Hallowed Ground (Flight & Glory #4)

by Rebecca Yarros

  “Maybe I like being here,” I said, my hands slipping beneath his Under Armour T-shirt. I barely suppressed a groan at the feel of his abs beneath my fingers. Even after everything he’d been through, the man had a body that needed to be molded, sculpted, adored by the public…or maybe just me.

  His eyes darkened. “December,” he whispered. He hadn’t touched me since West Point, and after nearly five days, we both radiated some pretty intense sexual tension.

  My lips tingled and parted, my body recognizing its match and becoming hyperaware. His hand left the counter and shifted to my waist, squeezing lightly. I ran my nails down the skin of his stomach, and he sucked in his breath through clenched teeth. I loved that sound. I loved all of this really, the anticipation, reveling in the fact that this man was mine in every sense of the word.

  My fingers traced the soft elastic of his board shorts, then dipped past the waistline and tugged, bringing him flush against my stomach. He was already hardening for me. I ran my thumb down his length and was rewarded by a low moan. Standing on my tiptoes, I brushed my lips against the stubble on his jaw. “What’s on your mind?”

  “You,” he answered. “Thinking about the first time I had you pushed up against a kitchen counter.”

  “Breckenridge,” I whispered.

  “It’s the pajamas,” he said, his hand cupping my ass through the flannel.

  “Hey, you said movie marathon. I vetoed pants.”

  “Oh, babe, I am most definitely not complaining.” He looked down at me, two little lines appearing between his eyebrows.

  “What?”

  “There was a little something different,” he muttered, then lifted me with one hand and deposited me onto the counter. “That’s right.”

  “Josh! You’ll hurt yourself.” I fought back a small laugh.

  “Worth it to see that smile.”

  “Now all we need is tequila, and we’re good to go. I think that may have eased my way into snagging you.”

  He shook his head slowly. “The tequila wasn’t necessary. I was already intoxicated by you.”

  Well, if my panties weren’t ready to drop before, they were now. “So you wanted to kiss me?” At this height, I had perfect access to his neck, and I took it. He smelled delectable, straight out of the shower, and tasted just as good as my tongue ran along the sensitive patch of skin just beneath his ear.

  His hand shifted to my hair, his fingers tunneling through the mass to hold me to him. “Fuck yes. It was the first thing I thought of when I picked you up that night. Kissing you had been on my list of life goals since high school, right up there with the other things I’d never get to do like snorkel in Bora Bora, or race my Ducati again.” He tugged gently, pulling me back so he could look into my eyes. “You are a flesh-and-bone wet dream, and you owned me the first fucking moment my mouth touched yours.”

  “And now?” My eyes dropped to his lips. “How does the reality compare two and a half years later?”

  “So much better.” He brushed his mouth over my cheek, feathering a kiss to my ear. “If I had known just how sweet you’d taste, how perfectly you’d fit against me with your legs around my hips, how incredible it would be to sink inside you, hear my name on your lips…your dad would have come after me with a shotgun in high school, because I would have chased you, freshman or not.”

  “I would have let you catch me, especially if I’d known this was where we’d end up.” I locked my ankles behind his back, bringing him even closer against me.

  A wicked smile flashed across his gorgeous face. “Oh, I knew it. Why do you think I stayed away? I was bad enough news for you then, I’m not sure I would have had the decency to say no if you’d asked me to touch you.”

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I looked into his eyes, nearly losing myself in their depth. “Touch me now.”

  He didn’t pause, just launched into a kiss that curled my toes. My thighs tightened around his waist as his tongue consumed my mouth, tangling with mine. It was open, hot, carnal, and by the time he pulled away, his breathing was heavy, and I was ready to wish away my pants, and his.

  “You get better every time, and if you keep it up, I’ll be dead by the time I’m fifty.”

  “We wouldn’t want that,” I teased and pulled him down for another kiss, arching against him. Damn, his kisses were addictive. I took another, and then another, until my hips started rocking against his, and he groaned.

