Is there a magic age, month, or year when life settles down? As a teacher, I live for summer break, but holy cow, the summer months fly by! I'm pretty sure we're all over this crazy heatwave and are looking for a reprieve, but I'm not quite ready for fall. I'm hanging on to the sun, pool, beach, and writing days!

During some of my downtime, I've been thinking about what I can do for you in my newsletters. And then I thought... why not share a chapter of one of my books each month?

So, here's the opening chapter to Staying Grounded, the first book in my Rocky Harbor series. And in case you haven't read this book yet, rest assured that, like ALL my books, it ends in a HEA.

Chapter One

Graham Riley was anxious to finish this last leg of his flight. After being in the air for nearly ten straight days, all he wanted was to get back to his condo in Dallas and fall in bed. Preferably with Mindy or Natalie or Sabrina. He checked his reflection one last time in the bathroom mirror, made sure his pilot’s uniform didn’t have any remnants of his chicken parm, grabbed the handle to his carry-on, and whistled his way to terminal fifty-four.

He nodded as he passed Raoul at the newspaper stand and winked at Lynne, who waved at him from behind the register at Starbucks. As he neared his gate, he noticed a crowd gathering. That wasn’t unusual so close to boarding, but the red-eye flights leaving Seattle were typically pretty sedate.

Graham’s cell alerted him of an email from the higher ups. Knowing he’d have no time to read it once he boarded the plane, he slowed his pace and scrolled through the memo, rolling his eyes at the barrage of meetings he’d have to attend once back in Texas. He supposed that’s what came with promotions.

Someone shouting a string of profanities and racial slurs drew Graham’s attention away from his phone. A few terminals away Beverly stood calmly while a large, bald man pointed an angry finger at her. As Graham quickened his pace he could hear her response.

How dare the man treat Beverly that way. She’d worked hard for years and the entire airline would miss her when she retired soon.

“I’m sorry, sir. But you have too many carry-ons. I’ll be more than happy to check one of your bags for you,” she said matter-of-factly. Graham smiled at her motherly tone. He’d miss the woman. Everyone would. She had a way of speaking to you like you were family, like she really wanted you to have a good day.

It had been too long since Graham had seen his mom and brothers and sisters. Being a pilot meant he kept irregular hours and often worked during holidays. Since he was happily single, he usually offered to fly the Christmas and Thanksgiving flights, letting the married guys celebrate with their families.

One day he’d surprise his mom and show up in person with an armful of gifts. Until then, he relied on the florist to deliver beautiful flower arrangements and fresh fruit bouquets whenever he could. Women seemed to like that kind of stuff.

“I have one carry-on. These two bags are from your overpriced shops.” The man swayed, apparently drunk, keeping his face improperly close to Bev’s.

“I understand, sir.” Beverly remained polite, even as the passenger grew angrier. “But our rules only allow one carry-on and one briefcase or purse. Like I said, I’ll gladly take one of your bags and–”

Graham gently squeezed his way between the growing crowd, not wanting to add to the scene, yet needing to help.

“You lay one fat-ass hand on my shit and I’ll knock your ass clear to Hawaii.” Angry spittle flew out of his mouth as he swayed toward Bev. No one would talk to his crew, or his passengers, this way. Tamping down the urge to grab the man by the throat, Graham kept his hand wrapped around the handle of his suitcase and excused himself as he nudged an onlooker to the side.

The crowd gasped as the passenger lurched forward and tried to grab Beverly’s arm, but Graham stepped in between them, just in time. “Excuse me, sir. Is there a problem here?”

The passenger, reeking of whiskey, belted out a stream of curse words that made even Graham cringe. “Get your pansy ass hands off me and tell your fat whore lady to let me on the plane.”

Ignoring his vulgar and disrespectful language, Graham plastered on a fake smile and spoke in a soothing voice, hoping to calm the passenger down. “I apologize for the inconvenience sir, but Beverly is correct. We’d be more than happy to store the items you purchased from the gift shops. Unless you can fit them all in your carry-on, we cannot let you on the plane.”

“It’s eleven o’freaking clock at night. I’m not gonna get home until six in the morning. If I want to take the crap I bought at your rip-off airport shit stores, then I’m gonna. And she ain’t gonna stop me.”

Graham stared at the drunk, patiently waiting for him to realize his wrong. There was no point going into a verbal spar with him; he was way beyond listening to the voice of reason.

It was late at night and Graham hated dealing with obtuse people, but he was good at it, never taking any backlash personally. It was one of the reasons why he’d made his way up the ranks so quickly. He avoided the drama within the pilot and flight attendants’ circles, and had a way of making the passengers feel special as well, often arriving early and letting boys and girls take pictures in the cockpit while passengers found their seats.

