The Reality of Everything (Flight & Glory)

by Rebecca Yarros

  Fuck. How the hell could I deny her when she was asking for the very thing I wanted? Easy—I couldn’t.

  “Just until you fall asleep.”

  She smiled and patted the bed behind her.

  Cursing my idiocy, I took off my shoes and socks, then put my car keys and wallet on the bedside table next to her pile of sea glass, which reminded me of the present I still had in my glove box.

  I killed the light and climbed onto the bed. Tomorrow was Saturday, but the flight schedule said I had to keep my word and leave once she fell asleep.

  “Under the covers,” she demanded, not even rolling over to look at me.

  “Kitty, that’s not—”

  “Under the covers,” she stated simply. “I trust you.”

  “I’m not sure I trust myself,” I muttered, but I did as she asked just because I wanted to hold her. A week ago, she’d stood outside, slamming the truck door, and I thought I’d blown my shot with her. This morning, she’d come face to face with Claire and then promptly run away, so hell yes, I wanted to hold her.

  I’d hold her every chance I had until she stopped running.

  “I’m in. Happy now?” Fully clothed, I turned on my side toward Morgan.

  She scooted until her back was against my chest. “Now I’m happy.”

  I curved around her, and she sighed, wiggling until her ass was firmly pressed into my hips and her legs molded around mine. My arm locked around her waist, and I gave in to temptation and breathed in the scent of her hair while telling my body to settle the hell down.

  “You can’t use words like relationship with me,” she whispered. “You have to be patient.”

  “Morgan—” I stroked my thumb over her pajama-covered ribs.

  “I’m a mess, and you’re…”

  “Complicated?” I offered.

  “Right. And I like you, Jackson, I do, but you scare me.”

  “I’ll never hurt you. Not intentionally,” I promised, pulling her even tighter against me.

  “I didn’t used to be a coward,” she muttered, her words slowing. “You would have liked me back then.”

  “You’re not a coward, and I like you just fine now.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

  “Just give me a second, and I’ll fall asleep, I promise.” Her breathing slowed as her words faded off.

  “I’m not in a rush, Morgan. I can wait as long as you need me to.” I meant it, and not just about her falling asleep. I could wait for her to heal, to be ready for whatever we could be. There was no deadline when it came to us.

  She mumbled her assent, and I closed my eyes.

  When I opened them, it was morning.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Morgan

  The night of the graduation ball… Well, you were there. I should have known it then, but I woke up the next morning so scared that I couldn’t offer you what you needed. It was never you, Morgan. It was always me.

  My head threatened to secede from the rest of my body with every step I took down the stairs. What the hell had I been thinking?

  Sam clattered around in the kitchen, the noise ratcheting up my pain to a seven as I came around the corner and stepped onto the linoleum. One more week and this baby would turn into hardwood. A frying pan grated against the stove burner, and I cringed.

  “Sit down.” Sam pointed across the counter. How the hell did she look so perky? Even her ringlet curls bounced with more energy than I had in my entire body.

  I slid onto one of the stools and propped my elbows on the Formica to cradle my aching head.

  A glass of water appeared in front of me, and Sam plunked two painkillers down next to it.

  “I already took the ones you left on my nightstand with the water.” I lifted my head enough to catch her flash of confusion before she smiled slightly.

  “I didn’t leave those there. Must have been Jackson.” She took the pills back with a little shake of her head. “Turns out Mr. Carolina is one of the good ones.”

  Jackson. Oh God, I’d made an utter fool of myself last night.

  “How bad was I?” My fingers curled around the glass as Sam cracked two eggs in the pan.

  “On a scale of one to me, you were probably about a seven. You definitely weren’t at your best sitting up there, but you weren’t dancing on the bar like it was Coyote Ugly, either.” She shrugged.

  Kill me now. “I didn’t think about the meds.”

  She turned slightly, catching my eye. “I know you didn’t. If you had, then we’d be having a different discussion. I shouldn’t have stepped out when you were ordering your drinks.”

  “You were talking to Grayson. Don’t blame yourself for my shitty decision making. Where’s Mia, anyway?”

  “She left three hours ago.”

  My eyes flew to the clock. “It’s already noon?”

  “Sure is.” She slid the eggs onto a plate, then grabbed a fork and set the food in front of me. “Now eat.”

  I tucked in, and Sam slid a cup of coffee over as my reward once I was finished. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” She leaned on the counter as her lips lifted in a smirk. “Now tell me how it was sleeping next to Jackson.” The woman wiggled her eyebrows.

  “What? I mean…” Oh shit, I had slept next to him. I’d begged the man to stay with me and then spooned up on him and… “I fell asleep,” I whispered.

  “Well, yeah. I told him if he took advantage, I’d bury him at sea, so that better have been all you did.”

  My eyes flew to hers. “No, Sam. I fell asleep. No video.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “No Will video?” she clarified.

  “No. Just Jackson.” I hadn’t slept a night without watching that video in the nearly two years since I’d been given it. It had become my lullaby, my prayer, my sleeping aid, and my plea to my own brain to let him into my dreams. “What does that mean? Was it the alcohol? Jackson? God, am I using him to replace—”

  “Stop.” Sam’s hand covered mine. “It means that you went a night without watching the video. Stop analyzing why you took the step and just be happy that you did. Be happy that you can sleep without it.”

