On Broken Wings

by Chanel Cleeton

  “You think it’s a bad idea, don’t you?” she asked. “I did, too. I was worried it was too soon.”

  “No.” I took a deep breath, steadying myself, trying to be the man she deserved, a better man than I’d ever been. I turned, fixing my gaze to a point over her shoulder. It had been what, a year now? “It’s not too soon.” I’d seen what she’d been through. The losses she carried with her. She deserved to be happy. Deserved to have a good life, a stable life, deserved a guy who would love her and treat her right. For all she’d loved Joker, she’d never had stability, had come second to the military, and I wanted that for her now. A doctor could give her that. And Jordan loved Dani. She wouldn’t have set her up with anyone who wasn’t good for her.

  “You should go out with him.”

  Surprise filled her gaze. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

  I would have been lying if I didn’t admit it hurt to get the words out, but it was the right answer.

  I forced a smile. “Yeah. You deserve to be happy. Joker loved you with everything he had, everything he was. When you love someone like that, you want what’s best for them. He would want you to be happy.”

  I wanted her, had always wanted her, would always want her. But more than anything, I wanted her to be happy. I would have gladly given up everything to remove the pain she’d experienced, for things to have ended differently. I lived with that moment in my head constantly, plagued by the question of why it had gone down the way it did, why the spatial disorientation had hit him and not me, why I’d returned home in a jet and his remains had come home in a coffin.

  DANI

  I messed around in the kitchen while Easy painted the nursery, the remnants of our conversation lingering in my mind. I still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of going on a date, but I did feel better after talking to him. On the surface, Easy didn’t seem like the deepest guy; he embodied the stereotypical image of the fighter pilot who partied hard, fucked harder, and lived on the edge. But I’d learned throughout the years that there were layers there, and he could be a rock when you needed him to be. So I took his advice and I trusted him, not only because he’d mattered to Michael, but because he mattered to me.

  I worried about him. I’d watched Noah and Thor take time to recover from the accident, had seen them lean on the people in their lives to get them through their loss. Easy didn’t really have anyone. Noah was his closest friend, but he had his hands full with Jordan’s pregnancy and managing their life apart. Easy and Thor hung out socially, but I couldn’t quite envision them having deep heart-to-hearts. Couldn’t really envision Easy having that with anyone. I’d tried reaching out to him a few times over the past year without much success. Maybe it was time for me to make more of an effort.

  I pulled the roast from the oven, letting it cool for a few minutes, walking over to the dining room to set the table. There was something both comforting and sad in this ritual, too. Another piece of myself I’d lost somewhere along the way since Michael’s death. I’d taken these moments for granted when he was alive, relegating them to the mundane, but now these were the things I missed the most. I blinked, imagining Michael sitting at the head of the table, in his usual seat. An empty space greeted me instead.

  When the table was finished, I walked back to the bedroom to tell Easy the food was ready.

  The smell of fresh paint hit me first, and then I walked over the threshold to my now-beige guest bedroom, and stopped in my tracks at the sight before me.

  I’d heard the guys’ jokes about how fanatical Easy was about working out and eating healthy; even in a squadron where most guys had made CrossFit their own personal religion, he had a rep for taking it a step further. And holy hell, it showed.

  At some point he’d clearly gotten hot, his T-shirt now tucked into the waistband of his cargo shorts . . .

  I swallowed, my gaze riveted to the sight of those muscles, so many muscles, the tan skin, the indentation above the back of his shorts that dipped beneath the fabric. I swallowed. It was so wrong to perv on Easy of all people, and then he turned and whatever I’d been prepared to say dried up in my throat.

  I didn’t even bother trying to hide my reaction, because there hardly seemed to be a point. I doubted I was the first, tenth, or even hundredth woman to lose her shit in the face of Easy’s body.

  I swallowed again, not meeting his gaze, lost somewhere in pec-land. And then I went lower.

