The Reality of Everything (Flight & Glory)

by Rebecca Yarros

  I humphed a little. “I like that he thinks so. I like that he’s sure enough to tell me that he wants me and then actually throw down and fight about it. I’ve never had anyone willing to really fight for me before.” It had always been me fighting for Will, begging him to give us a chance.

  “That’s definitely a plus in his column,” Sam noted. “What else?”

  “He knows I’m a mess. He’s seen me fall to the ground during an anxiety attack, and he didn’t run. He just helped me through it and came back for more. He’s seen me assault Will’s truck, and he’s still showed up at the door every day.”

  “The door you refuse to open,” Sam remarked with a judgy little flick of her gaze.

  “I like that he keeps coming back,” I admitted softly. “I don’t want to, but I do.”

  “Hell, I like that about him, too. And I like that ever since he’s been coming around, you’ve begun looking at the world again. I like the hope that he gives me that you might just be happy one day.”

  I swallowed, feeling a slight burn in my throat, but the anxiety didn’t kick in full throttle. Visualizing my throat opening, I slowly felt the muscles relax. “When I’m with him, Will isn’t always the first thought in my mind,” I admitted quietly. “I’m not saying I don’t think about him when I’m with Jackson, because I do. But he kind of fades into the background. There’s just not a lot of room for anyone else in my head when Jackson’s around.” The confession felt sinful, and I looked up at Sam, waiting for her to dole out my penance.

  “I think that’s a good thing, too,” she said with a small, sad smile. “There’s always going to be a part of you that loves Will. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have room in your heart for someone else, Morgan. Or that your heart won’t grow to fit someone else in time.”

  “I feel guilty,” I whispered.

  “I know. And you shouldn’t. Dr. Circe said that it’s okay to start a new relationship, remember? In fact, she encouraged it at the same appointment she asked you to fill out that sheet about your not-so-stellar memories about Will.” She nodded at the worksheet that still sat empty at the end of the counter. I had a feeling it might be my first truly failed homework assignment.

  How was it fair to Will that I was supposed to trash him for homework while moving forward with Jackson?

  “The homework is going to have to wait. And even if I wanted Jackson, how can I expect him to understand that my emotional speed limit rivals a sloth?”

  “That’s exactly what you tell him. And you want him, even if you’re not ready to admit it. I know you.” Her eyes softened in sympathy.

  I shook my head.

  “Okay. Tell me something you don’t like about him,” she challenged before taking a sip of her tea.

  I rolled mine between my hands and brought my eyes up to meet hers. “I hate that he flies helicopters, and not just any helicopter—it’s the coast guard version of Will’s. What kind of messed-up fate is that? I hate this feeling that grips my belly when I think that if I fall for him—really and truly fall—that I won’t survive having to bury him. I know that’s really selfish of me to say considering that Grayson’s in Afghanistan—”

  “Stop.” She fixed a determined stare on me. “You lost the man you loved, and I didn’t. You get to say whatever you want to me whenever you want to say it. Now you listen. Jax isn’t Grayson…or Will.”

  I flinched, but I held her gaze.

  “Jax is a pilot, yes, but no one shoots at him. He’s not going to Afghanistan or Iraq or anywhere like it. He’s going out there”—she pointed toward the wall of windows—“so he can save lives. That’s who that man is. He saves people. And you get to worry—God, I hate that it comes with the territory, but it does. Will’s death traumatized you, and knowing that Jax flies is going to fuck with your head. That’s understandable. That doesn’t make you a mess—it makes you human. Plus, I’ve seen that man shirtless, and I’m shocked that didn’t make your like list. Go figure, that boy is a damned pilot. You’d think we’d be better at spotting them by now.”

  “I guess I have a type,” I drawled, rolling my eyes.

  “Girl, don’t we all.” She grinned. “You’re just going to have to decide if all those things you like about him are outweighed by the one thing you don’t.”

