Hallowed Ground (Flight & Glory #4)

by Rebecca Yarros

  I looked at the chair in front of us, where Mom currently wore a smile that could light the world. “No, I’m just glad to see her happy.”

  “Me, too,” Gus agreed. “I like Paul. Plus, he said his intentions are honorable.”

  April leaned forward, her mouth dropping open. “You asked him that?”

  “You can never be too sure,” he said with a straight face.

  April and I burst into snorting fits of laughter that lasted just about until the chair stopped at the top of the mountain. Gus hopped down, and then April waited, offering her arm to keep me steady as my feet reached the step. Then she cleared the lace train of my gown and lifted it as we walked down to the path.

  Butterflies took flight in my stomach as she adjusted the thick lace straps of my sweetheart neckline and then made sure the jeweled belt was secure. “One moment…” She bit her lip in concentration and pushed something into my hair. “One of the crystals had come loose.”

  “What?” I asked as she blinked.

  “You’re just…beautiful.”

  “I’m proud of you, April. Everything you’ve fought through, and going to CU, getting great grades… I couldn’t be prouder to have you as a sister.” Our hug was short, since I saw Mom approaching us over her shoulder, and then Paisley and Sam came off the next chair.

  They all sniffled, dabbing at their eyes, but I was too excited to cry. Too ready to be Josh’s wife. Wife! I used to think “fiancée” was the prettiest word until I became one, then I realized that “wife” was quite possibly the best word in the English language next to “husband.”

  “Okay, ladies, the clock is a-tickin’,” Gus called out.

  “Never rush a lady, August.” Grams clucked. “You have never looked lovelier, December,” she said with a kiss on my cheek.

  “December, you are radiant,” Mrs. Patricks said, earpiece in and clipboard in hand. “Are you ready to become Mrs. Walker?”

  “I’ve always been ready,” I answered with an effortless smile.

  We walked to the area just before the aisle, hidden by the large trellis. Mom kissed me on the cheek. “Your father would be so proud of you. So happy with the love you’ve found.” Her eyes glistened as she pulled back. “I love you. This marriage only means that we gain Josh. You’ll always be my baby girl.”

  “I know, Mom,” I answered. “I love you, too.”

  She walked down the aisle with Grams as the music played, followed by Josh’s mom, who blew me a kiss as she walked by. Morgan sat next to Mom, Peyton happily chewing on part of her dress as he sat in her lap. Paisley and Sam readied themselves to walk, and Gus gently tugged my hand.

  “What’s up, little man?”

  “I wish Dad was here. Is that okay?”

  Tears pricked at my eyes. “I wish he was, too, Gus. But I know that he’s really happy that you’re walking me down the aisle.”

  April fixed his hair, leaning down in her pale blue dress. “He’s here, Gus. Trust me, he’s watching, because he wouldn’t miss this for the world. Not after all the work he did to get these two together.”

  I squeezed her hand, and our eyes locked, so similar yet so different. “Thank you.”

  “You’re up, April,” Mrs. Patricks said, and April nodded, then walked down the aisle.

  “Shall we?” Gus said, tilting his chin and offering his arm.

  I took it, marveling that he was already approaching my jaw in height. “We shall.”

  The music changed, and we stepped into the arch.

  Josh came into view, and it was all I could do not to race toward him when his mouth dropped slightly. I kept my eyes locked on his and my steps measured, but my heart flew higher than the mountains around us.

  Josh in a hockey uniform, hell, Josh in MultiCam didn’t quite compare to Josh in a tux, waiting for me at the end of the large deck.

  Gus nodded to Josh as we approached, and Josh leaned down as my little brother whispered in his ear. With raised eyebrows, he nodded then shook Gus’s hand. Only then did Gus give my hand over to Josh.

  “I think Dad’s happy,” he whispered to me.

  “I do, too,” I said, kissing his cheek before he walked to stand between Jagger and Grayson.

  Then the world faded away as Josh looked into my eyes and said, “You…you’re perfection.”

  I saw forever in those brown eyes. “You, too. What did Gus whisper?”

