Catching Preeya (Paradise South Book 3) (8 page)

“Yeah…you?”

“Yeah. But I wonder if my youngest would be better off not knowing the whens and wheres?” Amanda pursed her lips. “On my last off days, she snuck into bed with us—nightmares of me…not coming home.”

“Yeah, it’s hard when you’re little.” Preeya hid the chills shimmying up her back, then cleared her throat.

“It’s hard for my oldest baby, too—”

“Renee?”

“No, she’s fifteen—could care less. I mean Brad. He’s getting fed up with my being gone. Beyond his cock and the kids, I think he genuinely misses me.” Amanda’s brows danced, then transitioned into an empathetic smile.

Marriage was not a topic she grasped, so Preeya steered back around. “Prana doesn’t really get what I do, just that I’m not with
her
.” A different rippling chill hit her chest.

Guilt again.

Amanda patted Preeya’s leg. “Hey, that tall and
super-sexy
doctor…you know he’s with Doctors Without Borders? Modest as hell, too. I had to yank it out of him while he was standing back here…waiting for
you
.” Brows waggled with unwarranted excitement.

Preeya rolled her eyes. “How
humanitarian
of him…” Her annoyance level shot up a few more degrees.

“Wow, Pree. Bitter much? What’s your deal?”

“First off, did you see the way he was looking at me? Now I get it…hungry for the easy flight attendant before his stint in the third world?”

“I didn’t get that vibe from him at all—he even referred to you as the ‘beautiful attendant with the violet eyes.’ And he’d already let on that he knew your name.
Preeya
rolled off his tongue like a perfect tide…while he made love to you on the beach of his dreams.”

Preeya huffed at her friend and grit her teeth.

Amanda cracked up and slapped Preeya’s arm. “Seriously, though, Pree, he didn’t even tell me he was a doctor until five minutes into our obligatory chat while…he waited for you,
Violet Eyes
.” Amanda smirked.

“Yeah, I’m intentionally ignoring you now.” Preeya glanced at her phone—but she was unable to hold her tongue. “You know
I
know
doctors
. Between med school, Prana’s specialists, my dad—they’re all
money-driven
god complexes. This one”—she motioned up the aisle—“our tall MD in 7B”—with the eyes of damned sunset and liquid gold—“is the worst kind. The kind that doesn’t admit his true nature.”

Amanda shook her head.

“What?”

“You’re such a cynic, Pree.” Amanda laughed. “Not all of them can be bad. So your dad pays the bills by doing
tits-and
-ass enhancements.” Amanda flipped the page of her gossip magazine. “And plenty of doctors do good without money being their primary focus.”

Preeya leaned into Amanda, gawking at the gossip rag on her lap, and nudged Amanda with her shoulder. “See all those celebs—enhancements galore. Not just a few doctors make a
shit-ton
of money off of ’em. Hell, my dad’s even marrying one of those…those wax jobs. Tomorrow!”

Amanda sighed. “Oh, Preeya…” Which meant, “Accept it and move on.”

Amanda was right. She should accept her father’s
oh-so
-selfless path, and remember that she was her mother’s daughter—or, at least, aimed to be.

She sighed and put her attention back on her phone.

Her aunt’s voice message awaited.

“By the way,” Amanda piped up again, lifting her head from the rag, “where did you run off to last night? We missed you in the lobby lounge.”

“Oh, God, don’t ask.” She got goose bumps up and down her arms and rubbed them away as fast as they’d come. “Just really, don’t even ask.” And resumed her
last-minute
phone message retrieval.

“If you ask me, being done with Evan has got you nowhere fast, sweetie. Empty sex isn’t gonna fill the hole. Well, not figuratively, at least.” Amanda slapped her leg at her own joke. “We’re just not like the other girls, Pree, and we’re better for it…”

Funny.
That Amanda thought Preeya’d gone wild after ending it with Evan. The opposite was true. She hadn’t slept with anyone after rejecting the ring. Except now, with Josh, and again, that wild attempt failed wildly. And just because Amanda had a husband waiting at home didn’t mean that an anchor was necessary to keep Preeya grounded, sexually speaking. Anyway, like Dawn had pointed out that morning, the double standard shouldn’t be a thing anymore. But it was to Amanda, and Preeya didn’t feel she had to change anyone’s perspective or explain herself—well, except
to
herself.