He wasn’t a pilot in the pre-911 days when kids could come up front and watch them fly the crafts. Still, they loved seeing all the buttons and gadgets. His favorite kids were the ones who wanted to know how everything worked.

And then there were the pain-in-the-ass people who gave him ulcers.

The angry passenger, impatient at the lack of a verbal show down, stumbled forward but Graham stopped him before he entered the tunnel. “Sir, if you’re intoxicated I can’t allow you on the plane.”

“Now you’re calling me a drunk?” The man poked his fat finger into Graham’s chest, spit practically foaming around his mouth. “Get outta my way, fly boy.”

“Graham, I’ll call security,” Beverly said from behind them.

“The hell you will.” The drunk ripped the phone from Beverly’s hand and knocked her to the ground. The crowd gasped and a child in the distance started crying “That’s where your kind belongs. On your knees looking up to me.”

“That’s it. No one talks to a woman that way.” Graham brought back his fist and punched the drunk in the face, knocking him flat on his ass.

An uproar of applause echoed through the terminal, and phones and cameras flashed, right as security showed up.

And that’s when Graham’s trouble began.

***

After shoving just the necessities to last him a few weeks into his duffle bag, Graham zipped it up, grabbed his keys and cell phone from the counter, and left his condo. The elevator ride down took forever, the doors finally opening to the dark underground garage. He tossed the bag in the back of his Jeep before sliding behind the wheel and turning on to Interstate 30. He was looking forward to a few days of solitude, open road, and sunshine. Unfortunately he hit construction, detours, and torrential downpours.

A metaphor for the twist in his life, for sure.

After flying for Global Air for the past eight years with a perfect record, he’d been grounded because someone with a cell phone caught him at a bad time. He’d never shown up for a flight hung over or with beer on his breath. He didn’t date flight attendants, even though some offers were hard to refuse. He showed up for work on time, completed thorough cockpit checks, and performed well in his role as co-pilot and more recently, as the pilot. An impeccable record, scratched only because he defended one of his flight attendants.

Policy demanded Graham be grounded until Internal Affairs and the TSA did a thorough investigation. The dozens of videos passengers recorded on their phones clearly showing Graham in the right weren’t enough to deem him innocent. So here he sat, with the top of his Jeep on in the middle of July, escaping Texas and heading home to his large, eccentric family in Rocky Harbor, Maine.

While he’d love to keep the reason for his grounding hushed, YouTube and social media made that nearly impossible. He’d become an overnight hero, criminal, and pinup all at the same time. There were those who cheered him on, wishing he’d beat the crap out of the drunk. And there was Dennis Stockton’s ambulance chaser team digging into his past and calling him a violent man, a threat to society. Just like his father had been. And there were the women propositioning him, mailing him their bras and underwear, sending him naked photos in some precarious positions.

Global Air reacted by grounding him for a month and requiring him to go to counseling and attend anger management classes. Graham had changed his number and went into hiding for a few days, but it didn’t take long for the media to find the address to his condo

And wasn’t that the pisser of it all? For nearly two decades, he’d worked at changing society’s perception of him. Never loud. Never angry. He’d been cool, calm, collected. The funny guy. Then he went and protected the honor of a woman and got labeled as a violent man who needed anger management classes.

He drove for hours, not stopping until he neared the Great Smokey Mountains. It didn’t take long to find a motel off the beaten path. Graham didn’t need much. A shower. A greasy diner. A cold beer. He could do without television and the Internet. He didn’t want to know what his critics were saying about him now. What happened to chivalry? Couldn’t the media focus on that instead of his past?

After a night on a hard mattress, Graham got back in his Jeep and drove through Virginia, only stopping for gas and a drive-through. He’d have to jog an extra twenty miles after this trip, but the grease was satisfying and kept his stomach full. Pennsylvania was a good place to rest his head, and after checking in to his hotel in Allentown, he laced up his sneakers and went for a run. He wasn’t on a timetable and didn’t need to keep track of the clock or the miles, so he ran until his calves started to cramp, then turned around and slowed to a jog the rest of the way back to his hotel. After grabbing a quick shower, he threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and decided to brave the elements of the real world.

Joe’s Bar seemed friendly enough. Not seedy, not trendy. His feet didn’t stick to the tile floor, and the country music played loud enough to enjoy the words but not so you had to yell to hear your companion. Not that Graham had a companion.

“What can I get ya?” a blonde Barbie, who barely looked legal, asked as she stuck out her impressive rack. “See anything you like? On the menu or somewhere else?”

“I’ll have the steak tips and mashed potatoes. And a beer. Whatever ale you have on tap.”

“Sure thing,” the waitress said as she reached for the menu, purposely placing her hand over his. “I’ll be right back.”

Graham sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. Normally he’d be all over the babe with a smile, a come-on line, and possibly her number in his cell. But the quick-witted lines and smirks weren’t on his mind lately.

