The Reality of Everything (Flight & Glory)

by Rebecca Yarros

  “Kitty, that’s not what this is,” he whispered.

  “You learn to choose yourself. And that’s what I’m doing. I’m choosing me. I’m choosing no anxiety attacks. No deployment. No…” My face crumpled, and I fought the tears that stung my eyes.

  “No me.” His mouth tightened as he fought for emotional control.

  “If you love me, you’ll go.”

  He flinched.

  “You won’t ask me to do this. You won’t ask me to stay with you, knowing the cost is this happening to me every. Single. Day. You won’t ask me to undo everything I’ve fought so hard for.” Air flew freely through my throat, and the ache lessened.

  “Morgan, no. God, please.” He clenched his hands but didn’t reach for me.

  One touch was all it would take to break my resolve, and I couldn’t let that happen. Not unless I wanted to dive right back into daily attacks, and if I had to go through another deployment…that’s exactly where I’d be.

  “Jackson, if you love me as much as you say you do, you will walk out that door and you won’t come back. You’ll let me heal. You’ll let me go.”

  Despair. Conflict. Anger. Frustration. Defeat. They all visited his face in the span of thirty seconds—some twice. I gripped my knees to keep from grabbing him as he stood. I locked my jaw to keep from begging him to stay.

  He walked to the door and then through it but turned around once he was on the deck. “I love you more than any torture you could ever ask of me. So, if I love you enough to walk away, can’t you love me enough to stay?”

  The last stitches in my heart ripped free, and my damage bled out all over me. “I never said I loved you.” It was barely a whisper, but he heard it.

  “Right. I guess you didn’t.” His expression would haunt my dreams for as long as I lived.

  “Sam, close the door,” I begged. The meds were kicking in, and while I could move, I was sluggish as hell, but at least the ache in my throat was fading.

  His face tightened, daring me to do it myself, but I couldn’t.

  “Morgan…this is… Maybe take some time?” she asked softly.

  I leveled her with a stare. “Remember when you showed up at my house with a truckload of furniture and begged me not to tell Grayson where you were?”

  “Shit.” Her mouth tensed, and her gaze flew between Jackson and me.

  “Please shut the door.” My voice broke, and my shoulders rose as the first sob racked through me.

  Jackson moved, heading my direction, but Sam was faster and shut the door before he got there. And because Sam never did anything half measure, the deadbolt followed.

  What was left of my pulverized heart shattered into so many pieces it may as well have been sand.

  Sam sat and pulled me into her arms while I cried.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, even though we both knew it wasn’t.

  So I did what I always did. Wiped my tears, lifted my chin, and waited for the pain to pass.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jackson

  I finished packing my second duffel and placed it next to the first in my entryway. All I had left to do was pack my carry-on.

  Our flight left tomorrow afternoon.

  The last week had both flown immeasurably fast and dragged like hell. The time I spent with Fin disappeared in a heartbeat, and the moments I stood at my window and blatantly stared at Morgan’s house…those seemed to last forever and hurt like hell.

  If you love me as much as you say you do, you will walk out that door and you won’t come back. You’ll let me heal. You’ll let me go. Her words had played on repeat inside my head for the last eight days. The sound of her sobs came in a close second. Her telling me that she’d never said she loved me? I blocked that out as much as possible.

  Every day I climbed her steps and left a single piece of sea glass next to the one I’d left the day before. She was amassing quite the little pile, and I was paying quite the bill to Christina, since I didn’t have much sea-glass hunting time left. But unlike the last time I’d left daily reminders that I wasn’t giving up, this time she hadn’t accepted them.

  The situation wasn’t hopeless, since she still lived next door, but it wasn’t exactly hopeful, either.

  “You should take Phillip,” Finley said.

  I turned away from the window to see the world’s saddest little girl staring at me. I hoisted her up and sat her on my forearm so that we were eye level. “You think I should take a blind turtle on deployment?”

  She nodded solemnly.

  “Maybe I should have asked why you think I should take him?” I tried to match her serious expression and failed.

  “Cousteau is a fish. He can’t go. Barnaby would escape, so he can’t go. And Juno pees in your shoes.” She wrinkled her nose. “But Phillip would fit in your pocket.” She tapped the breast pocket of my button-down shirt. “Not that one, of course. It’s too small.”

  “So I should take Phillip because he can breathe without water, he’s too slow to escape, and he won’t pee in my shoes?” I raised my eyebrows at her.

  “Yep. Plus, he fits in your pocket.” Her big brown eyes were almost impossible to deny, but in this case, I was going to have to hold out.

  “I won’t have a lot of time for pets, Fin. It’s mostly flying and paperwork. Is there some other reason Phillip needs to come?”

  Her little lips pursed, and she stared long and hard at the floor.

  “Finley?” I asked gently.

  “So you don’t forget me.” There were no tears, thank God, but the misery in her eyes broke my heart, then trampled it.

  My chest constricted, but I managed not to lose my shit in front of her. “Fin, sweetheart, there’s no chance I could forget you. Zero. I don’t need to carry Phillip around when I have you right here.” I took her hand and put it on top of my heart. “Will it make you feel better if you hear the plan again?”

