As for me, I had completely retooled my life. I’d applied for graduate school. I wanted to be a Marriage and Family Therapist. Help people like Sawyer. People like Neil. People like me.
After a long social media break, I picked up my phone. But this time it was different. I was wearing sweats and a Blue Angel T-shirt.
I didn’t have a hint of makeup on, my extensions were long gone, and I had even put on some weight since I was no longer consumed with how I would look on camera.
It didn’t matter to me at all.
All that mattered was that Sawyer loved me the way I was.
Just Sol.
Hi Guys!
I know you’re used to seeing me dolled up and glammed, but this is me.
No filter. I wanted to tell you all that everything you had seen in my feed was fake.
I mean the food was real, but I spent hours posing it and even longer doing my makeup. But that isn’t real—a picture perfect life doesn’t exist.
The only thing left is my true feelings, and I have a confession to make.
When I met Sawyer, all I cared about was my image. It was more important for me to get more followers than be happy. But then, I fell in love.
I love him. I love Captain Sawyer Roberts. But this fake life got in the way of real-life feelings. So, don’t be me. Live in the moment. Get off your phone. Go have coffee with a friend. Go hike. Go read a book. And tell someone you love them.
Peace and love. Sol
Chapter 31
Sawyer
When my plane touched down from my final show, Sol was in the crowds cheering for me.
In the past, when I’d returned from deployment, I’d never had anyone waiting for me. Not anyone came to my graduation at Annapolis, because no one loved me.
But seeing Sol standing there in a long, flowing dress with a big grin on her face, I knew I had something now I’d never had before.
I had a family.
Time to make it official.
I’d thought of a million way to propose to Sol, but she deserved a grand gesture.
Something Instagram-worthy. I had arranged for someone to film it as well so she could post it to her followers.
I ran to Sol, and she leaped into my arms.
My mouth took hers, and we kissed for what seemed like forever.
I’d had this planned since we got back together.
“Babe. I have to go back up to make one more run in my plane really quick, and then we can go home.”
“Really? You’ve never done that before.”
“Yeah. It’s a special flight. Promise me you’ll watch.”
“Of course.”
I kissed her. The last kiss I would ever give my girlfriend.
I jumped back in the cockpit and took off. I had plotted this out meticulously.
But hell, if I could do a flight path in the shape of a dick, I could definitely write will you marry me.
I accelerated. Looping to the left and to the right, I even dotted the i.
Though I’d never felt sick from the G-Force, this time a wave of nausea passed through me.
There. It was done. No more turning back.
I turned the plane around and landed.
Once safely touched down, Sol came running to me.
“Are you serious? Is this some stunt?”
I climbed out of the cockpit, took the ring out of my zippered pocket and dropped to my knee.
Tears welled in her eyes.
“Solana Sanchez, I love you and don’t want to ever be without you. Will you marry me?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I love you, Sawyer.”
I slipped the ring on her finger.
Mine. All mine.
Epilogue
The San Francisco fog blanketed Mount Tam, but I wasn’t chilly. My body was burning up from nerves—I was about to see my bride.
Beck punched me in the arm. “Never thought I’d be standing here next to you on your wedding day. You’ve come a long way buddy. I’m happy for you. And not to sound like a condescending prick, but I’m proud of you too.”
I hated to admit it, but those words meant the world to me. I didn’t have a father figure, no one to call me out on my bullshit. Beck was the closest thing I had in my life to a strong male role model. Had Beck not forced me to take Sol on that first flight, I wouldn’t be here today.
Our son, Neil, stood by my side. The adoption still wasn’t finalized, but the judge had signed off on him living with us. Since Sol and I were getting married, she was going to adopt him as well. And Sol was amazing with him. So patient and loving. Seeing her with him made me love her even more.
Even so, it had been a hard adjustment for Neil. He was quiet and scared at first. We’d enrolled him in the best preschool in our area, and he was also seeing a therapist. I hadn’t heard from Lila, but that was unsurprising. She’d thanked us for adopting her son and had just wanted to move on. I felt bad for Neil when he asked about her, knowing how conflicted I’d felt about my own mother at that age. But I knew that with time and love, he would thrive with us.
