The endings had been in the desk the whole time. I’d never even thought to look or question him.
He picked up his laptop and walked around the desk, pausing at the chairs to look my way. He had no right to the agony in his eyes, not when he’d lied his way into my heart.
“They’re both there. Just let me know which ending you pick. I’ll honor your choice.”
I hugged myself a little tighter, begging the cracks in my soul to hold it together for one more moment. I could break when he was gone, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching me crumble.
“Some things you have to fight for, Georgia. You can’t just walk away and leave it unfinished when it gets too complicated. If I could fly off and fight the Nazis to win your love, I would. But all I’ve got to battle with are your demons, and they’re kicking my ass. Keep that in mind while you’re reading those endings, the good and the…poignant. The epic, rare love story in this room isn’t Scarlett and Jameson. It’s you and me.”
One long, yearning look later, he was gone.
I shattered.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
May 1942
Ipswich, England
Scarlett clung to Jameson, her nails raking down his back as he moved within her with sure, deep strokes. There was nothing in the world that compared to the feel of his weight on top of her in these moments where there was no war, no danger, no looming deadline for their separation. In this bed, there were only the two of them, communicating with their bodies when words failed.
She moaned at the indescribable pleasure that coiled tight within her belly, and he kissed her deep, swallowing the sound. They’d nearly perfected the art of quiet sex in the past few months.
“I can never get enough of you,” he whispered against her mouth.
She whimpered in reply and arched her hips harder against his, hooking one ankle around the small of his back and urging him on. Close. She was so close.
He gripped her thigh and raised her knee toward her chest, taking her deeper, then ground his hips in maddening circles with every thrust, keeping her on that tight edge of pleasure, hovering without falling.
“Jameson,” she begged, burying her hands in his hair.
“Say it,” he demanded with a grin and another stroke.
“I love you.” She lifted her head and brought her lips to his. “My heart, my soul, my body—it’s all yours.” It was always the love you that shook his control, and this time was no exception.
“I love you,” he whispered, slipping his hand between them and using his fingers to push her over the edge. Her thighs locked, her muscles trembled, and she heard him whisper, “Scarlett, my Scarlett,” as the orgasm swept over her in waves.
When she screamed, he covered her mouth with his, and a few strokes later, he joined her, tensing above her as he found his release.
They were a tangled mess of sweaty limbs and smiles as he rolled them to the side.
“I never want to leave this bed,” he said as he lifted a strand of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.
“Excellent plan,” she agreed, running her fingertips down his chiseled chest. “Do you think it will always be like this?”
He palmed her backside. “An insatiable need to get each other naked?”
“Something like that.” She grinned.
“God, I hope so. I can’t think of anything better than the honor of chasing you out of your clothes for the rest of my life.” He wiggled his eyebrows and she laughed.
“Even when we’re old?” She brushed the back of her hand over his jawline, rough with stubble.
“Especially when we’re old. We won’t have to keep it quiet for the kids down the hall.”
At that, they fell silent, both listening for William’s imminent call for breakfast, but he was still sleeping—or at least happily silent.
Scarlett’s chest tightened. Three days. That’s all they had left before she was due to leave. Jameson had gotten the message from his uncle yesterday. How long would they be apart? How long would this war last? What if these were the last three days she would ever spend with him? Each question tightened the vise in her chest until every breath was painful.
“Don’t think about it,” he whispered, his gaze flickering over her face as though he needed to memorize every feature.
“How do you know what I’m thinking about?” She tried to smile, but it wasn’t there.
“Because it’s all I think about,” he admitted. “I wish there were any other way to keep you with me, to keep him safe.”
She nodded, biting her lip to keep the trembling at bay. “I know.”
“You’re going to love Colorado,” he promised, a spark of joy lighting his eyes. “The air is thinner, and that might take some getting used to, but the mountains are so tall, it’s as if they’re reaching for the sky. It’s beautiful, and honestly, the only thing I’ve ever seen bluer than the Colorado sky is your eyes. My mother knows you’re coming, and she has the house set up for you and William. Uncle Vernon will help you through immigration, and who knows, you might even have that book of yours finished by the time I get home.”
It didn’t matter how pretty the picture he painted, because he wasn’t in it, at least not for the immediate future. But she wasn’t going to say that to him. Their goodbyes were days away, and she knew she needed to stay strong, not only for Jameson, but for William. There was no use lamenting or whining. Her visa had been approved two weeks ago, their path was set, and now there was work to be done—two lives that needed to be packed.
“I’m not taking the phonograph.” It was the one point of contention between them.
“Record player, and my mother told me to bring it back.”
She quirked a brow. “I thought your mother told you to bring it back with you, alive.” She ran her fingers through his hair, committing the feel of the strands to memory.
“Tell her I’m sending it home with my life, because that’s what you and William are. You are my life.” He cupped her cheek and looked at her with so much intensity that she felt his gaze like a touch. “When we look back on this, it will be nothing more than a blip on our timeline.”