  He wrapped his casted arm around my back while his hand caressed the skin of my hip just under the waistline of my pajama pants. A wave of desire hit me, turning my blood to lava as he put his mouth to my breast over my shirt, tugging lightly on my nipple through the material. Thank God for braless days. “More,” I demanded.

  He chuckled, and then sent his hand into my panties. My hips bucked when he grazed my clit.

  “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet already.”

  I made some kind of mewing sound in answer as he plunged deeper.

  A beep sounded outside, breaking through the haze of lust he had me wrapped in, followed by the sound of rushing air of pistons releasing.

  “Down!” Josh yelled, sweeping me from the counter.

  We crashed to the floor, my head bouncing against the fiberglass of his cast as he tried to cradle me, my hip taking the brunt of my fall. He caught my top half, landing on me, and immediately blocking out the daylight.

  He’d covered me head to toe, his arms bracketing my head as I lay there underneath him. Our breathing was heavy, coming in short bursts. I couldn’t get enough air with his weight on me. My heart crashed against my chest, hammering a rhythm of confusion and fear.

  “Josh?” I asked, slowly raising my arms to his back. He sucked in ragged breaths, and I stroked up and down his rib cage. “Baby, it’s okay,” I whispered.

  He picked his head up, his eyes scanning my features in a panic before flinging himself off me. His back crashed against the cabinet, and I sat up slowly as he pulled his knees forward, resting his elbows on them. “Are you okay?” he asked, barely meeting my gaze.

  My hip throbbed, but the rest of me seemed no worse for wear. “I’m perfectly fine.” I slid over to him, slowly lifting my hands to his arms and moving to his face when he didn’t flinch away. “It was the garbage truck.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “What did it sound like to you?” Where did you go?

  “An RPG.” His eyes squeezed shut. “The pistons…”

  The throbbing in my hip moved to my heart, where another piece broke for him. “Okay,” I said as I stroked his cheeks.

  His eyes shot to mine, wide with incredulousness. “This isn’t okay. I basically threw you off the kitchen counter.”

  “Well, at least I know that if we’re ever in danger, you’d shield me.” I forced a smile. “You could have just left me up there to fend for myself, and then we’d really have problems.”

  He huffed, then laughed. Mission accomplished. “God, I’m so sorry. That sound… I just reacted.”

  “I don’t blame you.” I held my breath and tiptoed across a line I’d never been allowed to before. “After the first deployment, did you talk to anyone? After you were wounded?”

  He shook his head. “I did the mandatory psych eval, but no. I was fine in their eyes, so I didn’t need to.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder how much more was buried under his surface, left lurking like some forgotten powder keg just waiting to ignite with the right flame. Hell, Josh’s whole world was in flames.

  Except me.

  “I think you should talk to someone,” I said quietly.

  He shook his head. “If this is about me talking to Paisley…”

  “It’s not,” I promised. “That’s a whole different can of worms, and until you’re ready to open it, I’ll try to be respectful. While we’re on that subject, I’m sorry for the way I reacted in New York. That was a lot of shock, and more than a ridiculous level of jealousy. What’s going on in your head is your business,
and I don’t have a right to pry. If talking to Paisley, or Jagger, or the random guy at the gym makes you feel better, then you should take advantage of it. I only want what’s best for you.”

  He cupped my face with both hands, the fiberglass of his cast rough against my cheek. “You are what’s best for me.” He looked away with pursed lips.

  “You have your ‘but’ face on.”

  A small smile quirked his lips. “Butt-face, huh?”

  “You know what I meant. But, what?”

  He looked me over like it was the last time he might see me, his eyes wide and vulnerable with a fear I hadn’t seen since we’d broken up in Colorado.

  “Josh, you’re scaring me.”

  His face fell, and a soft smile graced his lips. “No. No, don’t be. It’s just that you’re the best thing for me. You’re my fucking sanity, the only solace I have, but right now, I know I’m the worst possible thing for you, December. You should run, not walk, the hell away from me. At least for now.”

