“You should. I feel insane half the time. Did you know that Will and I weren’t even together? Not really.” She swung again, and the door fell.
“You said something about a quasi-boyfriend,” I recalled.
“He never wanted me. Not really. I fell for him when I was in high school, and he only had eyes for Peyton.” Another swing. Wood cracked. “And Peyton didn’t want him. I never could understand that girl. Will followed her to West Point; that’s how much he loved her.” Another swing. The cabinet splintered at the bottom, and the sledge fell through to the counter beneath.
Fuck, I wanted her in a hardhat and some sensible boots, not shorts and sneakers.
“He was a West Pointer, huh?” I asked, just to keep her talking. I hated ring-knockers, as did every servicemember I’d ever met.
“Through and through.” Her breaths were ragged as she pulled the sledge off the counter and let the business end fall to the floor. “And when Peyton died, he found the next closest person to her to love, who happened to be her little sister. My best friend, Paisley.”
My eyebrows shot skyward. Holy shit.
Morgan’s ponytail swished as she raised the hammer and swung it through the cabinet next to the one she’d already massacred.
“That had to suck.”
She scoffed. “It was what it was. He didn’t want me. I was too loud, too brazen, too much…everything. And Paisley is the sweetest person you’ll ever meet, so it’s not surprising that he fell for her. Everyone does. Hell, I love her more than I love myself.”
But this was the first time I was hearing her name.
She put the hammer through the door again, then struggled to get it free. “I couldn’t tell her that I loved him. That would have put her through hell, and her heart couldn’t take that. She had a condition back then—the same one that killed Peyton. I mean, what was the point of staying behind for college with her if I just killed her because I was too selfish to keep my mouth shut?” She yanked the hammer free with a grunt, stumbling back a few feet.
I stood but quickly sat again when she regained her balance.
She turned, leaning on the sledge as she looked at me with a mix of sadness and anger. “And then Paisley met Jagger, and she left Will. And he was so damned hurt, and she was so damned happy! And it slipped. I never meant for her to know, but then she did.” Morgan yanked her safety glasses off. “And, of course, she wasn’t mad that I’d been secretly in love with her ex-boyfriend, but then again, I’d loved him for far longer than she ever had.”
I kept my eyes locked on hers and tried to appear as relaxed as possible.
“And Will. God, Will. I was good enough to be friends with. Good enough to help him study before he got all buddy-buddy with Josh. I was good enough to pin his wings on graduation day when his mama couldn’t stand straight, and by God, I was pretty enough to kiss the night he took me to the flight school graduation ball. But I wasn’t enough for him to actually want.”
She put her glasses on, turned around, and swung three times, bringing two cabinets completely down to the counter beneath before she turned back around. Her chest heaved.
“Heaven forbid the West Point, Distinguished Honor Grad, perfect, moral, by-the-book Will Carter actually slum it with Morgan Bartley. I guess Prom Queen wasn’t the resume he was looking for.” Her head fell as her shoulders rose, and I stood. She gasped for a few breaths and then shot me a glare that had my ass back in the seat.
“And then he had the nerve to drive down right before he deployed and tell me that he wanted to try.” She laughed, but it wasn’t happy. “Finally, after years of loving that man, he wanted to try. But not then, of course. Heaven forbid Will act on a feeling. No, he wanted to try when he got home from that deployment. But I figured, hey, I’ve waited eight years for him, so what does nine months change?”
Everything, I answered myself. Even though I knew the end of the story, I kept waiting for her to give me the happy ending that she deserved.
“And he kissed me good-bye,” she said softly. “And he went. Twice. I only ever kissed him twice. He died two weeks later, saving Josh and Jagger’s lives, and as it happened, he told Josh that Jagger had to live for Paisley.” She dropped the sledge completely. “The man I loved with my whole heart gave his life so one of the women he loved could have her husband.”
“Holy shit, Morgan, I’m so sorry.” My fucking chest ached for her.
She shrugged, like it wasn’t a damned tragedy. “It was noble, right? But that was Will. I’ve spent the last two years wondering why I wasn’t enough to make him want to live.”
I stood, unable to keep still any longer.
“That’s on him. Not on you,” I said softly, more than aware that I was treading in dangerous territory.
“But what does it say about me that two years later I’m still so fucked-up about it that I have to be treated for a grief disorder? Why? Because I still think it’s so fucking unfair that everyone else in our group of friends got their happy endings at the expense of mine? What kind of person thinks that? What kind of person can’t talk to her best friend because all she wants to do is scream that it’s not fair? That everyone acted like my heart didn’t matter—I didn’t matter. Paisley didn’t even tell me herself, or even think about me. Ember had to tell Sam to call me. That’s how I found out he was dead. And I know Paisley’s husband was wounded, but a lifetime of friendship didn’t afford me a moment of consideration from anyone but Sam and Grayson.”
My jaw flexed as she tugged the safety glasses free and threw them on the counter.
“God, how can it still hurt so much after all this time? He never even loved me. I don’t even have the right to grieve him like this,” she cried, and I moved.