She returned shortly with his beer and rested her hip against the table. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Nope. Just passing through.”

“Well, if you need someone to show you around. Or keep you company…”

Graham laughed at her directness. “Thanks, but I’m just resting my head here for the night and will be gone by sunrise.”

“I can show you a lot of things between now and sunrise.” She lowered her hands to the table, her boobs nearly falling out of her low-cut shirt.

“I’m sure you could. You’re a beautiful young woman and shouldn’t sell yourself short with one-night stands with strangers.”

She quickly stood up and crossed her arms under her chest, pushing the boobs out even more. “Don’t lecture me, old man. I’m old enough to know what I’m doing. I bet I could teach you a few tricks that would blow your mind.” Swinging her hips, she sashayed away from him before he could reply. Graham picked up his beer and drank nearly half the glass before setting it down again.

He noticed a few stares from patrons and then saw the television above the bar. Another news report. The video of Graham punching out Stockton that had gone viral streamed in the background while the news anchor interviewed Brick Mathews, the head of TSA who played his PC card to a ‘T’. No way would he defend a pilot who punched out a passenger. Instead, Mathews responded to the lawsuit from Dennis Stockton, the drunk, saying they were doing a thorough investigation into Stockton’s claims that the airline had wronged him. Graham’s official pilot picture flashed across the screen, and he groaned.

The bartender and waitress looked from the screen to him. He wasn’t sure what to expect next when both rounded the bar and headed toward him.

“So. You’re that guy,” the bartender said.

“Yes.” With a reputation to uphold, Graham held back the snarky reply that rested on the tip of his tongue.

“Dude. You’re like a hero around here. I’m Joe. The owner. I see drunken assholes all the time trying to feel up my girls. You shoulda kicked him in the balls too. Make him squirm a bit.”

“I appreciate your support, Joe. But my intent was not to harm Mr. Stockton.”

“That guy was big. You must be so…strong.” Barbie wrapped her arms around Graham’s biceps and squeezed.

“Thank you, ma’am. Joe. I appreciate your support. I’m not a violent man, and don’t condone hitting or violence.” He had the speech the PR people sent him down pat and had said the same line over and over again so often that he almost believed he was wrong in punching the drunk.

“Your meal’s on us. You let Candy know if we can get you anything else, Mr. Riley. Take care now.” Joe walked away and Candy stood by Graham’s side, still massaging his arm.

Graham shrugged away from her touch and plastered on a smile. “Candy, I’d love a glass of water. And maybe some bread before my food comes out?” Anything to keep her busy and away from him.

“Sure thing, doll.”

Somehow Graham made it through his meal and the constant stream of supporters. Of course the people hanging out at a bar on a Tuesday night would be supportive of physical retribution. Put him in a fancy restaurant or some country club and the reactions would be pure horror and shame. Those high-class snobs didn’t like to hear the whole truth and thrived on the one-sided drama the media preferred to focus on. He’d dated enough to know.

That night he slept fairly well, considering he was alone, and the next day he made record time, arriving at his mother’s home in southern Maine right on time for dinner. He’d called her from Massachusetts to give her a heads-up, knowing she and his sister would want to cook up a feast. They were amazing in the kitchen and Graham’s stomach growled at the thought of a home-cooked meal.

Before he could unlatch his seatbelt, Doreen came running down the steps of her big old farmhouse.

“Graham.” She opened his door and stuck her head into the Jeep, hugging him tight.

“Hey, Ma.” He laughed. “Let me get out so I can give you a real hug.” She stepped back, and he climbed out, picked her up, and swung her in a circle.

“Graham Riley! You put me down right now. You’ll throw your back out.”

He set her down with a chuckle. Doreen, his adoptive mother, was short, stout, and the happiest, most generous person he knew. It wasn’t her fault he didn’t spend much time at home. The small town closed around him during his teens, making him claustrophobic. He literally needed to spread his wings and fly.

“I made up the bed in your old room and have a ham in the oven. Rachael’s cooked up some asparagus and hollandaise and garlic roasted potatoes. Come inside and say hi to your brother and sisters.”

“You didn’t need to call in the whole clan, Ma. I’m here for a week or so until the airline can clear up the situation.”

“Nonsense. And the whole clan isn’t here. We haven’t heard from Colton in a few months. Hopefully his tour will be over next year. And Blake is Virginia.”

Damn. He should have called his brothers. He hadn’t seen Blake since his mother’s Humanitarian of the Year award party last winter. Like him, Blake traveled around the country, building those crazy-ass obstacle courses and having the time of his life.