“Well, I don’t believe that I did ask you.” She winked at Amanda and put her phone to her ear to listen to her first voice message before takeoff. “But for the record, last night was supposed to be…different and—”

“Hey, miss. Miss! I thought no cell phones allowed after the plane leaves the gate?” a
paper-thin
brunette with a
neon-pink
lipsticked scowl whined while attempting to pull the bathroom door open, though it clearly read Push.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Amanda cut in. “Please do return to your seat immediately and buckle up. You’ll have to wait to use the restroom until after we reach cruising altitude and the captain has turned—”

“A buncha hypocrites, all of you,” the woman grumbled, and moseyed back to her seat several rows up.

“Why? Why do we do this job again?” Amanda asked.

“Because…” Preeya pressed the number eight on her phone to repeat the message she’d missed. “We love flying these here
friendly
skies
.”

*

Two voice mail messages.

Amy had left an excited,
near-hyperventilating
report on “the absolute perfection” of the bridesmaid dresses, the weather in Vallarta, and of Darren, Amy’s
soon-to
-
be-husband
. Yes, the straitlaced,
sweet-as
-pie Darren James. Preeya smiled. Though she still had a small glint of angst over attending the event, she was absolutely glad for her friend.

But now on to the second voice mail.
Aunt Champa.

Preeya sneered through the entire
guilt-saddled
discourse for not having yet arrived in Berkeley for the “rehearsal brunch.”

Amanda tapped her leg again. “Hey, you okay?”

The plane picked up speed for takeoff and she quickly powered down her phone. “Yeah, of course.” She shrugged and smiled. “I’m fine.”

Totally
fine.

Family. Priorities.
Disappointment.
Just more of the same BS.

Aunt Champa had raised her since age seven. Which was when Preeya’s mother left, only months after Prana was born. Preeya’s father had to go into private practice—
full-time
to afford SafeHaven for Prana—which meant he had no time or energy to raise a growing
seven-year
-old.

So Preeya had been left with a replacement mother while her father all but vacated—he’d visit her on holidays and birthdays.
Thanks so much, Dad
.

And Aunt Champa? A wonderful mother figure—to her own damn daughter. Preeya’s cousin Asha was the same age as Preeya. Growing up, her aunt had done a pretty pathetic job at hiding her preference. The woman’s disdain for Preeya had been palpable, even—or especially—to a child.

But Preeya found ways around it. Mainly fleeing to the
across-the
-street neighbor’s house.
Gigi.
And her
then-weekly
visits to SafeHaven, to see Prana. She cringed at the memory, having to depend on
Gigi’s
father to take her to see her sister because Aunt Champa had been too busy—with Asha—to make the trip but once a month. She inhaled the cabin’s recycled air deep into her limited lungs in an attempt to filter out the limitless guilt—her sister, her baby sister, had been the forsaken soul here, the deserted one. Not Preeya.

She rubbed a kink from her shoulder, as if that would clear her thoughts, her shadows. She knew full well that seeing her sister, being there for her, was the only solution. She’d visit Berkeley next month. Then she’d read to Prana her favorite book, Shel Silverstein’s
The Giving Tree
, for the millionth time. She sighed into the slight relief settling into her shoulders and neck. Reading that book to her sister, seeing the
like-new
excitement in Prana’s eyes, always filled Preeya’s heart to the brim. That look Prana gave her, like everything her sister gave her, was exponentially more than Preeya could ever give back in return.

The plane lifted off. Mount Rainier showed her magnificence through the tiny cabin crew window, and Preeya nodded. A good final sight of Seattle. She pulled her book from her purse, the bookmark holding her place was a lilac envelope which held another picture Prana had drawn her. She slid it carefully to a back page and sighed as she began chapter four, entitled “Family Matters.” Yes, family matters, indeed.

CHAPTER 8

I
n the air
twenty minutes, Leena rang. And Preeya answered.