  Josh’s eyes danced. “That if I ever hurt you, he has a BB-gun and knows where I sleep.”

  I leaned around Josh and widened my eyes at Gus. He had the nerve to smile and throw me a thumbs-up.

  Josh and I were both laughing as we turned to the minister.

  In front of seventy-five of our closest friends and family, we pledged our love, verbalizing everything we’d known from the start—we were meant for each other.

  Josh vowed to love me forever, cherish me above all, and always come home to me.

  I vowed to love him for eternity, adore him when he was wrinkled, and to always be waiting for him…unless I was digging up something really old. Then he’d have to do the waiting.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife,” the minister said. “You may kiss your bride.”

  My heart sang, feeling as if it was made entirely of joy.

  Josh paused, his eyes alight with wonder and love as they skimmed over my face, as if he was trying to remember every detail of this moment. Then he stepped forward, cupping one hand behind my neck and the other at my waist. My free hand came around his neck, and as he dipped me backward, my bouquet almost brushed the floor in the other.

  He kissed me, filling me with promise, and hope, and so much love that I thought my heart might burst from the sheer volume of emotion pouring through me. I was vaguely aware of an uproar of applause as he deepened the kiss for the smallest of seconds before pulling me back to a standing position, my lips still clinging to his.

  The claps became even louder as we drew apart, and I saw his arm lifted above us, his fist clenched in victory.

  “You and me?” he whispered against my lips.

  “Against the world,” I promised.

  And what a beautiful world it was. Our world.

  Epilogue

  Josh

  Five years later

  Damn it, I was going to be late. I shouldn’t have taken that last call, but the new shift wasn’t on for another twenty minutes, and they’d requested Flight For Life, so we’d gone. I’d call later and check to make sure the little boy had made it.

  I parked my Jeep in the closest spot available and grabbed my bag from the back, sprinting into the practice rink at the World Arena. She’d never forgive me if I was late.

  I threw open the glass doors and raced toward the locker room to see Ember coming out with Noah on her hip, her cheeks pink from the cool air in the rink. “Josh! You made it!”

  Our lips met, and that same lightning ran through me, bringing every one of my nerves to attention. I kissed her again just because I could, until Noah pulled on my bag strap.

  “Hey, Hulk,” I said, lifting our seven-month-old son into my arms. He had his mother’s eyes and disposition, and after the hell-raiser Quinn had been, and still was, Noah was the perfect second baby. I kissed his soft cheeks and caught his giggles while Ember adjusted the baby carrier, and then I helped her get him situated, running my hand over his little bald head before pulling his Colorado Tigers hat over it. “How was work?” I asked.

  “Good! I edited that article for Archaeology Magazine, graded a stack of papers, and put in the grant paperwork for the new dig site.”

  “You put me to shame, December Walker.”

  “Save any lives today?”

  “A few, I hope. How is our little hockey player?”

  “Annoyed that Coach Dad isn’t here on time.” She smiled. “Seriously. I’m not even allowed to tie skates. Apparently I’m not cool enough, because Daddy does it better. You’ve created a monster, Josh, and you must now tame the beast. And seriousl
y, with the fight over the number?”

  “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with wanting your old man’s number.”

  “Uh huh.” She smirked. “Because Quinn was definitely the one fighting, right? Or wait…that was you and Mr. Parkins.”

  “Hey, Quinn was just as entitled to that number as the Parkins kid was.”

  “Uh huh, you’d better get in there before the beast shreds you.”

  “I will don my armor.”

  “Game starts in fifteen minutes.” She smacked my ass and wiggled her eyebrows. “Looking good today, Walker.”

  I shot her a look that told her this wasn’t over. “You just wait until we get home. Noah may sleep through the night, but you won’t.”

  “Promises, promises,” she said with a laugh and headed toward the stands.

  I came through the locker room doors and searched the benches full of squirming kids for mine.

  “Thank God you’re here, because I got shot down when I offered to help Quinn,” Gus said, shaking his head, which was almost level with mine.

  I’d never known anyone as particular about hockey equipment, and who put it on, as Quinn was.

