He jerked back a bit, surprise etched across his features.
I closed my eyes, a headache coming on. “Sorry. That sounded way less grumpy in my head.”
I opened my eyes in time to see his lips curve into what was definitely his real smile.
“You’re fine.” He stood there, smiling down at me, until I realized we were blocking the exit, his hand splayed on my back. My gaze narrowed as I studied him. Guys weren’t supposed to be beautiful, but he was. His eyes were an ocean shade of blue, made even more impressive by how tan his skin was. His shoulders were so broad he blocked out the rest of the club, his body towering over me. No doubt, he’d make one—or more than one, if the rumors were true—of those girls at the table very happy tonight.
I swallowed, the image of Easy in bed with two girls rearing its ugly head. I’d hung around the guys enough to know shit happened, and it had never bothered me before, but for some reason the idea of Easy in a threesome made me feel a bit ill . . .
I took a step away from him, averting my gaze.
“It’s time for me to head home. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. Just tired.”
“Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”
“You don’t have to.” I peered around him to the table of girls watching us with avid interest. “Seriously, I don’t want to take you away from anything.”
He didn’t bother answering me. He reached down between us, taking my hand and tugging me toward the door.
We walked in silence, his grip firm and steady. There was something about Easy, the way he held on to me as though he wouldn’t let me ago, how he scanned the parking lot as if I was someone he wanted to protect, that gave the impression bad shit didn’t go down on his watch.
With each step, the tension drained from my body, my earlier unease disappearing. This was what I’d been looking forward to the whole evening—the simple enjoyment I got from being in his company.
Our steps slowed the closer we got to my car. He released me when I took my keys out of my purse.
I stood there awkwardly, clutching my keys, the little F-16 keychain I’d had for years digging into my palm. I’d been ready to go, but now I was reluctant to get into my car, to go home to my empty house, to the bed I slept in alone. When I was with Easy, it was one of the few times when I experienced some semblance of peace, when I could be myself, and I wasn’t alone.
I wished he’d never gone over to that table, that we’d spent the evening like I’d originally envisioned—just a couple of friends hanging out.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the sounds spilling out from the bar, the noise of the traffic on the street.
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m off tonight. It’s been a weird day.”
I didn’t want to tell him the rest of it, felt silly admitting he’d hurt me tonight when he’d abandoned us to get laid—abandoned me to get laid.
His expression changed, his voice growing rougher, his gaze flickering over me. “The date?”
I felt my cheeks flush, choosing the easiest answer over the whole truth. “Yeah. Everything is happening a little quickly for me. It was a big step forward—one I’m not entirely sure I was ready to take.”
He was silent for a beat. “Jordan said it didn’t work out with that guy.”
“It didn’t. He was nice and everything, but there wasn’t any chemistry. I didn’t feel anything, you know?”
“Yeah, I do.”
For the briefest of moments, he reached out and his fingers ghosted across my face, skimming my cheekbone, and I leaned forward, taking the affection he offered.
And then it disappeared.
His hand fell away, the cool night air a slap in the face, swallowing up all the warmth as he stepped back, his expression impossible to read.
The instant his fingers left my skin, my body protested their absence. That sick feeling rolled around in my stomach again, a lump growing in my throat.
Neither one of us spoke.
I felt off-kilter, my emotions all over the place, the weight of tonight overwhelming me.
“I should go.”
Easy jerked his head in a nod, his gaze still hooded, stepping back while I opened the car door and climbed in. I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came. I settled on offering him a small smile and a little wave, my hands trembling.
Easy stood there while I locked the doors and turned on the ignition, was still standing there after I waved again and pulled out of the parking lot. I kept my gaze on him standing behind me until he was little more than a speck in my rearview mirror.
SIX
EASY
I didn’t talk to Dani all week. I’d pulled out my phone a few times to text her, but each time I’d lost my nerve. Friday night had been weird. The whole time I’d been talking to those girls, I’d felt guilty, as though I’d done something wrong, and when I’d caught up with her walking out of the bar, the expression on her face had been wounded—like I’d hurt her feelings. And then in the parking lot . . . I hadn’t meant to touch her, honestly I hadn’t, but as always, all it had taken was one look and I hadn’t been able to resist. I’d spent thirty minutes with a group of gorgeous women who’d flirted with me and felt nothing; I touched Dani’s cheek and I felt too much.
The image of her in that dress, her hair flowing in the breeze, entered my mind.
I kicked up the speed on the treadmill, my legs pumping, body aching, sweat dripping down my face as I pushed myself harder than normal. I hadn’t gotten laid in what . . . three months? Four? My hand wasn’t cutting it anymore.
The treadmill beeped, indicating my time had expired, and I slowed to a walk. My phone pinged with an incoming text message, and I picked it up, grinning at the picture that flashed on my screen. Julie Ann Miller was born on Wednesday morning. She had a full head of dark hair like Noah, Jordan’s eyes, and was easily the cutest kid I’d ever seen. Noah had been texting me photos nonstop since she was born.