  “No,” I said, pressing my lips to his clammy forehead. “Never. There’s nothing you could do or say that would make me walk away from you, Joshua Walker. Not now, not ever.” I leaned back so I could see the little flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “Once upon a time you promised to be my whatever. Do you remember that?”

  “I could never forget.”

  “Then remember this. I’ll be your whatever. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. I’m strong enough to pull us both through this.”

  “You shouldn’t have to be. You shouldn’t have to bury your friends, and deal with my nightmares, and get pulled to the ground. This wasn’t what you signed up for.”

  I lifted my left hand. “I signed up for you, and everything that comes with you.” Reaching onto the counter, I grabbed his cell phone and handed it to him. “But it would sure as hell be a lot easier if you would set an appointment to talk to someone.”

  He took the phone but didn’t dial. “They’ll take my wings if I go to a shrink.”

  A defeated breath escaped my lips. “Okay, then at least schedule your eval. It’s supposed to be this week, right? So we’ll be clear for leave next week?”

  He nodded and started to dial.

  It wasn’t what he needed, but it was a start…and I’d take it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Josh

  “I’m not laying down,” I said to the psychologist, Major Henderson, as I shut the door behind me.

  “I don’t think I asked you to, but that’s good to know,” he said, looking over his glasses at my file. “I like knowing where we stand, or sit, rather.” He motioned to the armchair across from his, and I took it. “Lieutenant Walker, I presume?”

  “Yes, sir.” We both leaned in to shake hands.

  “You all look so much younger in civies,” he said, motioning to my cargo shorts and polo shirt.

  “I’m on convalescent leave, sir.”

  “I figured as much. No judgment, just an observation.”

  I leaned back in the chair and stopped before I crossed my right ankle over my left thigh. The staples were out, but that wound was still angry and pink. “Will there be a lot of those here? Observations?”

  “Depends on what you want to tell me. Did you bring the questionnaire?”

  “Yes, sir.” I pulled the four-page questionnaire from the manila folder I’d brought and handed it to him.

  “What will it tell me, Lieutenant?”

  “If you’re going to evaluate my mental status, you may as well call me Josh.”

  He nodded with a small smile. “Very well, Josh.”

  I took a deep breath and settled in. I owed it to Ember to be as truthful as possible, but I knew this system well. There was zero chance I would voluntarily say anything that would end up pulling my wings. No chance in hell.

  “Sir, the questionnaire will tell you that this was my second deployment. I was wounded both times, because I guess I’m either the luckiest or unluckiest bastard in the world, depending on how you view it.”

  “Noted. Continue.”

  “It will tell you that almost a month ago, I was involved in a helicopter crash that killed my copilot, whom I was very fond of, and then I watched a very close friend die protecting me, all in the name of saving my best friend, who was the pilot of the other downed aircraft.”

  “That must have been extremely rough on you.”

  “Yes, sir, it was.”

  He flipped through my questionnaire, scanning the pages. “How would you classify your mental health?”

  Tread carefully if you want to fly again.

  “I have a little trouble sleeping, and when I do, I have nightmares once a night.” Three, four, five times. Who’s counting?

  “How is that affecting your relationship?”

  “I’m engaged to a very understanding woman.” Who you don’t deserve. “I’ve had no angry outbursts, especially in her direction. I’m not going to, either.”

  “Anything affecting your daytime hours?”

  “Besides this very annoying, itchy cast, the laceration on my thigh, and the incision on my chest from the splenectomy?”

  He arched an eyebrow in my direction. “In the mental sense.”

  “No sir.” Except that one time you tossed Ember off the counter because you thought the garbage man might be packing serious heat.

  He scribbled something in my file. “Crowds?”

  “I haven’t cared for them much since my first deployment, but things look a lot different from the sky than they do the ground. I’ve gotten better with it since I’m not kicking in doors on raids anymore.”