“I’m ready for service. You?”

“Yes, Leena, we’re all set,” Preeya said, just having finished going over the beverage stock on her cart.

“Before you take the cart out, do offer a real drink to that doctor who switched with the servicewoman. Courtesy of the airline.”

“Sure thing,” Preeya said hiding the grimace from her reply. Yes, she was being admittedly judgmental of the man, but with her asshole father on her brain, her
less-than
-kind attitude toward the
good doctor
crept up her spine.

She smiled and nodded her way up the aisle. Seventh row. Seat B. Yup, his knees were so high he couldn’t even put his tray table down. God, that sucked.

“Sorry to bother you, Dr. Trainer…”

“Oh, hello…Ben, Ben please…”

“Okay,
Ben
. Well, the airline would be honored if you’d accept an
in-flight
beverage—wine, champagne, a mixed drink?” She handed him a menu. “Whatever you’d like. A small
thank you
for your kind and noble gesture.” She laid it on thick, as thick as
artery-clogging
butter, but the alternative, quite the opposite, wouldn’t have been what Leena intended.

“Thank you so much, but no, I’d prefer not to drink any alcohol. The whole
doctor-on
-board thing. Just…safer.”

Of course.
“How responsible.”
And
self-important
.
“Then may I offer you a special meal instead? The sergeant will still get your
first-class
meal, but we always have additional elite guest meals. Today’s salmon or shrimp options are actually quite delicious,” she lied.

“Sure, yes, please. That would be nice…thanks so much, Preeya.”

She forced a polite grin at hearing her name from his lips then nodded. “I’ll have it for you shortly, then.” As she spun to leave him, the voice of the
tween-aged
boy—backpack interrupter in the next row—cracked to a start. “Ma, is there really no meal service on this flight? I’m seriously starving.”

“I told you to eat at the airport, but you didn’t listen. Now sit tight and watch your sister,” the mother said in a harsh whisper, then got up from her seat and moved into the aisle. “Excuse me, miss? May I use the restroom quickly before the drinks cart blocks the way?”

“Of course ma’am. And…go ahead to the one in first class. The ones in the back are taken.” Preeya let the woman by, then made her way through first class—smiling and nodding—to grab the very special meal for the very special passenger in 7B.

*

He watched her shimmy through first class.
Preeya
—a freeing, breathing name to match such a woman.
Preeya.
She was of either Middle Eastern or East Indian descent, he thought. Exotic, stunning…and slightly snarky. He whispered to himself through a subtle smile. “Preeya.”

And the thoughts sweeping through him brought with them a next round of guilt. Looking at another woman at all—just deplorable. Even though it’d been a year. It just felt…wrong.

What did it matter? He wouldn’t act on the surge of heat she’d ignited.
No
chance.

And since their brief and official introduction in the back of coach class, he had a strong sense that she wouldn’t act on anything, either—he’d noted the sudden change in her disposition the moment he’d mentioned his title, which he did on every flight he took to make sure some crew member knew in case of emergency. Maybe she thought him conceited or arrogant by doing so? Not his intention, of course. Not by any means. So even if he’d felt some kind of
two-way
connection at the earlier
pillow-crash
site, it had vanished since.

He sighed then shoved his feet flat on the ground to see if his high knees would drop any lower. Nope. So he’d be dining on his lap today.

A minute past and Preeya was back. He tried hard to contain himself—his
too-wide
smile and jackhammering pulse—as she handed him the concise tray of shrimp with a colorful pilaf,
crisp-looking
broccoli with a glistening roll on the side. He heard the boy in front of him huff then turn to see his meal through the seat crack. Ben nodded at the peeking boy, then at Preeya. “Thank you. It looks delicious.” He lifted his brows then smirked, noting Preeya’s awareness of the envious passenger in front of him.

Preeya lightened some, her lip curling into a softer smile. “You’re quite welcome. Any regular beverage with that?”

“Water, please. Just water. Oh, and with lemon and no ice?”
Shut up, Ben. Aiming to prove her theory right?
Or maybe he was a
stuck-up
asshole pretending not to be.

“Sure. No problem.”