  “No worries, I got caught up at work, but I’m here. Thanks, Gus.”

  “No problem.” He bent down to help one of the dozens of boys who took up the benches. Quinn’s arms were waving, and I picked my way to the back of the locker room.

  “You’re late!”

  “I know,” I said, crouching down to grab one tiny skate. “But Daddy had to help save lives. I’m here now. You wouldn’t let Mommy tie your skates?”

  There was a tiny headshake under a massive helmet. “She doesn’t do it tight enough. She’s scared of hurting me, but I’m tough.”

  “I know you are,” I assured our firstborn, finishing up the other skate. “Are you ready for your first game?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “What do we do?” I asked, careful as those tiny skates met the padded surface of the locker room so we could walk to the ice.

  “Skate fast, shoot steady, and don’t hog the puck.”

  “Good job.” We fist-bumped before we stepped into the bench.

  “Daddy? My helmet feels weird.” Quinn plopped onto the bench with as much grace as a four-year-old decked out in gear could.

  “Okay, let me peek.” I unhooked the snaps and then pulled it off.

  A tumult of red curls fell from the helmet, and I stared into eyes that mirrored my own with the attitude to match. “That’s better,” she said.

  “You didn’t let Mommy braid your hair?” I asked, pulling an extra hair tie out of my coaching jacket.

  “None of the boys have to,” she argued.

  “None of the boys have Princess Merida hair. Now turn.” I straddled the bench behind her, divided her hair into three sections, and braided it with practiced fingers. “Done.”

  She ran her hand down the seam. “Mommy does it smoother.”

  “Then you should have let Mommy do it, you imp.”

  She burst into laughter and grinned up at me. “I’m not an imp, I’m Quinn!”

  I kissed her on the forehead, and then secured her helmet. “Yes, you sure are. Now get on the ice, and we’ll go out for hot chocolate if you score.”

  “Daddy,” she whispered.

  “Quinny?”

  “What if I don’t score?”

  I grinned at her perfect little face, so like her mother’s, and thanked God again for this life I’d been given. “Then we’ll go out for hot chocolate.”

  “Okay.” She nodded, then turned to where Ember sat in the stands. “Hi, Mommy! Noah!”

  Ember waved, and then lifted Noah’s hand from her hair to do the same as Quinn took the half-ice that was set up for the Mites-level game. How was she already four? How was this already her first game? How…had my daughter just stolen the puck from that massive six-year-old?

  Quick on her feet, she skated past the lone defenseman and scored on the goalie-less net, throwing up her arms in victory as if Lundqvist himself had been in goal.

  I clapped for her, and then turned to Ember, who had covered Noah’s ears and was cheering loudly against the glass for our daughter.

  I had never loved December more than at that moment—though I thought that just about every day.

  All these years, and we were back here, at the same rink, cheering on the jersey with number thirteen and the name Walker emblazoned across the back.

  And now it was our daughter who was terrifying every boy on the ice.

  Ember raised her hand to the glass and smiled at me with a slow nod that let me know her thoughts were along the same line.

  We weren’t in high school, or even college, but one thing remained the same—I was head over heels in love with December Walker.

  And I always would be.

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  Acknowledgments

  Thank you, first and foremost, to my Heavenly Father, who has blessed me beyond reason, and without whose mercy I could not exist.

  Thank you to my husband, Jason. For being my strength, my safe place, my inspiration, and for always accepting me for exactly who I am and not only loving me in spite of my flaws, but because of them. Thank you to my children, who give me a reason to put my feet on the floor before the sun rises, and fill my heart and my arms with warm, squishy hugs. Thank you to my sons for standing tall and strong while we lived eighteen hundred miles apart from your dad these last seven months—while I wrote this book, edited another, wrote another, took too many phone calls, snapped one too many times—all in the name of adopting your little sister. Thank you for loving her with the ferocity of the fire-breathing dragons you are. To my sister—I’m coming home, so tune up your guitar. Love you, mean it. To my brothers—thank you for the unique perspectives you bring to my life and your ability to simultaneously make me yell that I’m now an adult while making me wish I was not. To my parents, who never doubted for a second, and learned how to live again with five kids underfoot while we transitioned. To Grace, for always seeing the best in me and loaning your name to our daughter. She will wear it well.

