Tam's explosive Gaelic curse makes me hold the mobile away from my ear."Have ye gone completely mental, Kirk?That man has people disappeared for looking at him sideways."
"It's handled," I assure him, starting toward my motorcycle.I know what I'm doing."
"No, ye don't," Tam states matter-of-factly."Nobody ever does with the MacWraiths."
I swing my leg over my bike, feeling the familiar comfort of the machine beneath me."I need this, brother.It's the only way to clear Kenny's name and maybe mine in the process."
"And what good is a cleared name if you're dead at the bottom of a cliff?"The worry in his voice is evident.Tam's always been the sensible one of us Balfours.
"Look, I'll come by the bakery in the morning before I head out."I start the engine, letting its powerful rumble fill the silence between us."You can fuss over me then."
"Kirk---"
"Dinnae say it," I cut him off."I'm forty-two years old.I've been jumping off things ever since I was old enough to climb them.This is just another stunt."
"This is MacWraith."Tam's voice drops to a harsh whisper."He doesnae want a stunt man.He wants a fall guy."
My brother's words hit me hard, but I can't let that stop me.I rev the engine a bit louder to drown out the misgivings creeping into my mind."I'll see ye in the morning.Have a fresh bannock waiting.Might be my last meal."
"That's not funny, Kirk."
"Wasn't meant to be."I end the call before he can lecture me some more, and tuck the mobile away.
The ride back to my flat is a blur of streetlights and cold air that seeps into my bones.I am not anxious.I've done stunts far more dangerous than this one and came away without a scratch.I've been practicing the Beann Dealgach stunt for three weeks, and I know I'm ready for it.Or maybe that's wishful thinking.Either way, I cannae let down a mate whose life is literally on the line.
By the time I get home, I'm knackered.My flat greets me with the familiar emptiness that's become my constant companion.I flick on the lights, revealing the sparse furnishings and the wall covered in photos and newspaper clippings that serve as the only real evidence of a career that once soared higher than any mountain I've jumped from.
I toss my keys on the counter and head straight for the cabinet where I keep my liquid courage.The bottle of Thane Black Label I keep on hand---a gift from the distillery owner, Thane Buchanan, after I did that promotional stunt for his company last year.The bottle is nearly empty.I pour what's left into a tumbler and knock it back, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat.
My wingsuit hangs in the corner of my bedroom like a giant sleeping bat, the worn fabric a testament to all the times it's carried me safely to the ground.I run my fingers over the patches and repairs, each one a memory of a jump that pushed me to the limits of my abilities.Tomorrow's stunt will test those limits more than any other I've attempted.
"Sod it," I mutter, pulling down the wingsuit and laying it out on my bed.I need to double-check every seam, every connection point.No room for error when I'm hurtling through the air with nothing but fabric between me and oblivion.
No matter what happens tomorrow, I will never let a mate down or leave him hanging.Never.My code of honor won't allow it.
Heaven help me, I pray I'm doing the right thing.
Chapter One
Gretchen
"Okay, I can do that," I assure my client as sweat begins to dribble down my temples and my hands grow clammy.Instead of making lame excuses---like my computer went crazy this morning---I take the high road and admit the truth."I overbooked accidentally, but I swear I'll get everything you asked for done by six p.m.That'll get you up to speed in plenty of time."
My client, Mr.Jameson, sighs heavily through the phone.I can practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose on the other end of the line."Gretchen, this is the third time this month.I need reliability."
"I understand completely," I tell him while frantically clicking through files on my second monitor."And I promise this won't happen again.The presentation will knock your socks off, I promise."
The second he hangs up, I let my head fall onto my keyboard with a thunk.Another disaster narrowly averted, or at least postponed until six p.m.this evening.I lift my head and glance at the clock.11:47 a.m.That gives me just over six hours to complete what should have been a two-day project.Nothing like a teeny bit of pressure to get the creative juices flowing.
My phone pings with a text from my roommate, Heather.Needing a roommate when I'm thirty-two years old makes me feel like a loser, though Heather is twenty-seven but acts much younger.Having a string of failed relationships doesn't help either.
The text comes with a signature Heather emoji explosion:??????GURL!Have you SEEN what the hottie from 4B posted on Insta???Dead.I'm literally deceased.Call the funeral home.??"
I roll my eyes but can't help smiling.Heather's dramatics are exactly the thirty-second break my anxiety needs right now.I type back:Can't look now.Drowning in work.Tell me at dinner?"
Three dancing dots appear immediately.Dude with the abs and the full beard.Hiking shirtless.I CANNOT.??
Great.Now I'm distracted thinking about our neighbor who moved in last month.The guy does have a great body, but I've never been a fan of bushy beards.Kissing a man like that would chafe my skin red.Still, I might give it a try.It's been months since I had a date, much less hot sex.Or any kind of sex.At least Heather always manages to make smile.And get frazzled at the same time.