  Mercy, I was an idiot for even thinking about it, for contemplating doing exactly what Sam suggested and talking to Jackson about my limits and our possibilities. Maybe it made me a traitor to Will’s memory, but I wanted Jackson in my life.

  What if he wouldn’t wait for me to pull my shit together? What if I couldn’t get past his job? But what would happen if I didn’t even try?

  “You have one more homework assignment today, right?” Sam prodded.

  I sighed. “The truck.”

  “The truck.” She nodded. “Want me to come with you?”

  “No, I’ve got this.” I forced a fake smile, and Sam rolled her eyes. “I do. I can do it.”

  “Okay, then get out there and open that door. Ten seconds. You hear me?” she ordered as I walked past her.

  “Ten seconds,” I agreed.

  “And try not to beat the shit out of it this time,” she called after me as I made it out the front door.

  I shut it extra hard.

  Embarrassed didn’t even start to cover how I felt about that night—about what Jackson had seen before Sam forced him to go home. I’d been completely unhinged in my anger, and yet it had been the freest I’d been with my emotions since…forever.

  I approached the truck like it was a wild animal ready to devour me if I turned my back. Ten seconds, I told myself. You just open the door wide and look inside the truck for ten seconds, then close it.

  Dr. Circe had given me the assignment yesterday, calling it my next step in situational avoidance. Somehow, this seemed easier than disparaging Will on a piece of paper.

  The handle was warm from the sun as my fingers wrapped around it. I took a deep breath and tugged. The door clicked open, and I swung it wide, stepping back so it didn’t hit me.

  One. The scent of warm leather reached me just long enough for Will to flood my mind. His voice filled my head, laughing as he put his baseball hat on over my hair.

  Two. The breeze gusted, whipping past me, clearing that scent.

  Three. His wings were still pinned to the visor on the driver’s side.

  Four. The sunlight caught on his dog tags, and I couldn’t look away.

  Five.

  Six.

  Seven. Those weren’t the ones he was wearing when it happened.

  Eight. His mother had that set.

  Nine. She had the flag, too, when she was sober enough to remember where she put it.

  Ten. I grabbed the edge of the door and slammed it home, not in anger this time but in pure desperation to shut the metaphorical door.

  My chest heaved. I did it. There was no anxiety attack looming or anything. The memories stopped with the closing of the door. Oddly enough, I felt in control for the first time, as if I’d gained the power to open or shut the door to Will himself when I chose to.

  I turned around to head back into the house and found Jackson staring at me from the middle of our yards.

  My heart did a somersault.

  He looked mouthwateringly good, but that was nothing different. I bet the man even looked delicious when he was hungover or sick, which was just unfair. He tucked his hands in his pockets and tilted his head to the side slightly as his mouth tightened and his eyes begged me to come closer. He was trying to give me the space I’d forced between us, and it only made me like him even more for it.

  My pulse spiked, and the half of my heart that had lobbied for self-preservation turned traitor at the yearning in his expression. Oh God, how could I walk away from him? What if I never felt this way again?

  The first step wa
s the hardest, but the others came easily as I made my way over to him.

  “Morgan.” His gaze raked over me hungrily, as if he was searching for some kind of answer.

  “Hi, Jackson.” My lips lifted in a smile, and his entire posture relaxed.

  “I’ve been trying to talk to you. Please, you have to let me explain.” He moved forward but kept his hands in his pockets.

  “You don’t have to explain.” He was close enough that I caught the faint scent of cologne as I craned my neck to look up at him.

  “No. Morgan, please.” His hands flew from his pockets to gently cradle my face. “Please, don’t kill this before you give me a chance to talk to you.”

  My hands covered his, and my thumbs gently stroked the backs of his hands. “I mean, you don’t owe me an explanation. Not for any of it.”

  His brow knit in clear confusion.