My phone pinged again with a message from Noah.
You still coming by the house to meet the baby?
I stopped the treadmill, shooting off a reply.
Yeah, leaving the gym now. I’ll be there in an hour.
I headed to the locker room, taking a quick shower and throwing on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt before grabbing my gym bag and heading to the car. I drove off base, the stuffed animal I’d bought for the baby on the passenger seat next to me. I probably looked like an idiot driving around with a larger-than-life-sized bear next to me, but I didn’t give a fuck. I was looking forward to being Uncle Easy and spoiling the kid rotten.
I couldn’t quite envision myself having kids—getting married was a pipe dream—so my friends’ kids were the closest I’d ever get to the real thing. And considering Noah was more brother than friend, his daughter felt very much like the niece I wouldn’t have otherwise.
I pulled up in front of Jordan and Noah’s place, nostalgia wafting over me. I’d lived here until Noah and Jordan got married, and Noah and I’d had some good times in that house.
We’d become friends our first year at the Air Force Academy, had bonded through basic training, roomed together for three years of college, kept in touch when we both went to pilot training, through our Air Force careers. There was a bond between all of us, forged in combat, solidified by the lives we lived, the understanding of what it took to constantly hover on the edge, a step away from losing control. We walked a tightrope between pushing our limits and taking it too far, and sometimes you needed a bro you could trust to pull you back.
Noah would always be that for me.
I got out of the car, walking around to the passenger side to get the baby’s gift, and my gaze settled on a silver sedan parked in the driveway.
Dani’s car.
My heartbeat kicked up a notch, a kind of nervous energy pulsing through me.
I shifted the bear in my arms, knocking on the door, lips twitching at the note written in Noah’s messy handwriting, taped where the doorbell used to be.
Sleeping baby. Don’t ring the fucking doorbell.
A minute later, Noah swung open the door. His gaze swept over me and he laughed.
“Nice bear.”
“Nice note.”
I crossed over the threshold, giving him a one-armed hug and a pat on the back.
“Congrats, man.”
He fucking beamed back at me. “Thanks.”
“Fatherhood looks good on you. You look grown-up, and responsible and shit.”
He laughed again. “Something like that.”
I shifted the bear on my hip. “Is she awake?”
“Yeah, she’s with Jordan and Dani. Dani brought a bunch of clothes, so they’ve been trying outfits on her.”
I followed him through the house until we reached the bedroom that had been mine and was now a nursery. The dark walls had been repainted a pastel pink, filled with dainty white furniture, pictures of F-16s replaced by paintings of flowers and princesses.
Noah grinned. “No worries, we had it thoroughly disinfected after you moved out.”
I flipped him off.
“Hey, no teaching the baby bad habits,” Jordan teased, turning to greet us.
I started to respond, but the words got clogged in my throat as my gaze settled on Dani sitting in the corner, the baby in her arms.
Dani looked up at me, surprise on her face, her attention obviously utterly consumed by the baby she held. And then her lips curved into a blinding, heart-clenching smile, her eyes shining.
Most beautiful fucking thing I’d ever seen.
I stood there, bathing in her glow, corny as that sounded. And then the words came, pouring out of me, crashing against the barrier that kept them from escaping my lips.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I settled on “hi” instead.
“Hey,” she whispered, her voice lowered as though she didn’t want to wake the baby. “Do you want to hold her?”
I looked to Jordan and Noah for confirmation. The baby was so tiny, her face scrunched up, her little fist moving . . .
“I don’t know,” I confessed. She seemed so fragile, so utterly breakable.
Jordan grinned. “You’ll be fine.”
I hesitated, my gaze on the baby. How did Noah do it? How could he manage to not be utterly terrified all the time? If she were mine, I’d constantly be scared shitless.
“I can see her from over here,” I protested.
Dani grinned. “Come on, don’t be a baby.” She stood, cradling Julie, and walked toward me. She was right in front of me before I realized it, before I even had a moment to react, and then I found myself putting my arms out, taking the baby from her, my heart racing, some part of me recognizing that in some fucked-up, impossible way, we were playing a parody of everything I wanted—Dani, a child, the family I’d never have with the woman I loved.
There was something about this, the baby passing between us, that was as natural as breathing.
“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Dani asked, her voice little more than a whisper, the thread of wonder there audible.
I could barely speak, couldn’t look anywhere but at her, at the glimpse of what she’d be like as a mom. “Yeah, she is.”
I forced myself to avert my gaze to the baby, settling there, registering her features—I didn’t know much about kids, but she had to be one of the cutest ones I’d ever seen—feeling a tug in my chest at the knowledge that my oldest friend was a dad now. I couldn’t be happier for him.
The lump in my throat grew.
I turned my attention toward Jordan and Noah.
“She’s amazing. Congrats, you guys.”
They both looked as though they were about to explode with pride.