I was now stationed in San Diego, and Sol had moved down to live with me. The SoCal beach vibe suited her well—plenty of beautiful beaches to take pictures of sunsets and waves. Though her business model had changed—instead of just posting pictures of avocado toast all day, Sol had switched the focus of her blog and social media to finding happiness through real connection. She had also been accepted to graduate school and would start next fall. I was so damn proud of her.
Now, where was she?
After an agonizing wait, Sol walked down the aisle, escorted by her father. We hadn’t spent too much time with her family—they were always gone. I was shocked by how distant they were, but maybe that would change in time. At least Sol and I both knew how we wanted to raise Neil and any other kids we planned to have one day.
Once Sol was in focus, I melted at the sight of my beautiful bride. She was simply stunning. And I couldn’t believe she was mine.
We recited our vows, and I held her hands and gazed into her eyes.
“I love you, Sol.”
“I love you, too, Sawyer.”
The preacher announced, “You may now kiss the bride.”
I gave her the most passionate kiss. Solana Roberts. My wife.
With Sol and Neil, I now had the family I craved, that I hadn’t even known I’d wanted. And for the first time in my life, I was complete.
Thank you for reading BLUE MOON!
I hope you loved Sawyer and Sol. Hungry for more Blue Devils? Read Beck and Paloma’s love story in BLUE SKY, available now.
BLUE SKY
For ten weeks every year, the Blue Angels descend from the heavens and land in heEl Centro, California. The residents treat the pilots like gods. The city council members host black tie galas, little old ladies bring them homemade pies, and groupies wait by their rooms to satisfy their desires. Everyone worships them—everyone, that is, except for me. I hate the way they waltz into my poor town and romance all the residents only to vanish into the sky.
But even I can’t afford to say no when I’m offered the chance to be the nanny for sexy, cocky pilot Beckett Daly’s baby girl, Sky. The job is my only hope to feed my family and maybe one day leave this town.
No matter how close I grow to Beckett, no matter how much I hunger for his embrace, I’ll never let down my guard for this Devil in a Blue Angel’s disguise.
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Chapter 1 Blue Sky
Paloma
I stood in my mama’s kitchen, peeling back the husks of the ripe tomatillos my neighbor had gifted to me. Even though I lived only miles away from the Mexican border, fresh produce was expensive and purchasing my beloved tart, green fruit was definitely a luxury I couldn’t afford.
Not when there was a constant, gnawing ache in my belly. Not when my little sister Ana María cried every morning because she wanted more food, but I had none to give her. Not when my other sister, Mónica, would often eat her only meal of the day at school because she had free lunch. Not when I had to feed a family of four on fifty dollars a week.
If only I had a job.
But my employment status wasn’t from a lack of effort. No, not at all. I had literally applied to every job in the border town of El Centro, California, which had just recently been anointed “the worst place to live in America” by some huge national website. With the highest unemployment rate in the country at twenty-seven and a half percent, my prospects were bleak. I lay awake most nights, terror gripping my body, shivering despite the sweltering desert heat, trapped in the hell that was my life, dreaming of an escape route.
In reality, I doubted that I would ever be able to leave my hometown. Instead, I would probably end up being buried here, but these days, even that wasn’t a certainty. El Centro’s cemetery had recently gone into foreclosure.
I clutched the tomatillos in my hands, rinsed them under the cool water, cut out their stems, and tossed them in a pan to roast. This spicy sauce would coat the chicken enchiladas I had just made from scratch. Accompanied by a pot of cumin-spiced pinto beans and a batch of arroz rojo, we would be blessed with a rare, hearty dinner. Over the years, I had learned how to make delicious meals out of scraps. These enchiladas, along with oatmeal for breakfast and tortillas for lunch, would have to last my family for a week.
Ana María walked into the kitchen and clutched on my apron. “Where’s Mama?”