Her stomach twisted. The only blips she was familiar with were the kind that showed incoming bomber raids.
“I love you, Jameson,” she whispered fiercely. “I’m only willing to go for William’s sake.”
“I love you, too. And the fact that you’re willing to go to keep William safe only makes me love you more.”
“Three days,” she whispered, already breaking her stay-strong motto.
“Three days,” he repeated, forcing a smile. “The cavalry is coming, my love. American forces are on their way, and who knows, by this time next year, this all might be over.”
“And if it’s not?”
“Why, Scarlett Stanton,” he teased. “Are you saying you won’t wait for me?” The corner of his mouth lifted into what she would almost call a smirk.
“I’ll wait for you forever,” she promised. “Will you be okay, here without me?”
“No,” he answered softly. “I won’t be okay until I’m with you again. You’re taking my heart with you. But I will live,” he swore, bringing his forehead to rest against hers. “I will fly. I will fight. I will write you every day and dream of you every night.”
She tried to keep the pain from overtaking her, shoving it back with the reminder that they still had three days. “That won’t leave you much time for taking up with another girl,” she teased.
“There will never be another girl for me. Only you, Scarlett. Only this.” He pulled her closer. “I just wish I could’ve taken leave today.”
She scoffed. “They gave you last weekend for Constance’s wedding, and the day to see us off. I can’t really complain.”
“Would you call that a wedding?
It felt more like a funeral.” He grimaced.
“It was both.” Constance had followed through, as if there had been any doubt, and married Henry Wadsworth last weekend. Lord Ladder Climber officially had his foothold in British society, Constance had protected the land she loved so much, and her parents’ financial future was secure. “It was an overpriced celebration of a business deal,” Scarlett said quietly.
They lay there for another moment as the sun rose higher, the light in their bedroom turning from a dusty pink to a brighter hue. They couldn’t put off the start of the morning any longer, though Jameson did talk her into taking a shower with him.
Twenty minutes and another orgasm later, he wrapped her in a towel, then tied one around his waist and began to shave. She leaned against the doorframe and watched. It was a routine she never grew tired of, mostly because he usually did it shirtless. Once he was finished, she headed toward her bedroom to get dressed for her day, just as William let out his first cry of the morning.
“I’ll get him,” Jameson said, already walking toward William’s room.
Scarlett dressed, listening to the sweet sounds of Jameson singing to their son as he got him up for the day.
With Constance’s wedding last weekend, and her upcoming travel, it had made sense to acclimate William to a bottle, which came with the added benefit of getting to watch Jameson feed their son, which she did about ten minutes later. The bond between the two was undeniable. Jameson was the recipient of William’s biggest smiles when he came home, and the one he favored when he was fussy. Even now, William held the bottle with one hand and tugged at the buttons on Jameson’s uniform with the other. She didn’t mind the blatant favoritism, though, especially knowing that it might be a year or more before they would see each other again.
Would William have any memory of Jameson? Would they have to start all over again? It was hard to believe that such a primal bond could be weakened by something so indefinite as time.
“Would you like me to fix you some coffee?” Scarlett asked as Jameson cradled their son in a kitchen chair.
“I’ll grab some at the station, thank you,” Jameson answered with a smile, glancing up at her before turning his adoring gaze back to their son. “He really has the best of both of us, doesn’t he?”
Scarlett slipped her hair over one shoulder and looked down at William. “I’d argue that your eyes are a great deal more handsome than mine, but yes, I think he does.” Their son had her black hair, but Jameson’s sun-loving complexion. He had her high cheekbones, but Jameson’s strong chin and nose.
“Stanton blue,” Jameson remarked with a grin. “I hope all of our kids have them.”
“Oh? Were you planning on more children?” she teased as he tugged her down onto his empty knee.
“We make such pretty babies that it would be a shame not to,” he said with a quick, gentle kiss.
“I guess we’ll have to see about that once we’re all in Colorado.” She wanted a little girl with Jameson’s eyes and reckless ways. Wanted William to know the joy of having a sibling, too.
“I’m going to take you fishing,” Jameson promised William. “And I’ll teach you to camp under stars so bright that they light the midnight sky. I’ll show you the safest places to cross the creek, and when you’re old enough, I’ll teach you how to fly, too. You just have to watch out for the bears until I get there.”
“Bears!” Scarlett’s jaw dropped.
“Don’t you worry.” Jameson laughed as he wrapped his arm around Scarlett’s waist. “Most of the bears are scared of your grandma… The mountain lions, too. But she’s gonna love you.” He glanced at Scarlett. “She’s going to love both of you just as much as I do.”
Reluctantly, Jameson handed William to Scarlett and they all stood.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, wrapping his arms around his wife and son.
“Good.” She lifted her face for a kiss. “We’re not done discussing the phonograph.”
Jameson kissed her soundly, then laughed. “The record player goes.”