  Defined, tan abs gave way to indents on either side of his hips. He was tan and smooth, his skin . . .

  Jesus.

  No wonder he had so much success with women. If this was what came of hitting the gym and eating healthy, maybe I needed to rethink my life choices.

  Say something.

  The words tumbled out. “So that working-out thing is working for you, huh?”

  I did not just say that.

  A moment passed and then he let out a strangled laugh. “Something like that.”

  I forced myself to look higher, staring at his stomach, those pecs, his neck, that angular jaw, until our gazes met. His eyes were wide, and if I hadn’t known how confident Easy always was, I’d almost have thought he was embarrassed.

  I was ready for a hole to open in the ground and swallow me up.

  And underneath it all, the thing that shocked me the most was that for a moment, I hadn’t thought of Easy as my friend, but as a guy. A hot guy. The sensation inside me—it wasn’t arousal or attraction, but it was something—a feeling I’d thought I’d lost. I hadn’t appreciated male beauty in a long time. That it was Easy made the whole thing weird on so many levels.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, my face on fire. “I didn’t realize you’d taken your shirt off.” I was a grown woman, not some innocent virgin, but damn nothing had really prepared me for this. In all the years we’d known each other, I’d never seen him shirtless. It was like seeing a Renoir for the first time.

  A flush settled over his cheeks. “Yeah, sorry, I got a little warm.”

  Me, too.

  I took a deep breath, maintaining eye contact and mentally dressing him, which I was pretty sure was a first with someone who looked like Easy.

  “No, it’s fine.” I forced myself to act like an adult and not dissolve into awkward giggles. “I wasn’t expecting all that.” I made a waving motion in the general direction of THE SIX-PACK. “I mean, go you. Clearly the kale and wheatgrass and those weird little smoothies you drink are working their magic.”

  This time his laugh came out full-bodied and warm, his lips curving into a smile that was quintessentially Easy, that reminded me of the side of him I hadn’t seen in a long time.

  “Thanks, I think.”

  Silence settled between us and I remembered why I’d come back here in the first place. “So dinner’s ready.”

  “Perfect timing. The room’s finished.”

  So it was.

  I looked around at the beige-colored walls, another knot forming in my stomach, and suddenly I couldn’t be in this room, didn’t want to acknowledge that my life was moving on, that Michael and I would never have a baby.

  I took a deep breath, and then another, the room blurring together as I struggled to adjust, to keep moving forward, when all I wanted was to fall to the floor and give in to the emotions ripping me to shreds.

  Grief was a sneaky bitch.

  And then Easy was there, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me in close as the tears began to fall, stroking my back, telling me it was going to be okay over and over again, his voice so determined even I almost believed him. And as much as it should have felt awkward crying in a half-naked man’s arms, it didn’t because it was Easy. There were very few people I was comfortable showing this side of my grief, but he was one of them. He’d seen me with my walls down.

  I’d never forget how he’d stood beside me when I’d faltered at Michael’s mem
orial service. There was something about him—as if a switch had been flipped—transforming him from the cocky guy who seemed to sail through life without taking anything seriously, to a rock.

  My rock.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, the sound muffled by my face buried against his chest.

  He stroked my hair. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

  I nodded, reaching between us to wipe at my face. I let myself linger there for a beat, and then another, enjoying the solace I found in his arms until his grip on me loosened, and I took a step away, missing the comfort of his body.

  My hand came to rest between my breasts, the heel pressing into my skin as though it could erase the permanent ache in my heart.

  “Sorry. It hits me sometimes. I figured doing the room would be hard, but I wasn’t prepared for it.”

  “I know.”

  And he did. When I’d miscarried, Easy had been the one who took me to the hospital and stayed with me until Michael arrived. Some of the wives had shown up, but I’d never forget that he’d stayed, holding my hand when the doctors gave me the news, after I’d been inconsolable. For that alone, I would forever love Easy.