A few seconds later, I was around the bar and in front of her, gripping her arms lightly so she’d look at me.
“Morgan, grief isn’t a measure of how much someone loved you. It’s the measure of how much you loved them. You have every right to feel however the hell you want to feel. Do you understand me?”
She swallowed and looked up at me from under the brim of his cap. The man who I’d never met and would never want to. How could anyone be stupid enough to turn down Morgan’s love?
“I don’t want to feel like this anymore.” Her eyes filled with tears, and I pulled her into my arms, resting my chin on her head as she cried into my chest.
“I know you don’t.”
“I want to be happy and to have a heart that’s worth risking. I miss my friends. I miss him, but then there’s you, and I want to be ready for whatever this is, and it all just jumbles in my head.” Her sobs shook her shoulders.
“I’ll wait for as long as you need me to,” I promised her again. “You don’t have to factor me in to your healing. I’m not going anywhere.”
She cried herself out, then stepped back and wiped her tears away with a dusty forearm that left streaks on her face. And still, the woman was beautiful.
“I’m sorry. I probably should have asked how your day was,” she muttered.
“Other than the fact that my ex threatened to sue me for custody of Fin, it’s all good.” I shrugged. As terrifying as the threat was, I logically knew that no judge would give her custody.
“Oh God. Are you serious?”
“Yeah. But it’s okay. It won’t happen.”
She swallowed. “Do you want a hammer? It might help to break a few things.”
I grinned. “Why don’t you sit down over there and wait for your ice cream, and I’ll demo the rest of this?”
She nodded slowly. “I’d really appreciate the help.”
“All you ever have to do is ask.”
Then I picked up the hammer and destroyed what was left of her kitchen, knowing whatever she rebuilt in the space would be even better, and I didn’t think about the email I’d already fired off to my lawyer
.
I didn’t think about it the rest of the night.
Chapter Sixteen
Morgan
God, I wish I’d had the chance to take you up with me. I wish you knew the way it feels up there with the clouds. It’s like you’re an inconsequential human and a god all at the same time. You would love it.
“This is good,” Dr. Circe said, looking over my list of less-than-awesome memories of Will. As much as the anniversary had taken me down a notch, it hadn’t thrown me backward as much as I’d prepared for. “How did you feel filling it out?”
“Guilty,” I answered honestly. “But lighter once I was done.”
“Excellent. We have a tendency to put our deceased loved ones up on a pedestal, as if we can only remember the good things about them instead of who they were as a whole person.” She leaned forward and put the worksheet on the coffee table. “We’re past the halfway point, and I’m incredibly pleased with your progress.”
“Thank you.” Heat rose in my cheeks.
“How is it going with the truck?”
My pulse kicked up. “Okay. I can open the door and stand on the running board now.”
She nodded, jotting something down on her notepad. “And the anxiety attacks?”
“I had one the first day that I stood on the running board,” I admitted quietly. “But Sam was there, and she talked me down. I didn’t have to use my rescue meds or anything.”
She smiled. “Good. That’s really good. And it might not feel like progress, but it is. See?” She opened my folder, flipped to a page in the back, made a mark, and then turned it around so I could see it. “These are your number of attacks a week.”
The graph was decreasing.
“And this”—she flipped another page—“is your reported level of grief. Look, you started up here at ten, and now you’re down here at five. It means the therapy is working. That’s fantastic!”
I stared at the graph and nodded as a lump filled my throat. It was working. I was getting better.
“So for this week, I want you to put one foot on the running board and the other foot inside the truck.”
I stilled, panic rising at the thought of getting in it. “For how long?”
Dr. Circe glanced at her notebook. “You don’t have to hold it. Just see if you can put your foot inside. Remember, this is a marathon, not a sprint. We want you to be successful but still make progress.”
“Right.” Maybe I should have left that damn thing in storage instead of having the flatbed deliver it.
“Also, it’s time to start talking about the interpersonal dynamics you’re struggling with. You’ve mentioned Paisley in most of our sessions. Are you feeling up to opening that dialogue yet?” She watched me carefully, but there was no judgment in her tone or gaze, which was one of the reasons I liked her so much.
“I was actually thinking about inviting her—everyone, really—for Memorial Day weekend. I think I might finally have the words I need to say to her.” Some of them had come flying out at Jackson that night in the kitchen, and others had trickled in while I filled out that worksheet. Bottom line was that I loved my best friend, and if I didn’t at least try to explain my feelings, I was going to lose her.
“That’s great to hear. And I know you’re not quite ready for the imagined conversation with Will yet, but maybe next week?” She smiled optimistically.
Right. No.
“Maybe,” I answered. “I do have one question, since I know we have to get to the story before I head home.”
“How can I help?” she asked.
“Jackson…” My mouth opened and shut a few times as I struggled to find the words. “Am I using him?”
“How?”
I shifted in my seat. “I really like him, and my feelings for him get bigger every time I see him, or talk to him, or get a text. But am I just throwing my feelings for Will at him? Am I getting better because I’m rebounding?”
