The Reality of Everything (Flight & Glory)

by Rebecca Yarros

  …

  My first day of school, there were two dozen roses on my desk from Jackson. The note was simple:

  Today it begins. And yes, I’m singing “Hot for Teacher” all day long. X Jackson

  I scoffed, then laughed. The man never outright called, but he made his presence known in every way. He was tenacious. I’d give him that.

  Next to those glorious roses sat a small vase containing a single gerbera daisy. He didn’t have to tell me what to do with it.

  While my students had to wait outside for the bell to signal the beginning of the day, the kindergarten kids were allowed in fifteen minutes earlier, and we were in that window. I took the flower down the hall, smiling at the other teachers and adjusting my lanyard so they could see I was one of them.

  I still wasn’t sure who the hell decided I was mature enough to be a teacher, but I’d fake it until I made it.

  The kindergarten rooms were at the opposite end of the wing, and the noise was astonishing. I opened the door on the left and was met with a barrage of nervous parents and excited children, all scrambling to put away their supplies and find their backpack hooks.

  The redhead I was looking for spotted me over the heads of her classmates.

  “Morgan!” She parted the seas like the social butterfly she was and flew into my arms. I dropped down to her eye level, careful to keep my skirt from riding up.

  “You look amazing!” I held my finger out, and she obligingly twirled in her fluffy skirt and sequin-covered shirt. Her hair lay in perfectly formed ringlets that I knew wouldn’t last past the first recess.

  “Mommy did my hair.” She grinned.

  “You did a great job.” I smiled up at Claire, who looked as uncomfortable as humanly possible, but she was here. She might be living in Jackson’s house and sleeping in his bed, but she was doing it for the good of Finley. They weren’t together…at least that’s what I reminded myself to keep my claws sheathed.

  Besides, Jackson and I weren’t together, so she had every right to sleep in his bed.

  Right.

  “Thanks.” She offered me a tight smile. Things weren’t exactly easy between us, but I appreciated that she’d at least turned off her seek-and-destroy glare when it came to me.

  “Finley, your daddy sent this for you.” I handed Fin the daisy, and her entire face lit up.

  “It’s beautiful.” She drew out the word with reverence. “He FaceTimed this morning. He told Mommy I could wear my skirt!”

  “Against my better judgment,” Claire muttered, sending an obvious glance around the much less ostentatious outfits in the room.

  “I’m putting it on my desk!” Finley carried the flower like it was a nuclear bomb, dodging her classmates every step of the way.

  “Did you know you’re supposed to volunteer?” Claire asked in a hushed whisper as I rose to my feet. “And not just every once in a while. They want classroom aides, and story-time readers, field-trip chaperones, and I work. There are a thousand sign-up sheets over there!”

  “It can be a lot, but school resources aren’t always what we’d wish, so having parents step in can really help stretch our budget,” I explained with a small smile. “But you don’t have to. That’s the whole point of being a volunteer, and I know you’re taking on a lot right now.”

  “Right, and all these other parents are just going to think I’m the loser mom who can’t show up for story time Thursday, and they all know that I haven’t been here as much as I would have liked. Gossip in a small town never dies.” She pursed her lips.

  “How well I know it.” That was pretty much the story of my life. “But the more you’re here, the more they get to know you, the less they’ll talk.”

  She shook her head. “How does Jax do all this and still get to keep his precious career?” There was an edge of panic in her eyes.

  Ugh, and there went my stupid heart with the aching again.

  “Well, first, be a little easier on yourself. Jackson hasn’t been a kindergarten dad yet, so he hasn’t done all this. It’s brand-new territory. Is something else stressing you out, Claire?” The level of agitation seemed a bit unjustified.

  She warred with herself for a second, then sighed. “I have an audition today, and they agreed to do it through video chat, which is pretty much unheard of. But the only time the director has is exactly when Fin gets out, and Mom has a doctor’s appointment, and Brie has some meeting, so I’m going to have to cancel it. I’m trying so hard to do both—to figure out how to be Finley’s mom and not lose my career, but…” She shook her head and looked away.

  I bit my tongue and reminded myself that I couldn’t judge her for the way she’d abandoned Fin for the last five years since she was here now and obviously trying her best. “Why don’t I bring her home with me?”

  Her gaze snapped to mine.

  “Really. Just leave her booster at the front office, and I’ll carry her home. No big deal. It’s not like you live across the island, remember? Just come grab her when your audition is over.” I could get Fin’s opinion on the paint colors for the guest room and maybe even sneak in some shell hunting.

  “I can’t ask that of you,” she protested, but there was a spark in her eye.

  “Yes, you can. I love Finley. I love spending time with her, and honestly you’d be doing me a favor.” I lifted my badge. “And I’m background checked and everything.”

  “But you and Jax…” She hesitated.

  I suddenly wished I had his pendant around my neck instead of in the truck. “This isn’t about Jackson. It’s about Fin.”

  She glanced nervously as parents snapped pictures of every conceivable “first” of the morning. “Okay. Thank you. I guess I didn’t realize it would be this hard. Or maybe I did, and that’s why I stayed away so long.”