  “Your parents died in a boating accident,” I said softly. “It makes sense that you would decide to become the one person who could have saved them. And as for the other thing.” I swallowed but didn’t look away. “I would have thrown his name into Google if I were you, too. Then I would have gone through every post on his social media and mine until I figured out exactly what our relationship had been. I can’t fault you for wanting answers that I was in no place to give, though I wish you had given me the time and the chance to tell you myself.”

  His eyes squeezed shut, and his forehead fell against mine to rest there lightly. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “You say that like I’m a reward, when there’s every chance I’m the very trial that might drive you to drink,” I teased with a hint of complete truth.

  “What does this mean?” He pulled back enough to keep eye contact.

  “I don’t know. I’m answering as honestly as I can. It scares the living bejeezus out of me that you fly, and I’m not sure I can get past it. But I’m hoping that you might give me a little patience and grace, and maybe just wait a little bit so my head and my heart can sort themselves out.”

  “I’ll give you whatever time you need. I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “I’ll wait forever if it means I get the chance to kiss you again.”

  This man’s mouth was going to be the death of me.

  I didn’t have any words to respond with, so I rose on my toes and brushed my mouth over his, then truly kissed him. It was soft and chaste, but the meaning of it hit me harder than any passionate encounter could have. “Better?”

  He smiled against my mouth. “Infinitely.”

  I pulled back slightly when I heard his door open and close, knowing Finley would follow. “I’ll tell you about Will, if you want to know more than what the articles said. You just have to be patient. I have this thing—it’s called complicated grief—and it makes it really hard to talk about him. But it’s getting better.”

  His eyes widened, and he nodded quickly. “I want to know whatever you’re willing and ready to tell me.”

  “Morgan!” Finley called out as she thundered down the steps.

  “Hey, Fin!” I pulled out of Jackson’s arms and waved at her as she raced toward me.

  “Shit. Morgan, there’s something I need to tell you,” Jackson began.

  “I’ve missed you! Where have you been? I have so many shells to show you!” Finley’s words came at me with the same speed that she did, and I barely maintained my balance as she tackled me with a hug.

  “I’ve missed you, too!” I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her tight. “I can’t wait to see the shells.”

  She grinned up at me, sporting two pigtail French braids.

  “Wow, I love your braids!” They looked fantastic, even if a little tight.

  “Thanks! Mommy did them!” She nodded enthusiastically.

  Everything went wobbly as my questioning gaze flew toward Jackson. “Mommy?”

  “That’s what—”

  “Yes, Mommy,” a clipped, feminine voice asserted from a few feet away. “As in her mother. Who would be me.”

  Sweet mercy, the woman was breathtakingly beautiful. Her clothes were obviously couture, her body flawless, and her makeup expert. Her auburn hair was a shade darker than Finley’s, and her complexion was worthy of a skincare ad. No wonder she was an actress. No wonder Jackson had fallen in love with her.

  Suddenly, my shorts and tank top felt dowdy next to her silk blouse, and I regretted not wearing a stitch of makeup.

  She arched a delicate eyebrow, as if she could read my mind.

  “You must be Claire,” I said, finding my voice and forcing a smile. This woman created Finley, and obviously the little girl was happy to have her near, so the least I could do was be happy for her. “I’m Morgan. It’s lovely to meet you.”

  “Right. Finley mentioned you a few times.” She walked forward and put her hand on Finley’s shoulder, careful not to touch me in the process. “Why don’t you get in the car, baby? Daddy and I don’t want to be late.”

  Daddy and I. Good Lord, I’d found myself smack in the middle of a family. My cheeks stained with color as Finley waved good-bye and ran toward the garage.

  Claire scanned me from head to toe, her eyes lingering on my feet that hadn’t seen a pedicure since week one of the reward system. “Aren’t you just the cutest neighbor ever when you’re not losing your mind and slamming doors over and over?”

  My stomach fell out of my body.

  “Claire!” Jackson snapped a warning and stepped toward me.