  He nodded. “And what do you generally think about the state of army mental health care?”

  “I think we’re both checking a block. You want to make sure I’m not psycho, so you’re not to blame if I go on a murderous rampage and blame PTSD, and I want to make sure you’ll let me fly again. It’s a business relationship.”

  He leaned forward, instantly intrigued. Fuck, you need to shut the hell up.

  “Do you want to fly again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm.” More jotting down in the file.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No.” More notes. “Sometimes you see pilots a little more skittish after a crash.”

  “Yeah, well, back on the horse and everything, right?”

  He looked up at me, his eyes seeing things I’d rather they not. “Right. Tell me, Lieutenant, do you think you need ongoing appointments?”

  Forgive me, Ember.

  “No, sir. I think I’ve been through this before, and I know how to handle it. The nightmares will stop once I’m done processing what happened. The grief will take a hell of a lot longer, but grief isn’t going to keep me from flying.”

  “No, it’s not,” he said, tapping his pencil on my file. “What do you plan to use to pull you through this time?”

  “If you’re asking me if I’m going to turn into an addict, the answer is no. I haven’t touched alcohol since before I deployed, and I quit pain meds within the week of the crash. I have a very supportive fiancée”—aka, your drug of choice—“and I’m headed to see my mother. Nothing like a few days at home to soothe your soul.”

  He turned those assessing eyes on me again, narrowing them through his glasses before writing on my chart again. “True. Well, how about we meet one more time when you’re back?”

  He must have heard my sigh of exasperation because he looked up. “Only to clear you, of course. If you’re doing as well as you think you are, I’ll have no problem signing off. Until then, a follow-up isn’t going to affect your schedule, or go on your record.”

  He paused, making sure I’d realized what he’d said.

  Off the record. He was giving me a way to talk to him that wouldn’t affect my wings. “Thank you, sir. I’ll make sure to follow up, but only to be signed off, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  We shook hands, and I rose to leave, but he
stopped me as I reached the door. “Chamomile tea. That always helps me sleep. Melatonin, if you need it. And while you’re so certain that it’s not affecting the rest of your life, just make sure your fiancée feels the same way. She’ll have some adverse reactions to this, too, so take care of yourself.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you for seeing me.”

  “I’ll see you back here in two weeks, Lieutenant Walker.”

  I gave him a nod, scheduled with his secretary, and got the hell away from there before he changed his mind. I knew Ember wanted me to pour my heart out to the guy, but he had control over my career, my wings, my life. I wasn’t going to let him take any of those, so I’d given him enough truth to check the important boxes and hid the rest that would check the wrong boxes.

  Ember would have to understand…or rather, never know.

  “Pink?” I asked Jagger that Sunday as we sat stretched out, our legs elevated by his coffee table. His new full-leg casts were so bright they were nearly radioactive.

  He glanced down and shrugged. “It takes a real man to pull off hot pink.” He nodded to the racing game on Xbox. “Besides, I’m still kicking your ass.”

  “I’m just taking it easy on you and those non-weight-bearing casts.”

  “My hands aren’t broken.” He shook the remote with a grin. “Hell, I could probably still beat you if they were.”

  I flipped my baseball cap backward. “Challenge accepted.”

  “You looking forward to heading home?” he asked, cutting off my car.

  I gunned it and flew by him on the left. “Yeah, it’ll be good to see my mom, tune up my Ducati.” My lips tilted into a small smile. “I ordered a full set of hot-weather gear for Ember as a surprise. She’s never ridden that bike.”

  His car was back on my rear. “I didn’t think Ember was a big fan of motorcycles.”

  “Everyone likes Ducatis.”

  He scoffed.

  “Okay, maybe I’m hoping she’ll like the Ducati.” The last time she’d seen it she’d simply shaken her head and walked away. My eyes flicked to the clock. The girls had been gone twenty minutes. “How is Paisley handling all of this?”