  She nodded.

  “You have a brand-new phone!” I made a jazz hand with the one that wasn’t holding her and was rewarded by a tiny smile. “Now, what are the rules of this brand-new phone, Finley Montgomery?”

  Her eyebrows furrowed with concentration. “Only use it at home or at Grandma’s.”

  “Correct.”

  “Keep it charged.”

  “You got it.”

  “Answer when you call for video chat.”

  “Bingo. Every day at seven before school and every night before bed as promised. You’ll be so sick of my face you won’t want me to come home.”

  She giggled. Oh, sweet victory.

  “And what happens if I have to go rescue people and can’t make it to a call?”

  “You’ll send a text or call earlier…or later!” There was a grin, too.

  “And what happens to that phone when I get home?”

  She twisted her puckered lips from side to side. “I have to give it back.”

  “Yep. This phone is for deployment only, so consider it a perk.” I tweaked her nose. “But what is the number one rule of the deployment phone?” I set my features as sternly as possible.

  She huffed out a sigh. “No calling boys.”

  “That’s right. No boys. None. Everyone you love besides Daddy is a girl, anyway.”

  “What about Uncle Sawyer?” She raised her brows.

  Well, she had me there. “I might make an exception.”

  “Will you put Morgan’s number in, too? Just in case?”

  “I can do that.” Leave it to my brilliant little daughter to twist the knife. I didn’t have the heart to tell her no, and I knew Morgan wouldn’t want me to when it came to this. Fin had caught on that Morgan hadn’t been around, but since I’d never outright told her we were together, I didn’t think I needed to announce what might be the opposite now.

  “Tha
nk you!” She threw her arms around my neck, and I held her tight, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo. This deployment was going to suck on every fucking level possible.

  “I love you, Finley.” God, how was I going to leave her for three months? I hadn’t been apart from her for more than three days since she was born.

  “Love you, Daddy.” She smacked a kiss on my cheek.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Maybe it’s Morgan!” she exclaimed, wiggling down from my arms. She shot off like a bolt of lightning before I could tell her there was zero chance in hell Morgan was here. She’d even sent Juno back with Sam the day after she’d thrown me out. “Mommy!”

  Shit, I’d forgotten what time it was.

  I walked into the entry to see Claire hauling in a massive suitcase.

  “You still sure about this?” she asked as Fin took her purse.

  “Sure that it’s better for Fin if her routine is as close to normal as possible? Yes. You still promise to move out when I get back?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “How about I promise to move out when you get back if you still want me to?”

  I tilted my head and blinked.

  “Okay, fine.” She rolled her eyes with a smile. “I promise. This is just the first one. I’ll bring the others over tomorrow before you go.”

  “Thank you. I’ve got all the feeding schedules up in the kitchen.”

  “For Finley or the menagerie?” she joked.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  We both laughed, and it was awkward but easier than it had been.

  Knock. Knock. Sam stood behind the glass storm doors with a beach bag slung over her shoulder.

  “New girlfriend?” Claire asked.

  “Don’t start,” I warned, keeping my voice level since Finley was here as I opened the door. “Sam?”

  Her gaze darted to Claire, then her suitcase, then me. “Bad time?”

  “Not at all. Come on in.” I stepped back, and Sam walked straight through the entry to high-five Finley.

  “How’s it going, Fin?”

  “Hey, Sam!” She leaned around Sam and stared at the door, which served as another slice to my soul. Not that it mattered. It was pretty much death by a thousand tiny cuts around here right now.

  “Just me today,” Sam said with enough perk that Finley’s face fell only slightly. “But she did bake you some cookies this morning!” She dug into her bag and produced a Ziploc full of chocolate chip cookies.

  “Really? Yay!” Fin took the cookies and disappeared toward the kitchen, still wearing Claire’s purse.

  Cue the most awkward moment of my life.

  “How about I take Fin down to the water for…” Claire glanced between Sam and me. “A while. Text me when you’re ready?”

  I nodded my thanks, and Claire ushered Fin and her cookies out the door.

  “Can we sit?” Sam asked.

  “Sure.”

  Once we were at the dining room table, Sam pulled out her phone, a laptop, and the small, silver tape recorder that usually lived on Morgan’s counter.

  “Does she know you’re here?” Even asking was painful.

  “Hell no. She’d slaughter me for what I’m about to do, which means I’m trusting you to keep this between us. But, before we start, do you want to explain why your ex has her suitcase in your entry? Or should I just jump to conclusions?” Her eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Claire is moving in so Finley can stay in our home while I’m gone,” I answered easily. “We’re not together. We’re never going to be together again. I’m just trying to make it as easy as possible on my daughter.”

  Sam studied me for a second and then nodded, as if accepting my answer. “Okay then. Because I’m not about to risk one of my closest friendships if you’re already moving on. Get me?”

  “I’m not moving on. I’m not exactly hopeful, but not moving on.” I rested my elbows on the table. “It’s only three months, Sam. She threw me out and slaughtered me for three damned months.”

  Sam sighed. “You’re not wearing her glasses.”

  “She doesn’t wear glasses,” I countered.