  He reached out and hooked his arm around me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here and go eat.”

  I nodded.

  He let me go, reaching down and grabbing his shirt, pulling it on over his head.

  He walked behind me, his hand at the small of my back, his touch gentle but steady, as though he knew I needed the extra support. It was nice to have someone to lean on, even for a little bit. Felt good to not be so alone. That was another thing I hadn’t been prepared for—how lonely I would feel now that I was on my own. Not even lonely—it was more than that—I’d simply disappeared, had gone from someone who was loved, who experienced affection, to someone who wandered an empty house alone. I missed the physical affection I’d almost taken for granted when I was married, the little signs that let me know someone was thinking of me, caring for me. I felt like a plant that had gone without sunlight or food for a year, and this little bit of kindness from Easy was needed more than I’d realized.

  We took our seats at the dining room table, the food already spread out.

  He smiled at me, a beautiful, blinding curve of his lips. “This looks amazing.”

  “Thank you. It’s the least I could do for how much you helped me today.” A wave of emotion hit me as I looked at him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve been such a good friend to me these past few years, and if there’s ever anything you need, I’m here for you.”

  He looked down at his plate, and I wondered if I’d gone too touchy-feely, but then he looked up at me and the emotion in his gaze staggered me.

  “I’ll always be here for you, Dani. You . . .” He trailed off, staring down at his plate once again. “I care about you, too. I always will.”

  I reached between us and took his hand, lacing my fingers with his, and squeezed, trying to give him some of my strength, just as he’d so often done for me.

  FOUR

  EASY

  Seeing her cry earlier, how fragile she looked—whatever I felt for her, however badly I ached, I couldn’t keep putting distance between us. I’d hoped it would help, that I could force myself to get over her, but I’d have been lying if I didn’t admit I’d thought of her constantly. I’d missed her, and now, even as much as it hurt, there was something about being around her. I loved her, and loving someone was more about them than you, so it didn’t matter what I wanted. If she wanted me around, if she wanted to be friends, then I’d give her that. I’d give her everything I could.

  We ate in silence, and then slowly eased ourselves into conversation, past the emotions throbbing at the periphery of the dinner.

  “When do you leave for Afghanistan?” she asked.

  “Four weeks.”

  In the past ten years, I’d deployed to the Middle East five times. Considering I was single and rented my house, deploying was little more than packing some bags and heading out. The living situation usually sucked, the food and not being able to drink alcohol sucked more, but it came with the territory. And it definitely felt good to do the mission we spent so much time training for. I was one of those guys who got a little restless if too much time passed between deployments, if I didn’t get to do what I’d been born to do.

  “Are you doing better with experience in the squadron?” she asked.

  Dani hadn’t just been the squadron commander’s wife; she’d been tapped in to the day-to-day operations. She’d been part of the F-16 community for long enough; she understood the nuances of what we did and what it took to manage a squadron.

  “Yeah. We got three new pilots in who are all IPs, so we should have the instructor problem sorted. We have two guys going through the FLUG now, so that’ll help to have more pilots who can lead sorties.”

  I was the assistant director of operations in the squadron, which meant manning issues slowly trickled down to be my problem. Our director of operations, the guy who was second in command, was uncharacteristically laid-back for the job, so he tended to delegate a lot to me. Which I fucking loathed. I loved to fly, but the rest of it? Hated it with the fire of a thousand suns.

  “That’s good. Jordan mentioned you guys were doing a big send-off before the deployment.”

  “Yeah, I heard something about that. Are you going to come?”

  She nodded. “I think so.”

  “Good.”

  For the first time it hit me that she might sell the house while we were gone, and I could return to Oklahoma and never see her again. As much as I’d miss her, it would be good for her to move on, to start her new life, away from the squadron and the memories of Joker. She thought of us as a family, but it also hadn’t escaped my notice that she was basically in the same place she’d been before he died.

  I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “Okay, so tell me about this date.”

