you’ve been arrested more than once since you’ve been out of the military for BASE jumping inside major cities and bungee jumping off restricted bridges and a host of other insane crap. And I know this not because you cared to
tell me
,” she says harshly, “but because Tori is a cop.”

I swallow, and she tilts her head at me.

“I would know more, but your records from DCFS
[2]
are sealed.”

My eyes bulge. “What the hell are you doing trying to get my foster care records? You have no fucking business—”

“I was trying to find Starr!”

My fist drops to the table with a thud.

There’s no way I just heard that.

I blink and shake my head, then ask hesitantly, “Did you find her?”

When you age out of foster care, your entire history gets sealed in a cement folder and locked in a filing cabinet and the key fed to some metaphorical alligator. It all has something to do with court cases that involve a minor child and blah blah blah, but the thing is…there are people that touch your life, and then one day, they disappear. And it’s not always because of a fight or a falling out, but more often than not, you just lose touch. And there’s no way Zoe could know this, but after I moved back into the group home, I wrote Starr a letter. I just wanted to see how she was, to know she was okay. To let her know I was okay. But it came back undelivered.