  Sure, if I’m drunk and have Jackson’s arms around me. The second part of that recipe was easy enough to remedy. Either way, I’d done it.

  “I slept without the video.” I smiled as a chunk of weight lifted from my chest, and I took a full, deep breath.

  “You slept without the video.” Sam squeezed my hand.

  All night. In Jackson’s arms— “Oh God, what time did he leave?” Had he spent the entire night with me?

  “I heard the door around six a.m.” She grinned as she reached for her coffee. “That man has it bad for you, Morgan Bartley.”

  I scoffed. “After watching me beat the tar out of Will’s truck, then blasting him yesterday when his ex showed up and subsequently making him carry me home drunk and sleep next to me, I have a feeling the man is running just as fast as he can. Or he would be if he didn’t live next door.”

  “You didn’t make that man do anything. He chose to be with you during all three of those…” She struggled for words.

  “Tantrums?” I suggested.

  “I was going to say outbursts, but you get the point.” She reached toward a small box at the end of the counter and brought it to me. “And besides, a man who’s running away isn’t leaving a woman gifts.”

  “He left this for me?” I stared at the small white box in my hand as Morgan held out a folded piece of paper.

  “And a note.” She waved the paper over the box. “And I’ve been waiting hours to know what’s in that, so read!”

  Stunned, I put the box on the counter and unfolded the note. Jackson’s handwriting filled the page.

  Morgan,

  Fin helped me design this, so I hope you like i
t. This used to be a jar or a glass of some kind. All I know for certain is that it shattered at some point. It broke apart, then spent years in the waves and sand until it became something entirely new. No longer clear and sharp, but soft and opaque. When I saw this piece, it reminded me of you—beautiful, resilient, and unique. I don’t mourn what it used to be in its former life, because it’s precious to me exactly how it is now. I can’t imagine it ever having been more beautiful—even whole—but I also know that at the center, it’s still the same clear glass it always has been. The same glass, just made rare—not despite all its been through, but because of it.

  —Jackson

  My breath abandoned me, and a spark flared in my chest. Hope. It was hope.

  “Well, what does it say?” Sam asked.

  I handed her the note, then opened the little white box. It was a teardrop-shaped piece of turquoise sea glass a little bigger than a quarter, set in gold. My fingers trembled as I lifted it from box that bore Christina’s store’s logo on the inside of the lid. The chain was long—a necklace. A stunningly beautiful necklace.

  “Oh. My. God.” Sam dragged out that last word. “I stand by my earlier comment. That man has it bad for you. And he could definitely teach Grayson a thing or two in the letter writing department because damn.”

  “I told him he would have liked me better before…” I swallowed, then tried again. “He would have liked me better the way I was before Will died. You know, when I was all sharp-tongued and vivacious without the alcohol.”

  She snorted. “If you think your tongue isn’t just as sharp, then it’s only because you haven’t been on the receiving end of it.” She set down the note as I put on the necklace. “Did losing Will change you? Absolutely. But at your core, you’re the same person you always have been, with the same big, beautiful heart. The fact that he sees that heart earns him my approval, but my opinion doesn’t really matter here. Yours does.”

  I stared down at the pendant that rested just above my breasts. “I really like him.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m really scared.” My eyes found hers.

  “I know that, too. Anything new is scary, and that’s without you already knowing the cost of risking your heart.”

  “I’m not sure I have a heart to risk.” But that little flare of hope in my chest argued otherwise.

  “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be so scared.” She gave me an encouraging smile. “Now, are you ready for morning homework?”

  The recording. The usual dread settled on my shoulders, but it was lighter today, easier to bear. Every day, this got a little easier. The improvement had been so small that I hadn’t seen it to start with, but now that we were seven weeks into the treatment—almost halfway—the progress was obvious.

  Hope, there it was again.

  “It’s not really morning homework since it’s after noon,” I quipped.

  “Don’t be a smart-ass,” Sam shot back, already going for the tape recorder, but there was a grin on her face. “For real, are you ready?”

  I really was.

  “Let’s do it.”

  …

  I paired my new necklace with simple gold studs, put on my favorite cream dress, and walked into the school district office on Monday at ten forty-five, exactly fifteen minutes early for my intake meeting with the superintendent.

  In less than four months, I would be a fifth-grade teacher.

  The house renovations would be complete, and then… What then? I was supposed to deliver a list of long-term goals to Dr. Circe tomorrow, and I was drawing a big, fat blank. Did maintaining my sanity count as a goal?

  Or maybe trying to ease into a relationship—I mentally stumbled over the word—with Jackson?

  Jackson. A texted thank you wasn’t enough, though he’d sworn it was. I wanted to see him, but he’d gone to nights this week, which meant whenever I was awake, he was asleep.

  Complicated, indeed, but there was something to be said for anticipation.

  I signed in at the front desk, but I was too antsy to sit, so I passed the giant stand that announced Mother’s Day tea was today in honor of yesterday’s holiday and perused the artwork on the bulletin board in the hallway. The district offices shared this building with the preschool, so I searched the pretty, painted rainbows until I found Finley’s.