Dani stood next to me while I held the baby, her joy a palpable caress, and at the same time, because I knew her as well as I did, had spent so much time picking up on the subtleties of her moods, the lingering sadness hit me. She was genuinely happy for Jordan and Noah, and she did a great job covering it, but I’d been there. I knew. There was nothing she’d wanted more than to be a mom, and I would never forget the look in her eyes or the heartbreaking cry that had escaped her lips when the doctor told her she’d lost the baby. She’d reached out for me in that moment, and I’d wrapped my arms around her while she’d buried her face against my chest, sobs racking her body, my shirt damp from her tears, my own falling down my cheeks.
I’d cried twice in my adult life—that day with Dani, and after, when we lost Joker.
Our gazes locked, Julie between us, and I saw the emotion there, and it was as though an entire conversation passed between us, her eyes answering my unspoken question.
Are you okay?
Yeah, I am.
And then Dani surprised me, wrapping her arm around my waist, leaning into me as though she wanted me to take some of the sadness from her, a burden I’d gladly bear.
We stood still, our bodies fused together, staring down at the baby, until Julie started crying and Jordan swooped in, announcing it was time for a feeding. We said good-bye, following Noah out of the nursery, leaving Jordan with her daughter.
I didn’t even realize it, but somehow my hand found Dani’s, our fingers locking together. She squeezed mine as she tilted her head up to face me, a soft smile playing at her lips. “Nice bear.”
I laughed. “Thanks. Noah already gave me shit about it. If I can’t spoil my honorary niece, who can I spoil?”
“Goddaughter and niece,” Noah corrected.
I froze. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. There’s no one else I’d rather have. Jordan agreed.”
My voice came out rough. “Thanks, man. I’m honored.”
“Us, too.”
He walked us out and we said our good-byes. I let go of her hand, and Dani and I stood in the driveway, staring at each other, keys in hand, lingering there. I didn’t want to go home and eat dinner in front of the TV by myself. I wanted—
“Do you want to come over? We could order dinner or something. Watch a movie.”
She hesitated for a second, and I wondered if I’d misread her mood, and then she nodded, that simple gesture suddenly everything.
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Do you want to follow me to my house?”
“Sure.”
DANI
I followed Easy into his house, sidestepping a pair of flight boots in the middle of the entryway.
He grimaced, bending down to pick them up. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“No worries. Believe me, I’m more than used to shoes strewn about.”
For some reason, flight boots never made their way into a closet. It was one of those annoying-but-endearing fighter pilot traits I’d grown used to over the years and now missed.
“What do you want for dinner?” Easy asked, setting his gym bag down on a bar stool in his kitchen.
“I’m up for anything.”
“Pizza?”
“Yeah, pizza sounds good.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number from memory.
“Mushroom and sausage, right?”
I nodded, surprised he remembered my favorite pizza. How the hell did he keep all this stuff straight?
He placed the order and then hung up. “Do you want a beer?”
“Sure.”
He gestured toward the living room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring the drinks.”
I turned down the hall, sitting down on the giant sectional. He had the stereotypical guy liv
ing room—sparsely decorated, big-ass couch, bigger TV, expensive stereo system. Various flying plaques and squadron photos sat on different ledges of the mammoth entertainment center, several F-16 signed lithographs from various assignments on the walls.
A minute later he walked in, carrying two beers, and handed one to me.
I took it from him, placing the cool bottle to my lips, talking a long pull. He stayed standing for a moment, almost as though he didn’t know where to sit. Finally, he moved forward, and I shifted to the side, making room for him next to me.
He hesitated for a beat, and I wondered if I’d made a mistake, if it was too weird to assume he’d want to take the same position we had the last time we’d watched TV together, but his big body settled down next to me, his leg pressing against mine. His arm came around my shoulders, gathering me close, and for the first time all day, I relaxed.
Today had been rough. As much as I’d loved spending time with Noah, Jordan, and the baby, I’d ripped the Band-Aid off a wound that would never heal. I didn’t want to be this person, to have this ugliness and anger swirling inside me, and yet, no matter how hard I tried, there was a part of me that couldn’t understand why life worked out the way it did, how some people ended up with their happy endings, and others had everything taken away from them. I didn’t understand what I’d done, what it had been about me and Michael that had tempted fate. And even worse was the baby we’d lost months earlier, the last link I’d had to him, who now lay buried next to his father.
One loss was difficult enough; two were nearly unbearable.
Sometimes I was convinced I’d done this; that we’d been too happy, had too much, that you were only ever entitled to just a sliver of love and then your quota was used up. Other times I saw what happened to Michael as an accident, a matter of timing, a shift in moments that meant the difference between life and death. It was the utter unpredictability of it all that terrified me—the idea that at the exact moment he’d crashed, I could have been in our beautiful home, thinking about how lucky I was, a room full of hope for the baby we’d eventually have, not knowing I was about to lose everything. It was the fear that it didn’t matter how tightly you held on, how hard you prayed, or how badly you yearned, some omnipotent and unseen force could still come in and tear everything away.
On Broken Wings Page 7