  “What?” She gave him a genuine smile. “I was just admiring Finley’s friend and her exceptionally well-projected voice. Sound really does carry, you know.” She motioned between our two houses.

  She’d heard my entire breakdown? Wait…she’d been in Jackson’s house while we were out on a date? My heart joined my stomach.

  “Stop,” he growled. “And you damn well know that Morgan isn’t just Finley’s friend. She’s…she’s more than a friend to me.” His hand moved to the small of my back.

  Well if that wasn’t awkward. What the hell were we, anyway? And if Claire knew what we…were or were not, what did that mean they were? Was this just a visit? Was she staying with him? Were they sleeping together fifty feet away from my house?

  It was too much. This was too much.

  “Right.” Claire offered me a sugar-sweet smile. “Well, if you’re ready?”

  “I’ll be there in a second. Why don’t you get Fin buckled?” He nodded toward the garage.

  “I can wait,” she replied.

  I was going to die right here, right now. Had she seen me kiss Jackson? Was she kissing Jackson? It’s not like we were exclusive since we weren’t…well, anything.

  “Claire.” It was a clear warning.

  She pouted. “Fine. I’ll go. Just hurry up. You were the one who told me her pediatrician doesn’t like it when we’re late, and I want to make a good impression now that I’m home.” Her gaze slid toward me and sharpened. “For good.”

  I was going to be sick.

  She wiggled her fingers in a little wave and sauntered off for the car, swinging her hips expertly.

  “Morgan—”

  “Is that what you wanted to tell me?” I backed away from him.

  “Yes. I just didn’t have time—” His eyes were wide and panicked.

  “Because I was busy kissing you. Again.” I shook my head. “How stupid can I possibly be?”

  “You’re not!” He reached for me, but I retreated again. “Look, she’s home, but that doesn’t change anything between us.”

  “Doesn’t change anything?” I challenged. “Jackson, that’s the mother of your child. All you’ve ever wanted was for her to come home, and now she’s here!”

  “Claire isn’t living with me. She’s living with her mom. We’re not together. She’s just here because Fin has an appointment for her kinder
garten shots. Nothing changes between you and me, Morgan. Nothing.” The plea in his eyes nearly undid me.

  “Jax! We have to get going!” Claire shouted from the driveway.

  Everything this man wanted was wrapped up in that gorgeous little package, from her perfect fucking hair to her designer clothes. She was Finley’s mama. She was his chance at the happily ever after he’d waited for since the day she left.

  It was just too much. Too complicated. Too…oh, screw this.

  “Morgan, we’ll talk later, I promise.” Jackson raked his hand over his hair.

  I pushed past the pain and forced a smile. “Your family is waiting for you, Jackson.”

  Then I walked away, keeping my composure as I made my way up my steps.

  “Morgan, please!”

  “Jax!” Mercy, that woman’s voice was loud, but I guess mine was, too.

  “I’m at my emotional capacity for the day. Now go,” I told him, because he was still standing there, staring up at me with so much angst in those eyes that I couldn’t stand it. I dropped the pretense of dignity and flat-out ran the rest of the way, slamming my front door once I was through it.

  “Everything okay?” Sam asked, her eyes widening as she took in my expression.

  “I found another thing about Jackson that I don’t like.” It was the biggest understatement of my life. I was so sick of this shit. What was so wrong with me that I couldn’t have just a glimmer of happiness? Was that too much to ask? Or at least a little less pain? Less pain—God, that sounded good. Numb sounded even better. Yep, that was the goal for the night.

  “Oh no.” She sighed.

  “Call Mia. We’re going out.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jackson

  “Two Finley-less weekends in a row?” Sawyer questioned as the bartender handed him a draft.

  “She’s with Claire.” I sipped on ice water and stared up at the ball game playing on the flat screen above the bar.

  Garrett’s eyebrows shot up on the other side of me, and I didn’t miss the look that passed between my friends.

  “And how is that going?” Sawyer asked, trying not to make it awkward but managing the opposite.