  I snapped a picture with my cell phone. I’d send it to Jackson once he was awake for the night.

  The door to my right opened, and an older woman with blond hair ushered a little one into the hallway.

  “Why don’t we try giving her a call one more time?” the teacher suggested.

  A very familiar pair of Vans kicked at the linoleum floor, but I couldn’t see the child’s face.

  “Why bother?” I knew that voice, though.

  “Finley?” I walked around the teacher to confirm my guess.

  Her head lifted, and I was unprepared for the flare of disappointment in those brown eyes. Ouch. It only lasted a second before she tried to force a shaky smile. “Hi, Morgan. Did Daddy send you?”

  The teacher eyed me warily, and I checked her name tag. Mrs. Kozier.

  “Hi, Mrs. Kozier, I’m Morgan Bartley. I’m Finley’s next-door neighbor and the new fifth-grade teacher over at the elementary school,” I said so she wouldn’t call the guards on me. Then I sank down on my heels so I was eye level with Finley. “No, honey. I’m here for a meeting. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Mother’s Day tea,” she said softly, her eyes falling away.

  Guess that explained the sparkly dress.

  “Well, that sounds fun.” I took her little hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Everyone else has their mom,” she whispered, staring at the floor.

  My gaze flew up to meet Mrs. Kozier’s, and she shook her head. Claire hadn’t come? I swallowed the ball of rage that was working its way up my throat.

  “And you gave her a call?” I asked quietly.

  Finley nodded, then sniffed as two fat teardrops fell from her cheeks to the checkered floor.

  “Well, how late is she? Maybe she’s just running a little behind, honey.” God, please let that be the case. Do not let Claire break Finley’s little heart.

  Finley brought her face up, and I wiped away two more tears. “She’s really late. There’s only two kids left to read their poems.”

  My heart ached, but I managed a smile. “Let’s do what your teacher suggested and call her again.”

  She lunged at me, and I caught her, keeping careful balance on my heels. “She’s not coming. She never does.”

  But this time, Claire had told her she would. Otherwise, Finley never would have expected her. My dislike of the woman exploded into pure loathing. How the hell did you not show up to Mother’s Day tea at your daughter’s school? The same way you walk out when she’s a baby.

  “Why didn’t she come?” Her little face tucked into my neck as I rubbed circles on her back.

  “What can I do to help you, honey?” I didn’t know how to answer her question, so I asked one of my own.

  She shook her head and pulled out of the hug, but as her eyes fell, she paused. “You have the necklace!” A smile lit up her face as she snarfled up the snot her tears had brought on. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it,” I assured her. “I just haven’t seen you to say thank you yet, so thank you, Finley. It’s beautiful.”

  “I picked gold,” she announced with a solemn nod. “Dad found the blue.”

  “You chose perfectly. It’s the most beautiful necklace I’ve ever seen.”

  She batted away the last of her tears with the back of her hand, and I dug into my handbag for a tissue, then held it up to her nose. She blew, which solved the snot problem.

  “Finley, we should really call your mom, or we need to head back in there, sweetheart,” Mrs. Kozier said
gently, glancing at me with an apologetic look.

  “Morgan, do you want to come to tea?” Fin’s eyebrows popped up as she asked.

  Oh, my heart. “If you want me to, honey, I can come in. I’ll just tell the desk that I’m running late for the meeting, okay?”

  Finley nodded exuberantly, taking my hand, and her teacher sighed in obvious relief.

  The doors swung open behind us.

  “I’m here! Finley, baby, I’m here!” Claire exclaimed, her heels clicking down the hall in an obvious rush, flying right by the sign-in desk.

  “Ma’am, you have to sign in!”

  I stood and turned to face her, Finley’s hand still firmly tucked in mine. It took every ounce of class in my body, but I channeled my manners and schooled my features to hide my disgust.

  “What? But…okay.” Claire stopped at the desk and signed in while I tossed Finley’s tissue in the trash can.

  “Look, she’s here, honey. She came,” I reassured Fin, whose expression flitted from joy to anger and back again.

  Claire’s gaze flickered between the three of us before settling on me as she reached us. “Morgan, so lovely to see you again. What exactly are you doing at my daughter’s school?”

  “I have a meeting with the superintendent at eleven,” I answered, sweet as pie. “I make it a habit to arrive early to important events.”

  Claire arched a single eyebrow.

  “Mrs. Montgomery, our program began forty-five minutes ago—” Mrs. Kozier chided.

  I tensed.

  “I know, I know,” Claire answered but didn’t correct her name. “But I’m here now, so can’t we just get going?”

  Montgomery? Nope. Not today, Satan. A wave of possessiveness I had no right to feel smacked me square in the chest and erupted out my petty little mouth.

  “Lewis,” I corrected Fin’s teacher. “Her name is Ms. Lewis.”

  Claire narrowed her eyes.

  “I’d hate for your mail to get mixed up,” I offered with a tiny, apologetic shrug that wasn’t apologetic in the least bit.

  “You’re late!” Finley erupted at Claire.