Right Here Waiting (eBook)

$2.99
158 pages | eBook | 6x9"
Date of publication: 11/14/2014
  • ISBN: 978-1-941984-12-3
  • Model: 31227 words

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Heat Rating: 3 Flames

 

Captain Marc LaCroix's career as pilot in the Air Force is over and he's not looking forward to a life of being alone. That is until he gets home and sees just how grown up his best friend Paul Kane has become.

Captain Marc LaCroix's career as pilot in the Air Force ends because of a creep with a surface to air missile. With a leg amputated below the knee, Marc comes home to what he expects to be a miserable, lonely existence. What he didn't count on is his best friend, Paul Kane, and the way his body would react to Paul's sizzling eyes and kisses.

Paul has been in love with Marc since they were kids. Afraid confessing his feelings would ruin their friendship, Paul stayed in the background, playing the supportive best friend all through the many years Marc has been away. Then Marc returns, sexier than he left, and all those old feelings become new again. But will Paul's fear ruin it before it even begins?

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Marc LaCroix tried relaxing with his tattered headphones wrapped over the top of his head and his old CD player resting between his thighs. He'd tried using one of those fancy, new iPod things, but after managing to delete his tracks four times in one week, he gave up and exchanged it with another pilot for the CD player. Yes, this suited him better.

With "Easy" by The Commodores blasting in his ears, Marc eased his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. He was a tad uneasy since having someone else fly him around was strange to him. Normally he was the one behind the sticks, but his days of piloting anything were over because of some creep with a surface-to-air missile. The memory caused his fingers to tighten and he groaned. His right leg was beginning to go numb and what remained of his left leg was throbbing. He pressed his eyes closed tighter, hoping against hope that would help alleviate the pain and anxiety he was feeling.

It didn't work.

Someone poked him and he lifted his head to see one of the hostesses smiling at him. She was pretty, with dark red hair, bright green eyes and a proud nose. Her lips didn't have lipstick like all the others, but a light sheen of lip gloss. Marc liked that better--she looked real. He removed the headphones. "Yes?"

"Would you like something to drink? Something to eat? We have turkey sandwiches, ham, egg--if you're not feeling any of those, we also have salads..."

"What kind of salads?"

"Greek." She looked around as if about to pull in him into a conspiracy. "Well, that's the one I would recommend," she whispered.

Marc couldn't help smiling. "I'll take one of those with some water."

She nodded and while she gathered what he requested, he placed the headphones in his lap and lowered the tray before him. She set his meal on it, along with a plastic fork and a small baggie of what looked to be salad dressing. Alone again, he ate some of the salad but didn't quite like the taste of the dressing, so he re-covered the container and drank the water before returning to his music. "Flesh" by Simon Curtis blared into his head. That wouldn't be his first choice of music but one of his fellow pilots thought he needed a little sex in his life. The song was raunchy enough but after about a minute, he tuned it out and went back to thinking of what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

The more minutes ticked away, the less and less he was even listening to the music. One song changed to another and he only realized when everything went silent before the intro to another song started. There were so many things to think about, so many decisions to make... His head began hurting.

To alleviate the pain, he sat up and removed the headphones. Tenderly, he turned the player off, wrapped the headphone's cords around the player and shoved it into the bag he had sitting between his legs. Just then, the pilot's voice came over the speakers saying they were getting ready for their descent into Toronto's Pearson International Airport. Marc reached for his seatbelt straps and pulled them into place across his lap then massaged his left thigh while watching the hostesses and the lone host, walked through the aisles, ensuring everyone had their trays up and seatbelts on.

A part of him couldn't contain his excitement. Perhaps it was the part that was in sympathy with his aching muscles. He wasn't quite sure. The other part of him wanted the flight to go on. That part of him was afraid of being alone again--back to no family to speak of since both his parents had long since died. The pilot babbled about the summer weather hitting Toronto, welcoming Torontonians home, and wishing visitors a fun and safe trip. Marc barely heard most of what was said but he got the gist of it.

By the time the wheels touched the runway, Marc wanted to climb over everyone to get off the airplane. The urge to stretch his body was overwhelming. Still, due to his disability, he was forced to wait again as everyone else gathered their things and left. He wanted to roll his eyes like an insolent child but spent the time sliding into his prosthetic sock then covered that with a pair of Toronto Maple Leafs socks his best friend Paul had sent him a while back. Taking a breath, he then grabbed his prosthetic leg from where it lay beneath the seat and slid his stump in until there was a soft sound of the pins clicking into place.

Once that was done, Marc pulled his uniform pant leg down over it, swallowed the ache in his heart and looked around him.

"Captain?"

Marc turned and smiled at the woman with the bright eyes. "Yes?"

"Would you like some assistance?"

He shook his head while easing from where he'd been sitting. "I'll be fine. Thank you," Marc replied, holding on to the seat to stabilize himself.

"Welcome home, sir." Her voice cracked and he could see her eyes beginning to tear. He stood and hugged her tightly.

"Don't do that--don't cry."

"It's strange. I don't know you but I am happy you're home. I swear they are not tears of pity but tears of joy that we don't have to add another to the tally of men and women we lost over there. So, welcome home."

"Thank you," Marc told her, rubbing her back then stepping away. He looked down into her eyes for a moment longer then reached for his bag, which he strapped over his shoulder, and his duffle that he held in his right hand. When he turned his attention back to her, she had a tear rolling down her cheek, so he used a large finger to catch it. With a final smile, he turned and walked toward the exit.

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About Remmy Duchene:
Fireborn Publishing Main Page

Born on the island of Jamaica, Remmy Duchene began writing at a very young age. She now lives in Canada where she spends most of her time free time, when not writing or working the EDJ, with family, taking pictures, looking for the next sin-spiration and trying desperately to cook the next great dish.

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email: remmy.duchene@gmail.com

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