Her eyes softened. “Are you in love with Jackson?”
I balked. “No. At least, I don’t think I am.” I was wild about the guy, but I wasn’t going to start throwing the L word in. “But I could see myself falling in love with him. In the future, that is.”
“That’s fair. Now tell me, do you still love Will?” Her voice softened.
My heart hurt. It wasn’t the same level of pain that it once had been, but the feelings were still there. “Yes,” I whispered. “It’s a little softer, though, like someone turned down the stereo in the car and now I can hear other sounds, too.”
“I don’t think you’re using Jackson. I’d be worried if you said that you were head over heels in love with him and you no longer felt anything for Will. But everything you’re feeling is actually on track. You might have bigger feelings for Jackson because you’re healing and becoming capable of them, Morgan. I’m really pleased at the progress you’re showing in this area.”
“So he’s not just some kind of Band-Aid?” I fidgeted with the sea-glass necklace.
“Not that I can tell. And honestly, a Band-Aid wouldn’t have touched you when you first came through those doors. You needed open-heart surgery. What you feel for Jackson appears to be genuine, but don’t be surprised if a little misplaced guilt worms its way in there. Don’t let it derail you or this new relationship. You’re still a work in progress.”
Work in progress. I needed that tattooed on my freaking forehead.
She reached for the tape recorder. “You ready?”
I nodded, and she hit the record button.
“I’m in the grocery store, and I pick up a jar of jam…”
…
“Okay, what am I doing here?” I asked Jackson the next day as I stood between our cars in the parking lot outside his station.
He had a devilish gleam in his eye that had me immediately suspicious. “I have an idea.”
“Do you?” I folded my arms across my chest and ignored how good he looked in that flight suit.
“I want you to see what I do.” He leaned back against his Land Cruiser and grinned.
“I already know what you do.” Like hell was I going to watch him fly. I already had trouble sleeping on nights I knew he was on shift.
“Right, but I want you to see it. I know how much it weighs on you, and maybe if you—”
“Stop.” I put out my hand. “You want me to what? Stand in your control tower and watch you fly the very thing that gives me nightmares?”
His grin vanished. “Not exactly. I want you to fly with me.”
Blood rushed from my face, and my stomach lurched. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I’m going to sneak you on board with my crew, and we’re going to fly a quick, easy patrol. Skies are baby blue, there’s not a cloud in sight, and there’s zero chance of foul weather. It’s the perfect day.” He stared at me with an intensity that told me he was serious.
“You’re not sneaking me on board anything, because there’s zero chance in hell any of that is going to happen.” I took a step toward him, shaking my finger.
Big mistake.
“Have you ever gone up before?” He gripped my hips and pulled me forward to stand between his thighs. Sure, it was a warm day, but that had nothing to do with the spike in temperature inside my own body. That was pure Jackson.
“No, and do not think you can charm me onto that death trap.” I put my hands on his chest to hold him off, but that didn’t help, either. He was firm under my touch, and I knew exactly what he looked like beneath his flight suit. I pressed my thighs together and gave him my best glare.
“Do you trust me?” He moved his sunglasses to the top of his head and hit me with those incredible eyes.
“Not fair,” I whined, but I wasn’t sure if it was over the question or his use of his secret weapon.
“Morgan Bartley, do you trust me?” His h
ands flexed on my hips.
“With my life,” I grumbled.
“I’m a damned good pilot. I graduated top of my class.” His gaze bored into mine.
“Did you, now?” Just like Will. I pushed that thought right out of my head.
“Yep. And there is no chance I’m going to do anything that would ever put you at risk or put myself in a position that I can’t get home to Finley. You know that.” His hand rose and brushed my hair back just so the ocean breeze could whip it the other direction.
That was true. He’d never jeopardize Finley’s future.
“Give me an hour, Morgan, and you won’t be as scared of what I do out there.”
I pulled my lower lip between my teeth and chewed lightly. Was I actually considering this insanity?
“Come on, Kitty. I’ll give you whatever you want if you’ll do this with me. I won’t ask you for a single outdoor date for a month. We’ll order in every night, and you can read while I rub your feet.” The plea in his voice and his hopeful expression were priceless.
I sighed. An hour. Maybe it was like listening to those damned tapes of me telling the story of Will’s death over and over. Maybe doing this once would suck, but it would make the future easier—the future I wanted with him.
“I know what I want.” I looked him in the eye.
“Anything.” That grin was back, and damn if it didn’t send my heart skittering. The man was too good-looking for his own good.
“I invited my friends down for the weekend.” Okay, so it had been via text, but I’d reached out.
“Okay.” His brows puckered.
“I want you to meet them.” I pressed my lips in a line and held my breath.
“That’s it? You just want me to meet your friends?” He studied me.
“Yes. And before you agree, you should know that it has the potential to be the most awkward weekend of your life.”
His eyes widened. “Those friends.”
I nodded. “And they’re not going to be easy on you. Sam is a cakewalk compared to Josh and Jagger.” My fingertips traced the patches on his chest.
The Reality of Everything (Flight & Glory) Page 23