The Reality of Everything (Flight & Glory)

by Rebecca Yarros

  “Morgan,” he growled when I reached for the hem of his shirt and slid my hands under it. I was met with smooth, soft, warm skin over tight, hard muscles. I gripped his waist and tugged, bringing him hard against me—oh, and he was. His arousal pressed into my stomach, and my hand wrapped around it through the fabric of his shorts.

  Fire. I was on fire. My skin flushed, my breasts swelled, and my thighs dampened. He was a triple raspberry lemon drop, sweet on my tongue and going straight to my head, and I wanted more. I would always want more when it came to Jackson. Touching him had been a bad idea, but it felt so damn good.

  “Fuck,” he groaned against my mouth as I stroked him. “Morgan, baby, you have to stop. You’re killing me.”

  “I don’t want to stop.” I never wanted to stop. I wanted this moment to last forever—for there to be nothing beyond these walls that would rip us apart. I wanted an eternity in this little room with the man I couldn’t have outside it.

  Jackson lifted me to the worktable, stepped between my thighs, and stole my thoughts with a deep, carnal kiss. He took control, slanting his head over mine and erasing the world with the stroke of his tongue and the rasp of his teeth. In this moment, I was his—we both knew it.

  His hand slid under my sundress and bra to cup my breast. I moaned my approval and then gasped when he abandoned our kiss only to tease my neck, my throat, my collarbone.

  I unsnapped, then unzipped his shorts so I could feel him—hard, hot, and smooth against my palm.

  “Kitty,” he groaned, in part warning, part plea.

  I pumped him in answer. I was done with the warnings. We were in the eye of the hurricane that had become our lives, and if this was the only moment we had, I was taking it.

  His hands slid up my thighs and under my dress, lifting the hem to pool at my waist. Then he gripped my ass and yanked me forward, bringing us within one scrap of satin of what we both wanted. We locked eyes, and I nodded before his fingers slid under my panties and through the proof of my need.

  “Fuck, you’re drenched.” His dick leaped in my hand.

  I whimpered and rolled my hips, gripping the back of his neck, worried he’d think about what we were doing and stop. I led the head of his arousal to my cleft, and he hissed.

  “You have no idea how badly I want you, but I don’t have a condom. I wasn’t exactly planning on this.” His forehead rested against mine, his breaths ragged.

  “I’m on the pill. Please, Jackson.” I rolled my hips against his fingers, and he gave my clit a quick, hard flick of his thumb that made me clench him even tighter.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, looking me straight in the eyes so I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know what I was doing.

  “Fuck me.” I couldn’t be any clearer than that.

  He raised an eyebrow. “If that’s what you want to call it, I’ll let you believe that.” He dragged my panties down my legs and off, then tugged the waistband of his boxer briefs to just below his ass. Then he was at my entrance, throbbing and insistent, and his eyes were on mine, giving me one last out.

  “This doesn’t change anything between us.” I hooked my ankles around the small of his back and took his face in my hands as I rocked my hips forward, taking him inside me slowly.

  “Kitty, that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you.” He gripped my hips and thrust forward, filling me completely.

  He swallowed my moan with his mouth, kissing me deep as he moved within me with hard, powerful strokes that sent pleasure radiating through my limbs and wound it tight at my core. “You feel so fucking good,” he said against my lips, kissing me again when my whimpers became keening cries.

  Our bodies strained as we moved together, both giving and taking, clinging and saying good-bye. My muscles tightened as the pleasure built to a peak, and I tried to fight it—to make this last as long as possible—but Jackson reached between us and stroked me exactly like I needed. He knew my body, my cues, my needs the same way I knew his.

  I swirled my hips in time with his thrusts, and he groaned, our kiss breaking so we could breathe but our lips staying close enough to brush as we fought for air—for time. Everything within me tightened, drew back like an arrow, and as I felt him swell within me and his thrusts lost that steady rhythm that meant he was close, I kissed him again, pouring into it everything I felt but couldn’t say.

  And then we were there, falling over the edge together in an orgasm that blew apart my body and my heart. He caught me, just like he always did, pulling me against his chest before my body fell limp, then stroked me through the aftershocks of the bliss until the last waves drifted away.

  I buried my face in his neck as he stroked my back in long, soothing sweeps. Slowly, like the trickle of winter air through a drafty door, the cold truth of the reality that waited for us sank in.

  He kissed me softly, then slid free.

  I’d never felt so empty in my life.

  He tucked himself away, then cleaned me up and helped me back into my underwear, and what could have been awkward was just incredibly sad.

  “I love you.” He cradled my face and took another chunk of my soul with the look in his eyes. “Do me a favor and check in on Fin once or twice while I’m gone?”

  I nodded. How could I not? I loved her.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “This doesn’t change—”

  “Shh.” He kissed me quiet, then smiled. “I know. And I love you, anyway. Three months, Morgan.” He kissed me hard and deep, then ripped his mouth from mine and strode for the door without looking back.