  “It’s not a problem,” I assured her. “I’m always available to help, if you’ll let me.”

  She flashed a Hollywood smile, but it was tinged with a note of desperation.

  I started taking Finley home every day.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jackson

  There was no such thing as a three-day weekend here, so the fact that it was Labor Day weekend made no difference to me. I sat in the operations center with my laptop, scouring the internet for the world’s most obnoxious blow-up apple for Morgan’s classroom.

  Hastings rolled his eyes every time I sent him on random missions, but he never complained. The guy’s cast had been cut off last week, but he’d been denied his request to replace me down here. Honestly, I couldn’t be pissed. This was my job, and like it or not, deployments were a part of it.

  A fact Morgan knew all too well, which didn’t exactly work in my favor. Once I got home and had her back in my arms, it would only be a matter of time before we went through this again. Hell, I’d be up for Lieutenant Commander in two years, so a PCS wasn’t going to be far behind.

  I missed both my girls like hell, and we weren’t even halfway through this deployment. Seeing Fin’s face every morning and night was its own special form of torture. I could see her, but I couldn’t hug her, and each time the screen went black hurt my heart more than the last. I’d missed her first day of kindergarten, which was something I’d never thought I’d say.

  But she’d had Claire, right?

  And Morgan.

  Fuck, I missed Morgan. I missed her smile and her laugh. I missed walks on the beach and the moments she’d open up. I missed waking up in the middle of the night with her body wrapped around mine and her head on my chest. Did I miss the sex? I was a guy, and it was the best of my life, so yeah, of course, but I missed the connection more. I would have given up sex for the rest of my life if it meant I could just hold her every day. I’d probably negotiate a few kisses, though. I missed her kisses so much I nearly groaned just thinking about them. She’d never been able to hi
de her feelings when her mouth was on mine.

  The fact that Finley spent her afternoons with Morgan gave me hope. Not that I was using my kid to keep my girlfriend or anything. I wasn’t sure there was anything I could do to actually keep Morgan, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t fighting like hell. I’d meant every word I’d said to her the day I left. I loved her enough to carry us through this. Hell, I loved her enough to carry her through a thousand of these, but I still hated myself for putting her through it. There weren’t enough gifts in the world to make up for the spike in her anxiety attacks.

  But a giant blow-up apple still might help.

  “You know girls like chocolate and flowers, right?” Sawyer asked, smacking my shoulder as he took the seat next to me. “I mean, if you’re ordering blow-ups, there are way better models that serve way better purposes.”

  I scoffed.

  “Leave the man alone. He’s long-distance wooing,” Garrett remarked from the corner of the room where he was playing a video game.

  “Just saying.” Sawyer waggled his eyebrows. “And who the fuck says wooing, anyway? What is this, the eighteen hundreds?”

  “Wooing is the only word I can describe for what’s going on over there,” Garrett threw back. “What else would you call constant effort with zero dates and zero encouragement?”

  “Harassment,” Sawyer quipped, then cringed. “Shit, that was a step too far.”

  I leveled a look at him over my laptop screen.

  “I said I was sorry!” He put his hands up. “We all like Morgan. We’re all pulling for you. We all understand why she…did what she did, and we all think she’s worth it.”

  “Don’t say we all, like we sit around gossiping about Montgomery’s love life,” Garrett chided.

  I honestly didn’t give a fuck if they approved of my actions or my relationship—or lack thereof. The only two opinions I cared about in the world were Morgan’s and Fin’s. “Right. Thanks.”

  He spun his chair to face the monitor behind me. “You keeping an eye on Ingrid? She’s starting to look nasty.”

  I looked over my shoulder at the named storms heading our way. “Nah. Looks like she might skirt by the Bahamas, and she’s only a two. The boys at Clearwater will handle her. Jerry’s got my eye, though.”

  When the fuck had I become callous enough to think of hurricanes as rescues and aftermaths instead of destruction and lives lost? We were called in for storms every year up and down the coast, and it never failed to affect me, but I’d stopped panicking at model projections years ago.

  Sawyer whistled low. “He’s a big son of a bitch.”

  “And headed this way, if those models are right.” The last thing Puerto Rico needed was another fucking hurricane, but we were here and ready to help if he hit.

  “What do you think he’ll end up at?” Sawyer rocked back on his chair.

  “That guy?” Garrett slid his chair out from the console and peered at the monitor. “He’s going five.”

  “Fuck that. Three,” Sawyer countered. “He’ll lose steam as he passes over the islands there.” He pointed to the model that took the storm south.

  “Let’s pray he doesn’t hit them at a three.” I looked at the models closer. “And if he follows that middle projection, then I’m with Garrett. He’s going big.”

  Moreno skidded into the room, grabbing the doorframe. “We’ve got a call.”

  I shut my laptop. “Time to save some lives.”

  …

  I cracked a yawn and reached for my phone when the notification went off. I’d already talked to Fin this morning, but the coffee hadn’t quite kicked in yet. It was still weird as hell to see Claire in my home, moving around in the background.

  My screen flashed with Morgan’s name, and I immediately smiled.

  Morgan: Why is there a giant apple in my classroom?

  I grinned.