He did not miss the eye roll she worked hard to hide. As an air hostess, he figured she must get the most obnoxious requests from passengers and hate it. And he’s just another passenger.
Lemon, no ice.
He shook his head while his eyes followed her form back up to first class.

Eat, Ben. Just
eat.

He looked at the
first-class
cuisine on the tray teetering on his knees, then a few inches higher at his audience—the boy’s peering eye maintained its steady focus.

He smiled and sighed then unclipped his seat belt. Holding the tray of elegant sustenance, he stood up. He was tall enough to easily bring the tray up, over, and down onto the lap of the boy in front of him. As he sat back down and buckled up, a gasp of happiness floated up and over the sixth row.

“Wow, mister. Thank you!” One shrimp already in hand, near his mouth. “Thanks so much!”

“Don’t mention it, bud. Enjoy.”

Ben reclined into his
economy-class
seat with its
semi-flexible
pleather headrest that cradled his…neck, then adjusted his smashed kneecaps against the hard plastic of the folded tray table, and let his eyelids close. He sighed into attempted sleep.

*

Preeya returned to
Doctor Ben
with the water—
lemon,
no ice
—but…he’d dozed off?

“Miss!” 9F waved at her and without giving Preeya a chance to tell the woman she’d be right with her—so she could figure out where the finished
first-class
food tray had vanished to—the woman called her again. Preeya played dumb; the woman could wait. Was the doctor’s tray under his seat? She didn’t see anything under those long legs of his. Maybe Leena or Amanda had come by? She screwed her face at the man, peaceful and calm despite, God, how incredibly uncomfortable he looked. She couldn’t help but smirk but then scolded herself just as 9B tapped her on the shoulder. How bad she wanted to give the cup of water in her hand—Ben’s water—to that woman, Josh Bolte style.

“Ma’am?”

“Water. I need water to take my blood pressure medicine. Extra ice.”

Of course.
Extra ice, no extra manners. None at all, in fact.

Gnashing her back teeth, Preeya glided to the rear of the cabin for the extra ice—and to take an extra long, clearing breath, then to vent to Amanda. Once at the economy crew area, she caught a moan of pain from Amanda as her friend lifted a heavy tray from a bottom fridge drawer. Without a second thought, Preeya put 9B’s ice request on hold to help Amanda restock the cart.

“Thanks, Pree. Lower back’s really getting to me these days.”

“Maybe that masseuse we like will be in the crew lounge today.”

“He’s in Dallas, Pree, not Houston.”

“You’re right. Hey, can you hand me a cup of ice from the—”

Ping.
The
always-magical
sound of some passenger’s call button. Amanda glanced down the aisle and sighed. “6C. God, do they have us running today, or what?”

“You’re not kidding,” Preeya said with her head behind the
mini-fridge
door.

“After 6C, can you take the cart, Pree? I left off at row
twenty-three
. I’ll meet you there in a minute, just gotta pee again…sooo bad.”

“Sure thing.”

Amanda pulled the restroom door closed and Preeya moved into the aisle when the back intercom buzzed.
Leena
—but Preeya had already turned her attention to 6B…and saw Dr. Ben Trainer crouching down in the aisle.

Sudden and jagged screaming from the panicked mother.
Shit.

Preeya grabbed the Medibox to her left, pulled it from its wall clasps, then flew down to row six.

Leena got there at the same time.

The boy, the lanky tween with earbuds, was gasping for air, one hand at his throat, one on his chest, eyes wild with fear, wheezing and hissing and terrified.

Dr. Ben Trainer looked up at Preeya from his crouching position in the aisle. “No known allergies, according to the mother. This is a
first-time
occurrence.” He refocused on the boy, offering him soothing sweeps of comfort with words and questions and instructions while he looked in his mouth, checked his pulse, scrutinized his pupils, all almost simultaneously. That is, until the boy made a hard, raspy grab for air, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he lost consciousness.

As if in slow motion, the boy began falling sideways, limp like a rag doll, but Ben caught him and situated him upright in the seat. He held him there while checking his carotid pulse again, and without looking away from the boy, he uttered a directive. “Epinephrine…for anaphylaxis—now, Preeya. Now.”