  I sank to the floor as the first tears fell. Please, God. Don’t take him. I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t take Jackson, too. I wasn’t capable of living in a world where he didn’t. It wasn’t possible.

  With careful breaths, I waited for the anxiety to come, but only fear and misery rose with my tears, and those grew to outright sobs. When Sam found me, I didn’t question how she knew. I simply sank into her hug and cried until I was empty.

  “I know,” she whispered, rocking me back and forth like a baby. “I know. It’ll be over before you know it, I promise. You’ll get stronger every day. Just hold on and breathe.”

  Did she realize her words applied to us both?

  “You’ll get stronger. It’ll get easier.”

  It became my mantra.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Morgan

  Just promise me that you won’t let this break you. The idea of being your tragedy kills me.

  Sam left two weeks after Jackson did. She’d protested the entire time, swearing she could stay longer if I needed her, but she’d taken all the time away from her life that she could, and I wasn’t going to make her miss a single day of graduate school.

  Besides, Dr. Circe had cleared me from complicated grief treatment, and though I still saw her for anxiety, she assured me that the loss I still felt regarding Will was on a healthy, normal track.

  The loss I felt from Jackson? Well, that was of my own making.

  He’d been gone three weeks now, and breathing…it wasn’t easier, and when the anxiety gripped my throat and threatened to close it, I took my mind elsewhere and reminded myself that I didn’t have a boyfriend, so there was no need to be such a wimp about it.

  I climbed into the truck and cranked the ignition. It roared to life, and I grinned. Today was the day, and since I had three weeks before school started, a brand-new master bathroom, and newly gutted spare bedrooms to make over, it was time to head to the hardware store.

  Seat belt fastened and driver’s seat adjusted from Will’s last ride to my shorter frame, I put the truck in drive and…drove. “What were you listening to?” I asked him as I flipped on the stereo.

  Johnny Cash filled the speakers, and I laughed. “Of course you were.” The scent of leather and Will still permeated the cab, so
I rolled the windows down and let the humid ocean air fill the space as I drove the streets of the little town I’d decided to call home.

  I bought supplies, put them in the bed, and climbed back into the driver’s seat. It was all so…normal, and yet Will was still everywhere. It wasn’t my truck—it was his. I brushed my thumb over his wings. Not those. They deserved to stay. My eyes drifted to his dog tags.

  Carefully, I unwound them from the rearview mirror, clasped them tightly within my hand for a moment, then put them in the glove box and clicked it shut. A little less him…but it needed more me. I slipped my sea-glass pendant from my neck, then secured the chain carefully around the mirror. The glass swayed like a pendulum.

  That was better. Now I was in here, too.

  And so was Jackson.

  I parked the truck in my driveway, gathered what supplies I could carry, and trudged up my steps.

  “Oh, thank God,” Paisley drawled from the deck chair. “I took a cab from the airport, and when you weren’t here, I thought I was going to end up sleeping on your porch for the weekend!”

  I dropped the bags and enveloped my best friend in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  And I meant it.

  …

  “You want to explain that giant basket of bath bombs that arrived this morning?” Paisley asked as she sipped her tea.

  I glanced toward the obnoxious gift basket that took up at least three feet of counter space. “Nope.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Jackson.”

  “I said I didn’t want to explain.” I gave her a sweet smile.

  “Uh-huh. And that giant teddy bear taking up the corner of your living room?” She motioned her head sideways.

  “Not talking about that behemoth, either.”

  “What about the three boxes of classroom supplies on your dining room table?” She arched a blond brow.

  “Maybe I bought those myself.” I shrugged.

  “Maybe, but you didn’t.” Her mug clicked on my granite as she set it down. “That man is in love with you.”

  “Well, then that’s his fault, now isn’t it?” And speak of the devil, my phone buzzed.

  Jackson: Taking a bath yet?

  I snorted.

  Morgan: I wouldn’t tell you if I was.

  Jackson: That’s okay, I have a great imagination.

  Morgan: You know in some states, they’d consider this stalking.

  I tapped my fingers on the granite, waiting for his response and blatantly ignoring the way Paisley watched me with a that’s-what-I-thought grin on her face.

  Jackson: The minute you feel harassed, call the station and tell Captain Patterson.

  Jackson: I’ll get the message. Trust me.

  I frowned. Was he being ridiculous and a little obsessive? Yes. Did I want him to get in trouble for it? Of course not.

  Did I want him to stop? That was another question entirely.

  Jackson: Until then, I’ll just be over here, picturing you in that new bathtub.

  Morgan: You are incorrigible.

  Jackson: I think you might be catching on.

  Morgan: Go save someone.

  Jackson: I love you, Kitty.

  I didn’t answer, but I knew he never expected me to. That familiar ache consumed my soul and began to throb. It was more than longing. More than saying that I missed him. That ache beat against my ribs with the force of my heartbeats, demanding that I acknowledge my emptiness. I felt…incomplete without him. He had a piece of me, and the rest noticed.

  I put away my phone with a sigh and found Paisley staring at me with a little smirk.