  “Not the kind of glasses I’m referring to.” She rolled her eyes. “When you think about this deployment, what’s your first concern?”

  “Easy. Who is taking care of Finley? Where is she staying? How do I keep connected to her? How do I make her feel secure and safe? Not that Morgan isn’t a giant clusterfuck—”

  “Nope, you’re good. I get it. You see this deployment with your daddy glasses on, as you should. Being Finley’s dad colors everything in this world, even Morgan. And you might flip your boyfriend lens onto a situation, like you did when you came to tell her about the deployment, but no matter what, your daddy lens comes first. It’s permanent.”

  “Right. I can see that.” It was true. Morgan’s love for Fin only elevated my attraction to her.

  “You aren’t using Morgan’s glasses,” she said again, then set up the laptop. “Before you two got together, Morgan would watch this video every night before bed. Some nights she’d watch it a hundred times.” She took a deep breath and muttered a prayer for forgiveness at my ceiling before she pressed play.

  The background was a white wall with a picture of a Blackhawk helicopter and the tops of chairs. A dining room table. Then he slid into the picture, and I was faced with Will Carter.

  He looked exactly like his pictures online, of course. Serious, clean-cut face, brown, wavy hair, brown eyes…and a delicate pair of aviation wings around his neck. Morgan’s.

  A pang of jealousy hit me harder than I’d felt myself capable. Jesus, the guy was dead, and I was growly. He still owned the heart of the woman I loved, and I couldn’t even fight him for it.

  He sighed, then looked straight into the camera. “Morgan. Elyse. Bartley.” He flashed a smile that transformed his features, but it faded quickly. “God, I hope you never see this. I hope that I get home from this deployment and delete this file so I can tell all of this to you in person. And yeah, I just got back from your place last night…” He smiled and looked away. “But there’s a lot I didn’t say, because it wouldn’t have been fair seeing that I asked you to wait around until I get home.”

  Shit. Just like I had.

  “So yeah, I’m praying you never see this. But…” He swallowed. “But if something happens, and you do, then I want to make sure you know that you are the most infuriating, stubborn, button-pushing pain in the ass I’ve ever known.” He nodded.

  My eyes flew wide. What the actual fuck?

  “They were always at each other’s throats,” Sam commented with a sad smile.

  “But you’re also ridiculously smart, and compassionate, and loyal, and so gorgeous that you make my teeth hurt when I look at you. There is nothing about me that deserves everything you bring to the table.” He scoffed. “I’m showing up empty-handed to this party, and the most amazing thing about you is that you don’t care. You just want me, and I can’t figure out why, but I’m done fighting it. You want this mess? It’s yours. Just enjoy your last nine months of freedom—I mean, hopefully not too much or anything—because once I get home, we’re doing this thing. And I know I’m going to make it, because who the hell is good enough to shoot me out of the sky, right? Like I said yesterday, flying is flying no matter where you do it.” His grin turned cocky, and my stomach twisted. Fuck, he sounded just like I had.

  “Shit, that’s pretty much what I said to her.” I cursed.

  “I figured.” Sam’s face scrunched in pity.

  “But in the interest of being prepared, let’s do this. I took out a secondary life insurance policy this morning, and you’re the beneficiary. And I know you’re going to want to fight it, but please, take the money. Use it. Don’t just give it to charity or stick it in a bank account, Morgan. Spend it on something
that brings you happiness. Use it to leave like you always planned. I just wish I was going with you.”

  The video continued for about fifteen minutes while he said good-bye to her. While he confessed the things he hadn’t felt strong enough to say in person. Those fifteen minutes transformed him from a two-dimensional ghost to a flesh and blood man who I might not hang with in real life but I could respect. We were alike in miniscule ways and complete opposites in the ones that really mattered.

  “So, I guess, I’ll see you later. And I’m hoping you come to the redeployment ceremony, because that’s when it’s all going to start for us.” A slow smile spread over his face. “And I’m going to kiss you so hard that the last few years will have all been worth it.” His eyebrows popped up. “We should go to the Outer Banks for a whole week when I get back. Remember how much fun we had there? Maybe this time I’ll actually get you off the beach and onto one of those surfboards. Yeah. I’ll plan it all. And I guess now I have to delete this file when I get back or it will ruin the surprise.” He sighed, long and hard. “See ya later, Morgan. Nine months.”

  He reached forward and killed the recording.

  “So that’s Will,” Sam said with a sigh, shutting the laptop and bringing over the tape recorder.

  “I already knew that she loved him, but thank you for making him real.” My voice was gruffer than I intended. If that night in Afghanistan had gone differently, maybe I still would have met Morgan, but she would have been a tourist wrapped around her boyfriend. I never would have had the chance to fall in love with her.

  “You’re welcome. Now, you know that every week Morgan has to record the story of his death and listen to it, right?”

  “So that’s the tape recorder.”

  “You got it. This is from this week.” She pressed play, and Morgan’s sweet, clear drawl came through. She told the story from start to finish, then the funeral, without so much as a hiccup. There was pain, grief in her voice, but she was concise and in control.

  “That therapy sounds a lot like torture,” I remarked as Sam hit stop.