  Thank you to my amazing editor, Karen. I can’t believe we’re here, not just at the end of our fourth book together, but the end of this series. These Flyboys are just as much yours as they are mine. Thank you for teaching me, laughing with me, and being incredibly patient with me. To Jamie, for believing in Josh and Ember, and me. To the insanely talented team at Entangled: Liz, Debbie, Heather R., Heather H., Ellie, Jessica, Brittany, and Curtis. You’re all rock stars. Thank you to my incredible, sassy publicity team, Melissa, Linda, Sharon, Jesey, and Kristi, for eleven p.m. messages, cocktails in NYC, strawberry whiskey in Nashville, and love in Philadelphia. I couldn’t do this without you ladies. To Ashley, I’m so praying that I haven’t scared you off yet. To my agent, Louise, for every time you’ve stepped in when you didn’t have to and for your unwavering faith in me.

  Thank you, Molly, for three a.m. critiques and swift kicks in my ass when I’m ready to torch a manuscript. It’s you, my dear, who is the golden goddess. To Emily—nearly twenty years, and you’re still my best friend. Either you’re incredibly brilliant, or your pain tolerance is wicked high. Linda, thank you for taking a chance and sending a newbie author an email. My life has been irrevocably changed for the better because of you. Katrina, I have no words for the way you are able to answer every question with a smile. Rose, because Oliver Queen always trumps RT. To Lizzy, for your steadfast friendship and inspiring heart. The rest of the BBA crew, Rachel, Cindi, and Melissa, you guys keep me on my toes and constantly striving to better not just my writing but myself. To my Backspace Survivors, what a road this has been. My
Epics, you guys blow me away. To the incredibly talented group of writers I find myself lucky enough to call friends: Jen, Fiona, Megan, Tessa, Mindy, Brenda, Amy…and now I’m going to kick myself because you know I’m leaving someone out. To the women I couldn’t make it without, Claire, Corinne, Whitney, Pepper, Alessandre, Christine, Laurelin, Lauren, Mandi, Kyla, Rose, Kristy, Aleatha, the whole crew. You give me a safe place, incredible insight, and your friendship—I could not be more grateful. FYW.

  To the bloggers who spend countless hours reading, reviewing, pushing, helping, sharing—Natasha, Jillian, Aestas, Wolfel, Angie, Alexis, Allison, Lisa, Holly, Toski, Natasha M., Kara, and the countless others I’m no doubt forgetting at three a.m.—you are absolutely invaluable in both your insane skills and your tender hearts. How did I get so lucky to have your support? Trish, you might not be a blogger but, my God, are you an amazing cheerleader, and an even better friend.

  To the person I undoubtedly forgot. I love you. Please forgive my sleep-deprived brain. It’s been a long year.

  Lastly, again to my husband, the original Flyboy. For coming home to me every time you’ve deployed. For giving me so much inspiration in our real life that Hallowed Ground simply flowed. For this love that has not only survived four deployments, but is all the stronger for them. There’s so much of you in here. Your honor, your integrity, your strength. So much of you in every hero I write.

  About the Author

  Rebecca Yarros is a hopeless romantic and a lover of all things coffee, chocolate, and Paleo. She is the author of the Flight & Glory series, including Full Measures, the award-winning Eyes Turned Skyward, and Beyond What is Given. She loves military heroes, and has been blissfully married to hers for fourteen years. When she’s not writing, she’s tying hockey skates for her four sons, sneaking in some guitar time, or watching brat-pack movies with her two daughters. She lives in Colorado with the hottest Apache pilot ever, their rambunctious gaggle of kids, an English bulldog who is more stubborn than sweet, and a bunny named General Fluffy Pants who torments the aforementioned bulldog. They recently adopted their youngest daughter from the foster system, and Rebecca is passionate about helping others do the same.