  Jackson: Because you’re a teacher, duh.

  Morgan: This thing takes up my entire whiteboard space.

  I had half a mind to FaceTime her, but I knew she wouldn’t accept. She never picked up my calls, either. That was the demarcation line of our relationship. Text was fine. Voice was not.

  Jackson: I don’t believe you.

  A minute later, a picture came through of a giant red apple consuming her instruction space.

  Jackson: I fail to see the problem.

  Morgan: You. Are. Impossible.

  Jackson: I. Am. In. Love. With. You.

  Just like it always did after I dropped the L word, the conversation fell quiet. At least she wasn’t hot and cold. The woman made her choice and was sticking to her guns.

  Jackson: Are you leaving for Washington tomorrow?

  Morgan: Right now. I just stopped by to grab something.

  My chest tightened. I couldn’t imagine how hard the next two days would be on her, and I wasn’t even there to hold her hand.

  Jackson: I’m sorry I’m not there.

  Morgan: Me, too.

  It was the closest she’d come to admitting that she missed me.

  Jackson: Eight more weeks.

  We’d already been here seven.

  She didn’t reply.

  I grabbed chow, then headed to the op center for another fun day of briefings, workouts, and waiting to be needed.

  “We saved you a seat, honey,” Sawyer said as he patted the office chair next to him at the long conference table.

  “Thanks.” I slid in between him and Moreno, with Garrett just across the table. Every one of the twenty-two guys in this room was from our unit at Hatteras, and it was standing room only by the time the captain walked in.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Patterson said as he stood at the head of the conference table. “Daily brief is as follows.”

  He launched into the mundane and saved the important stuff for last, probably so we didn’t sneak out or fall asleep.

  “Jerry continues to be our primary concern. Warren, you want to talk weather?”

  The meteorologist stood and nodded, heading to the monitor. “Jerry is absolutely a concern. We’re predicting a category four landfall, but if he follows this model, he could pick up speed in the warm waters here and elevate to a five.”

  Damn, if that thing came anywhere near us, it was going to level the place.

  “I told you,” Garrett mouthed.

  “Shut up,” Sawyer retorted.

  “Either way, we’re looking at widespread destruction from here”—he pointed to a string of islands—“to here, which means we’ll need all hands on deck. We’re hoping this model is correct, and he’ll miss us, but you know how finicky storms can be.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Sir, would you like to—”

  “Go ahead,” Patterson said, his voice tight.

  “Though this storm”—he changed the monitor, and my stomach turned—“won’t affect us directly, it is cause for concern, as you can see why.”

  “Holy shit,” Sawyer muttered.

  “How the hell did that happen?” Garrett snapped, like Warren controlled the weather.

  “To be honest, the projections were off,” Warren answered. “She went right around the Bahamas, picking up speed to a three, and we thought she might spin off into the Atlantic, but…well, early this morning her winds measured 113 knots.” His jaw ticked.

  Captain Patterson took pity on the guy and grabbed the remote for the monitor. “These are only projections, and you all know how quickly the models can change. That being said…” He clicked the remote, and the monitor changed to show the projected path.

  The entire room erupted with questions.

  I had my phone to my ear before I’d even cleared the room, leaving the briefing before I’d been dismissed.

  “Pick up. Pick up,” I muttered. Morgan was already on her way to Will’s cerem
ony.

  “Jax?” Claire’s voice came through.

  “You’ve got less than forty-eight hours. Get Finley and evacuate. Don’t wait.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Jackson

  There was nothing quite as ironic as an SAR pilot watching helplessly as a hurricane headed straight for his home while he was a thousand miles away.

  Evacuations had been ordered yesterday.

  Finley and Claire had left earlier this evening. It was later than I’d wanted, but at least she’d gone. Vivian, however, was a die-hard. She’d weathered every hurricane—including Irma—from her home, and since Brie took a volunteer position at one of the shelters on the mainland, that left Vivian alone.

  Alone, with a category four headed straight at her.

  “I know this is killing you, especially those of you with families on Hatteras, but we just have to sit tight and see,” Patterson told those of us who sat in the conference room bleary-eyed, glued to the news coverage.

  I wasn’t sure exactly what he thought would change. There weren’t a lot of models forecasting anything but a direct hit on Hatteras in the next twelve hours.

  There was about an hour before my morning Finley call, and then I’d try to talk Vivian into getting the hell out of there, not that she’d listen. The woman was probably planning a hurricane party.

  The reporter stood at the end of one of the smaller piers, getting pelted by rain as waves crashed at his feet. “As you can see, the winds have increased here to eighty miles an hour, and it’s very hard to stand!” He leaned into the wind. “We’re seeing enormous whitecaps, and the surge is already approaching the tide line.”

  “Moron,” Sawyer mumbled.

  “Right. And Ryan, could you tell us what makes this particular hurricane so dangerous to the Outer Banks?” the anchor asked through the earpiece.

  “Sure, Sarah. No matter what, we’re looking at a massive impact here on Cape Hatteras. Even if Irene veers into the Atlantic over the next twelve hours, the storm surge is projected to be devastating because it will coincide not only with the high tide, but tomorrow is a full moon.”