She had already knelt beside him, med kit beside her, the
snap-clasps
flung up with both thumbs. She hunted, found, grabbed the epinephrine pens.

The mother began to shriek. Shivers scurried like a thousand spiders up Preeya’s spine. Leena tried to calm the woman, her hands stroking the mother’s arms, but the woman’s panic only worsened and made her other child—the little girl Preeya’d given crayons to earlier—sob and wail. The surrounding passengers were fast on their way to frantic, too. The contagion was hard to contain—even Leena was getting frazzled. And where the hell was Amanda? Still in the bathroom?

Ben, somehow still mellow yet supremely focused, locked eyes with Preeya as she unwrapped the first of the two adrenaline
auto-injectors
.

“His chest is still lifting.” A breathing boy, a good sign.

“And if we can stop the rapid throat swelling, it’ll continue to. So, Preeya, listen. I need three things. I need calm, I need the captain to land at a major metro, and…I need those two epi
auto-injectors
at the ready—”

She slapped the first one in his hand and began ripping open the second
auto-injector
while his other directives registered. She gathered all the air she could into her
boa-constricted
chest and prepared her announcement deep and loud, ignoring her own
light-headedness
. “Please, everyone,” she said as she watched him slam the pen into the boy’s thigh, but no response, “stay seated, seat belts buckled, and, for the doctor, you must remain calm and quiet.”

She handed him the second injector.

But he handed it back. “We wait five minutes.” He checked his watch. “Now, while I’ve got a hold of him, punch these armrests up. I need him flat.”

She did as he asked. Locating the hidden latch on the underside of the aisle armrest, she lifted it, then slammed the other two up hard and quick, while calling to her superior who was now trembling in the throes of the mother’s fit. “Debrief the captain, Leena. We need to land. Major metro. Now.”

“Right.” Leena sniffled, took a huge breath, then waved Amanda up.

Amanda appeared the next second and took the mother’s arm.

But the mother balked. “Why isn’t he doing CPR? Why isn’t he helping him breathe? My boy!”

Preeya stood up to help Ben lay the boy out, head at the window, feet hanging in the aisle, and then turned to the woman. “Your son is in good hands, ma’am, but the doctor needs calm.” She looked deep into the woman’s eyes—such horrified, helpless eyes. Eyes, she imagined, of a mother who thought she might very possibly outlive her child. “Go with Amanda so your daughter isn’t seeing this. Then come back when you’re calm…and bring back some water for your son.” Preeya touched the woman’s arm with a soft graze. “He should be revived by then, and he’ll need his mother, and that water. Go now.”

Amanda took the
panic-stricken
woman away from the scene and down the aisle, leaving Preeya to help Ben to help the
near-breathless
boy who had begun turning a ghostly shade of blue.

She put her hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Okay. Ready.”

But Leena still stood there staring.

“Go, Leena.” Preeya snapped. What the hell? Leena spun around in the direction of the cockpit.

“And get the AEDs,” Ben called.

The AEDs?
Preeya swallowed hard and nearly choked on the dryness in her throat.
Please don’t need the defib pads for this boy. This
child.

Ben’s hand met hers, as if sensing her terror. “Probably won’t need ’em; it’s just in case. Second epi shot, please.”

While he checked the boy’s carotid again, she placed the injector in his free hand.

“Pulse and breathing are slowing.” He held the shot up to his face and checked the injector’s dosage. “Another
point-three
milligrams…here we go.” He slammed it hard into the boy’s other thigh.

They both stared at the child. At his eyes and face, his throat, his chest…which had ceased any and all movement. The boy’s breath had stopped.

“Okay, buddy, let’s do this.” Ben glanced at his watch to note the time again, then rose up on his knees and began CPR.

“The pads, now?” Preeya asked from the floor while holding Ben’s waist to balance him through a rough patch of turbulence.

Between counts, “No, not yet.”

Ben finished two swift breaths into the boy’s mouth, now purple lips. Still nothing. “Yes—two, three, four—the pads.” Breath, breath. “But, Jesus, a defibrillator on this age heart…”