  “You ready to talk about that yet?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Fine.” She sighed. “So, what would you like to do today? I’m not even sure what to do with myself without Peyton underfoot. A movie? A pedicure?”

  I grinned. “Grab your swimsuit. We can make the paddleboard yoga class that starts in forty-five minutes!”

  Her jaw dropped.

  …

  I knew she craved quiet since her life now had none, so we spent the next day curled up in the living room reading as a summer storm made the tourist-heavy beaches quiet.

  The best thing about having a librarian for a best friend was that she didn’t talk when there were books to be read.

  Page after page flew by as I devoured Night and Day, despite my better judgment. The book belonged in a display case, protected and preserved, but it felt like a betrayal to put it up without reading it, so I did.

  The only sounds were turning pages as we soaked in the quiet, and from time to time, I would stop and pause over the beauty of a well-written line as I savored the last book in my binge of Virginia Woolf novels.

  I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river; to me you’re everything that exists; the reality of everything.

  Though the confession belonged to a man who had never lived, published in a book that had been written over a hundred years ago, my chest tightened and my breath caught because I knew that feeling with an intimacy that shook my very being.

  I saw him everywhere. He was in the ocean and on the beach. He was in my bedroom and my kitchen and in the clouds that blew by overhead. He was in the rain that pelted my glass and the sun that warmed the deck in the morning.

  Somewhere in the last five months, my existence had shifted. My center of gravity had moved. He was my reality of everything.

  Jackson.

  I closed the book and held it to my chest as an ache of longing consumed me.

  “What’s wrong?” Paisley asked from the other end of the couch, looking over her e-reader.

  “How did you let Jagger fly again?”

  Her eyes widened, and she sat up, placing her tablet on the coffee table. “What do you mean?”

  “He almost died. Will died saving him, so I’m asking you how you let him fly again.” I held the book like a shield.

  “Well, I’m not sure you really let Jagger do anything,” she muttered with a sigh.

  “You do. If you asked him never to fly again, he would. That’s how much he loves you.”

  She pressed her lips in a line and looked around my house, her eyes never focusing as she thought about my question. “I fell in love with Jagger just the way he was, and asking him not to fly would change him into someone I don’t know. It’s a part of him. I could no more ask him to stop flying than he could ask me to stop reading.”

  “But reading won’t get you killed,” I challenged.

  “My heart almost did.” She shrugged. “You don’t have to go to war to put your life in danger. You can just get in the car, or walk down the street, or step into the ocean.”

  “But after…what happened…aren’t you scared?” I whispered the question, afraid of the answer. Afraid that I might be the coward in the pair of us.

  “Terrified,” she admitted. “Every time I see his scars, I’m reminded. Every time he flies, I hold my breath. I’m amazed I don’t pass out some days.”

  “But you put yourself through it, anyway.”

  She sighed and adjusted the blanket over her lap. “I do. How long does he have left on his flight school obligation?”

  I didn’t feign ignorance. “Six years.”

  “So he can’t stop flying even if you asked him to.” Her voice softened.

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. We broke up. We’re not together.”

  Her eye roll involved her entire head. “Right.”

  “I can’t go through it again. If something ever happened to Jackson…” I swallowed past the lump in my throat and slowed my breathing. Not today, Satan. “When Will died, he took my heart.”

  “I know.” She nodded with a sad smile.

  “But Jackson…” I pulled the book from my chest a
nd laid it across my lap. “He would take my soul. There wouldn’t be anything left to keep me breathing.”

  She moved to my side, and I turned so we sat shoulder to shoulder.

  “You have to decide what’s bigger—your love for him or your fear of losing him. And you’d think they go hand in hand, but they don’t. My love for Jagger wins out by a hair. And it’s the smallest darn hair, but it’s there. I’d rather risk losing him than spend my lifetime not loving him.” Her green eyes locked on mine.

  “But I don’t love Jackson,” I whispered.

  She took my hand. “Call it what you want. Whatever you feel, if it’s bigger than your fear, then you grab onto it with both hands and you don’t let go.”

  “But what’s the point? What if I do, and I’m not enough for him? What if I can’t let go of the past? What if…” I sighed.

  She pinned me down with her gaze. “What if you don’t learn from that past?”

  I startled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Oh, Morgan.” She squeezed my hand gently. “There is someone who loves you. And he tells you every day, and you can’t accept him because you’re scared. Scared that you don’t have a whole heart to give him. Scared that you won’t be able to love him in the way he deserves. And he challenges you, and he pulls you out of your comfort zone, and the chemistry between you is obvious to anyone with eyes, and when your chance for happiness is staring you in the face, you push it away and blame the timing. You push him away because if you let yourself love him, and he dies, you won’t survive burying him. You know because you’ve done it before. You’ve buried the love of your life, and you’ll be damned if you’ll risk that kind of pain again.” She stared at me, daring me not to connect the dots.

  “Oh God,” I cried, crumpling in on myself as the pain of my own ignorance cut me to the core.

  I’d worked so hard to protect myself from feeling another loss like Will’s that I’d become just like him, but instead of my heart being on the line—it was Jackson’s.