“As I said,” she replied with an arched brow, “we’re not done discussing it.” Scarlett wasn’t superstitious, but most pilots were, and taking the record player home to Jameson’s mother felt like inviting bad luck.
“We’ll talk about it when I get home,” he promised. He kissed her again, hard and quick, then brushed his lips over William’s and walked out the door.
“We’ll talk about it means Mummy is going to win,” she told William, tickling him gently.
He gave her a belly laugh that she couldn’t help but return.
…
Jameson rolled his shoulders, attempting to ease what had become a permanent ache in his muscles. Their objective, a target on the German border, had been accomplished, and though the three bombers they were escorting had come under fire, they were currently over the Netherlands and whole. That’s what he called a good day.
He glanced at the picture he still kept tacked beneath the gauge and smiled. It was the same one of Scarlett that Constance had given him almost two years ago. He knew she thought it was bad luck to take the record player home, but he had all the luck he needed in that picture right there. Besides, there wasn’t anyone he wanted to dance with besides his Scarlett, and there would be plenty of time for dancing once this war was over.
“We’re making good time,” Howard said over the radio, using their designated squadron channel.
“Don’t count your chickens,” Jameson replied, looking to the right where Howard flew as blue lead about two hundred yards off. The only thing he liked about the astern formation was flying lead alongside Howard. Today, he was red.
But he was right, they were making good time. At this rate, he wouldn’t make it home before dinner, but he might make it in time to put William to bed.
Then, he’d take his wife to bed. He was going to make every single second they had together count.
“Blue lead, this is blue four, over,” a voice came over the radio.
“This is blue lead, go ahead,” Howard called back.
The thing Jameson hated about the astern formation was it left their newest pilots, those with the least combat experience, in the back.
“I think I saw something above us.” The shaky voice broke toward the end. That had to be the new kid, the one who had just come in last week.
“You think? Or you know?” Howard asked.
Jameson looked up through the glass of the cockpit, but the only things he saw on the cloud layer above them were their own shadows from the dying sun.
“I think—”
“Red lead, this is red three, over,” Boston said across the radio.
“This is red lead, go ahead,” Jameson answered, still scanning the sky above them.
“I saw something, too.”
The hairs on the back of Jameson’s neck stood at attention.
“Above at two o’clock!” Boston shouted.
He’d barely gotten the words out when a formation of German fighters broke through the cloud cover, firing down upon them.
“Split the flights!” Jameson shouted to the radio. In his peripheral vision, he saw Howard bank hard right, and Cooper, who was flying white lead to the left, banked the same.
Jameson pulled on the stick, climbing sharply, leading his men to higher ground. In a dogfight, he who had the elevation had the upper hand. Clear of the blue flight, Jameson turned to face the enemy, locked the first fighter in his ring sight, and let the world fall away.
He fired at the same time the German did, and the glass just behind him shattered as they nearly skimmed each other in a flyby.
“I’m hit!” Jameson shouted, checking his gauges. Wind whipped through the cockpit, but she held steady. Oil pressure was fine. Altitude, stable. Fuel level, stable.
“Stanton!” Howard’s
voice broke.
“I think I’m okay,” Jameson responded. The fight was below them now, and he banked hard left, heading back into the fray.
The dive brought a new rush of air through the cockpit, ripping Scarlett’s picture from the rim of the gauge. It was gone before Jameson could even try to catch it.
The radio was a cacophony of calls as the German fighters headed for the bombers. His goggles protected his eyes, but he felt a warm trickle down the left side of his face and lifted his gloved hand quickly.
It came away red.
“It’s not bad,” he said to himself. It must’ve been the glass. He’d be dead if he’d taken a direct shot.
Punching through the cloud cover, he kept his finger on the trigger and sped toward the nearest fighter, who happened to have a Spitfire in his sights.
Adrenaline flooded his system, honing his senses, as he dove faster.
The German’s first shot missed.
Jameson didn’t.
The German fighter fell from the sky in a plume of black smoke, disappearing into the thick fog of the clouds beneath them.
“Got one!” Jameson shouted, but his victory was short-lived as another fighter—no, two other fighters—came up behind him.
He pulled back on the stick hard, climbing as he banked right, narrowly missing what he considered to be a standing appointment with death as shots whizzed by.
“That was a close one, baby,” he said quietly, as if Scarlett could hear him across the North Sea. Dying wasn’t an option, and he had no intention of doing so today.
“I’ve got one on my tail!” The new kid shouted across the radio as he passed directly under Jameson, the German fighter hot on his heels.
“I’m coming,” Jameson responded.
He felt the shot as though someone had hit the bottom of his seat with a sledgehammer, before he even saw the other fighter.
The aircraft still responded, but the fuel gauge began a steady decline that could mean only one thing.
“This is red lead,” he said as calmly as he could manage across the radio. “I’ve been hit, and I’m losing fuel.”
The Things We Leave Unfinished Page 35