Surviving Alaska by P.A. DePaul

Author:P.A. DePaul
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2022-12-15T16:30:10+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Ian had no clue what to do. Did he ask if she was okay? Of course she wasn’t. Who would be? But that was the polite response, wasn’t it? Not saying anything could be conceived as callous, right? He was the worst at providing comfort. His ex-fiancée complained about his obtuseness and habit of trying to fix everything instead of listening.

Well. He had listened to Natasha’s horrific story. Now what?

He shifted to relieve the ache in his shoulder. It didn’t work. His physique wasn’t made for this tiny space. He felt like a discarded pretzel, rotting on the floor. His clothes weren’t sopping, but they weren’t dry either. At the rate he was going, he’d start molding to add a fresh, fun layer of misery.

Something jabbed the top of his head and he swiped at it. A piece of plastic, most likely from the instrument panel, disappeared beneath the pilot seat. Grief shot through him, but nothing else. Natasha’s nightmare cured him of any lingering remnants of anger and betrayal. If he were in her shoes, he probably would’ve done the same thing.

“I, uh, found this.” He let go of her shoulder and slapped the metal floor, searching for...gotcha. “The Mafia missed it when they cleaned us out.”

The twenty-ounce water bottle crinkled as he lifted it like an offering. “I, um, already had some.” He couldn’t help himself. When his shin discovered it the hard way, he fell on it like a lost man in a desert finding an oasis.

“What?”

He cringed at her husky, dry voice. It sounded so painful.

In the absolute darkness, it took him two tries to fit the bottle into her left hand. A soft cry rasped and he understood. He’d been beyond thirsty too.

“Hold it there,” he instructed, letting go. “I’ll twist the cap off.” The moment he did, clothing rustled, then chugging.

The luminous hands on his watch were almost too faded to read. He squinted and found over six hours had passed since he sheltered them in the plane. Dawn was on the cusp, only an hour or so away. He doubted they’d see sunlight. The way the wind banged into the remnants of the Cessna, the back edge of the storm still blanketed the area. At least the rain and sleet had stopped.

“Thank you.”

Natasha’s soft words broke into his wandering thoughts. His pounding headache had lessoned but not disappeared. He blamed most of it on the concussion, but he was starving and still dehydrated. Those factors didn’t help.

He bit his chapped lip. The water had absorbed into more important organs and areas than his lips. Nightmares still lingered, only he was the one trapped in the pink, hardening foam instead of Natasha. “Can I ask a question?”

He could feel her tense. “I don’t mean to be insensitive,” he forged ahead, “but I can’t stop thinking about what you went through.”

Stillness above him.

“How did the foam nozzles end up in the vestibule?” His scratchy voice bounced around the fuselage.

A long breath blew out of her.

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