“Hey, little brother.” Luke stepped out to the front porch and grabbed him in a neck hold. Even though Graham was two years older, he was adopted a few months after Luke and was always a little smaller than him. Heck, the Hulk was smaller than Luke. “Nice of you to finally stop by. You know, my wedding is in a few months. You going to grace us with that ugly mug and stand up with me?”

“I told you I took that weekend off.”

“Yeah, well, Sage will kick your ass if you mess up her wedding.”

“As if,” Sage, his soon-to-be sister-in-law, said as she stepped out from behind Luke. “I wanted to elope in the Bahamas but your brother insisted on having a party.”

“Says the party planner,” Graham teased before giving Sage a hug. He’d only met the sassy blonde a few times, but she seemed good for his brother. She owned a party planning business and put together the surprise sixtieth for their mom a few months back. Luke had been struck down by love ever since. 

From what he’d learned through texts, emails, and the occasional phone calls, Sage had been her sister’s surrogate, carrying twins no less. Luke mentioned signing up to be foster parents, focusing on older kids, like their parents had done. While Graham didn’t know Sage too well, she scored high in his book with those two acts alone. Luke deserved the best, and it seemed like he found it in Sage.

“Where’s Rach?”

“She’s slaving over the hot oven. Come on inside. And Lucy should be here any minute.”

Graham found Rachael in the kitchen and hugged her tightly before letting go. “Hey. It’s good to see you.” Rachael stepped back, twisting a dishcloth between her hands and looking deep into his eyes. His perceptive sister could always do that, look into the soul of the person she was with, and they’d turn into putty in her hands.

The old Rach, the one before the dickhead ex of hers stole her smile, had the annoying habit of prying into her brothers’ business. She didn’t say much, but her soft blue eyes spoke of compassion and understanding.

She’d been in an abusive relationship and, as far as Graham knew, refused to talk about it with anyone. Even though the guy was in jail, Rach still jumped at the slightest touch from strangers. Thankfully she didn’t coy away from her brothers’ hugs. They wouldn’t allow it.

“Enjoying a paid vacation in Vacationland. Not everyone gets to spend June in Maine. I’m a lucky son of a–” His mother cleared her throat behind him. “Sorry, Ma. So where’s the troublemaker?”

“Lucy is finishing up work and will be here in a few,” Luke said as he entered the kitchen, arm in arm with Sage.

“How’s that working? Lucy working for Sage.”

“She has a great eye. I convinced her to take a few classes and start her own Interior Decorating business. In a year or two, she’ll have a solid list of clients and a good reputation in the community,” Sage said as she slipped away from Luke and poured the wine.

“Damn straight I will.” Lucy entered the kitchen, loud and imposing as always.

“Holy hell, Luce. What happened to the pink hair and the metal in the face?” The last time he’d seen the baby in the family, she’d gone Goth, or punk rocker, or something over the edge. Being adopted at seventeen wasn’t typical, and Lucy definitely wasn’t the norm. The boys had all left the nest by then to start their careers, while Rachael stuck for a little bit before running across the country with her loser boyfriend. And Luke had stayed local, becoming a firefighter in Portland.

They’d grown close, Luke taking on the big brother role, and when Rachael moved to California, leaving Lucy as the last Riley in the house, Lucy turned crazy. Not that she wasn’t messed up before becoming a Riley. They all were. They avoided talking about their problems and shoved their pasts under a rug. That was what bonded the Riley siblings.

Knowing he’d have privacy, despite his loud, nosey family, Graham pulled out a kitchen chair and relaxed for the first time in weeks.

“I don’t know about you, but I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in over a year. When’s dinner going to be ready?”

“And just like that, he comes back home, snapping his fingers, expecting everyone to fall at his feet.” Luke smacked Graham on the back of the head before handing him a beer.

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“Which is exactly why you’re still single.” Luke hooked his foot around the leg of the chair across from Graham and sat.

Graham took a sip of his beer and smiled. “Nothing wrong with that either.”

Luke nodded toward the women bustling about the kitchen. Rachael and Doreen did most of the cooking, giving Lucy and Sage instructions on what to set on the dining room table.

“Looks like Sage has found her place in the family.”

“Who knew? She can’t cook, hates doing anything domestic, yet Ma has found a soft spot for her and the feeling is mutual.”

“I’m happy for you.” Graham clinked his beer bottle with Luke’s. “You always were the settling down type.”

“Wouldn’t trade my life for anything in the world.”

Graham finished off his beer, enjoying watching the women weave in and out of each other in the kitchen, knowing he and Luke would be on dish duty when the meal was over. Doreen didn’t raise stereotypical men. Anything but.

And she sure as hell didn’t raise her boys to be violent men. Graham had a mess to clean up, and he hoped his time with his therapist in Rocky Harbor could bail him out.

***You can keep reading Staying Grounded here!

Stay cool, and enjoy the rest of your summer!

~ Marianne xoxo