Dakota stopped by the baggage cart to see that his supplies had all made it over to McKayla’s plane, then they walked up the steps together to settle on her sleeping bag, where she’d eked out a little private space for herself toward the back of the plane by the toilet.
As the attendant turned off the lights and the teams settled into their sleeping bags, Rylee and Dakota ate in silence so their murmuring wouldn’t disturb anyone as they snuggled down with their pillows.
Soon, every single responder—be they from WorldCares or Cerberus—was sleeping.
“Get while the getting’s good” was the phrase that came to Rylee’s mind.
Once they landed, everyone would be hard at work saving lives.
Rylee was restless with all the changes of direction Amsterdam had revealed.
But now, as snores filled the cabin—K9 and human alike—Dakota took Rylee into his arms to cradle her and whispered into her hair. “I saw your face when you were on the phone inAmsterdam. Would you be comfortable telling me what’s going on?”
How much did she want to say here?
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Dakota to be supportive. It was more that she didn’t trust herself. It wasn’t a safe time to be vulnerable. You don’t go into a battle with your heart on your sleeve.
“I’m feeling emotional. I got some news from various sources. Some very good—a reprieve to be honest. Some things that give me hope. Some that have me on edge concerning this mission.”
He sat still and waited.
“I’m not ready to share yet. I’m still a bit shell-shocked.”
Dakota tightened his arms around her. “Silence? Talking? What could help?”
“We could talk.”
“I’d like to pick up on the conversation we were having over pizza at your house if you’re good with that as a topic.”
“Okay,” Rylee said.
“When I asked you about the wrong person, we dove into game theory, and I’m not sure I heard your answer.”
“The wrong person? Someone who sees me as unequal. Which isn’t quite right. There are things I do well and things I suck at. I would hopefully share some of the averages and the strengths with someone, but it would also be nice that where I fall short,” Rylee held out a palm to indicate Dakota, “play on words intended, that someone taller in that domain can you know—”
“Reach that shelf without straining and just hand it to you. Meanwhile, you're closer to the ground—”
“I can grab things from the lower cabinets and pass them up. I am not that short, by the way. I’m taller than the average woman. It’s just that you’re an outlier on the height chart. Betit sucked when you were three years old, and everyone thought you were seven.”
“Very immature for my age,” Dakota chuckled. “I have a ton of pictures of me up until I was about seven or so, when I was wearing shirts Mom made for me with iron-on decals that said, ‘Big for his age.’ ‘He’s only 3.’”
“Clever woman.”
“She is. I like to think that I got her pragmatic, find-a-problem, find-a-solution kind of thinking.”
“Because your dad?”
“Dad’s a band-aid kind of guy,” Dakota said, his tone low and private. “He’ll slap a quick fix on things if absolutely necessary and then move on to do the things that caught his attention next. He’s very busy in his head. He likes a good chair and his pile of books over anything. Our lives were run on a strict schedule by my mom, who made lists for lists.”
“Yes, that’s what I don’t want. There’s a term for it.”
“Micro-managing?” Dakota offered.
“Hey,” Rylee said, “I micro-manage for my job. It saves lives.”
“You’re co-director of an international NGO,” Dakota corrected. “You’ve got to be amazing at the details.”
“I am, actually. And there are two women, me and Neesa, who share the role. And some people might think, ‘Yes, every woman I know micro-manages her household. She knows where everything is, what needs to be done, she’s got it all figured out, and the dad shows up as if that is his only role.”