  She made a face.

  I could do this. We just needed to keep things friendly and casual between us.

  “Come on, it’ll help to talk about it. Besides, Jordan wouldn’t set you up with anyone terrible. And the guy’s a doctor, right? That’s good.”

  What did I know? Women were probably into doctors. They made good money, and saved lives and shit.

  “What, are you playing matchmaker now?” she asked, her tone incredulous.

  I coughed, choking on the beer she’d poured for me. What a fucking joke. “God, no.”

  “’Cause it sounded like it.”

  “I wasn’t playing matchmaker; I’m just saying it might not be bad.” I swallowed, the beer bitter on my tongue. Or maybe that was just the words coming out of my mouth. “And if you go into it with a good attitude, you might be surprised.”

  Where did I come up with this stuff?

  “Maybe.”

  “Come on. You might enjoy yourself.”

  He definitely would.

  I bet she was fun to go on a date with, could too easily imagine taking her out to a nice dinner or hanging out at a bar somewhere. That was one of the things I loved most about Dani—how proper and elegant she could be one moment—utterly untouchable—and the next she was joking around, completely at home with a rowdy group of fighter pilots.

  She groaned. “I doubt it. I didn’t really date before I met Michael. I mean, a little bit, but nothing serious. And I never really liked it. It always felt awkward sitting across from someone playing twenty questions.”

  “You have a point there.” I hesitated, not entirely sure I wanted to go down this path, but unable to resist the urge to know more about her past, about her. “You were young when you guys met?”

  Joker had been older than Dani—we’d celebrated his fortieth birthday right before he died—but I didn�
��t know much about their relationship. Joker had been a great guy, but he wasn’t one to talk about emotional shit.

  “I was twenty-one. He was thirty.” A smile played at her lips and I realized she was somewhere else entirely. “My parents freaked out. A thirty-year-old fighter pilot? I was in my last semester of college and trust me, Michael was not what they had in mind.”

  That wasn’t shocking. I’d known Joker when he was younger; Dani had definitely mellowed him out.

  “How did you guys meet?”

  I wanted the image in my head of her when she was younger, of her happy. It was another piece of her to add to all the other ones I’d collected throughout the years.

  “We met at a bar after a Georgia football game. He was there doing the flyover; I was out with friends. We locked gazes across the room and that was it. He walked over and introduced himself, and I knew my life was about to change.”

  The expression on her face—

  Her smile was blinding.

  “I never talk about him anymore. Everyone’s so afraid to upset me that they avoid mentioning him as much as possible. And sometimes it is hard to remember—sometimes it hurts so much—but other times it feels good. I’ve missed talking about him. Sometimes I’m afraid if I don’t talk about him, if I let these memories fade, I’ll forget them all.”

  “You won’t.” I reached out and squeezed her hand, her skin smooth beneath mine, the ban I’d made on touching her obviously obliterated. “You can always talk to me.”

  The smile she sent my way had my heart tumbling in my chest.

  “Thank you.”

  I nodded, my voice hoarse. “Anytime.”

  She released my hand, going back to her food. “Enough about me dating. What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Are you seeing anyone?” she asked. “It’s been so long since we’ve caught up.”

  “Nah, not really.”

  This year had been rough on every level. Joker’s death had messed me up too much to consider seriously dating anyone and honestly, I couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm. There’d been a few nights I could barely remember, even more nights searching for peace at the bottom of a bottle, but I’d learned pretty early on that screwing pain out of my system never quite did the trick. And I’d also figured out that as much as I wanted to get over Dani, it wasn’t fair to someone else to use them as a placeholder for the woman I really wanted. I wasn’t a saint; I still had sex once in a while, but lately those times had become few and far between. Maybe I was finally growing up, or maybe I’d tried all the tricks in the book to get over her and finally come to the irrefutable conclusion that I was one of those poor bastards who was done for once he gave his heart away.