At six years old, Ana María was a precocious little girl with amber-colored eyes and long brown hair that I made sure to braid every day, since Mama was usually too hungover to move, and that was if she even came home from her one of her frequent benders. Ana María was too young to learn the truth about our lives, though I knew I wouldn’t be able to protect her forever.
“Baby, she’s out working.” And that was true, in a way. But Mama didn’t have a real job, either. Her version of “working” was flirting with men at the local bars and offering them favors for a bit of cash.
“I am not a prostitute,” Mama would swear up and down. “I just love men.”
I didn’t even try to argue with her anymore. The fact that Mama had three children with three different men, none of whom she’d married, let her decisions speak for herself. Not that there was anything wrong with a woman enjoying a healthy sex life. But she lavished attention on these countless men while she neglected her children, which was deplorable.
At least I didn’t know who my father was, so I could sometimes close my eyes and pretend that he was a good man. Maybe he didn’t even know I existed and if he found out that he had a daughter, he would rush to me and take me away from my mom.
If only Mama would tell me his name, I would be able to find him.
But my fantasy dad was the only good man in my life. Mónica’s father was a dead beat and a womanizer who had cheated on Mama all the time before she’d kicked his sorry ass out. And Ana María’s father was a hot-tempered alcoholic who would beat Mama until she could cry no more. The only other man around was my uncle, who also waged a losing battle with the bottle.
But growing up around these jerks, none of whom stuck around, told me all I needed to know about men.
Men were trouble. Untrustworthy. Only after one thing. At twenty years old, I was proud to say that I had never been distracted by a man, even though my soft curves and plump lips often made me a target for their leers. Sure, I had messed around with boys in high school and had even lost my virginity to a good friend of mine who had wanted to date me, but I told him that I was not looking for a relationship. I vowed that I would never let any man get in the way of my dreams of leaving this town, and this life, behind.
But Mama had never known another way of living. She’d been only eighteen when she had become pregnant with me. Did Mama once have dreams of her own? Mama used to tell me, “El sueño es alimento de los pobres.”
Dreams are the food of the poor.
Mama’s future had blown away with the dust in this desert town. But my dreams were still real. Sometimes I closed my eyes and practiced creative visualization, something I had read about in a book. I pictured myself running a successful restaurant, living in a cute apartment, even owning a car. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fathom a scenario where I would get an opportunity to change my life.
I just need a break.
I sat Ana María down in front of a coloring book and turned my attention back to the salsa. I sliced half a white onion while blinking back the tears that were not only from the vapors but also from my despair. After I pulled myself together, I crushed two garlic cloves, chopped fifteen sprigs of cilantro, and halved and de-stemmed a serrano pepper.
My tomatillos were now ready, and when I removed them from the oven, their smoky scent filled up the tiny kitchen. I chopped the tomatillos and grabbed the molcajete to grind the salsa when my other sister, Mónica, burst into the room.
“Paloma, Paloma!” Mónica shrieked.
“What?” At fourteen, Mónica was definitely the rebel of the family, and already boy-crazy. I worried that Mónica would end up just like our mother. To make certain that she didn’t, I’d forced her to go on birth control this year. If only I could take custody of my sisters and get out of this town.
“OMG! Look at this!” She thrust a copy of the Imperial Press in my face.
“Ay, Mónica.” I did not have time to read some gut-wrenching story in the newspaper. Just last week one of my high school classmates had been murdered in her apartment, which was only one street over from ours. The cops suspected drug traffickers, but it didn’t matter. Another reminder that the only way out of this town was in a body bag.
“It’s your dream job!”
Dream job? My dream was any job—I’d clean toilets, I’d mop floors, no job was below me. But with no car and nothing but a high school education, my prospects were bleak. And we needed the money now even more desperately than ever. The little help my mom received from the government went to food, and the rest was often squandered by her on alcohol. I choked back a sob. I didn’t know how much longer we could all survive like this.
I grabbed the paper cautiously, refusing to get my hopes up again.
Looking for a full time live in nanny for my daughter. I’ll be stationed in El Centro for ten weeks. Must be CPR certified. No drugs and no drama. Pay is $1000 a week. Will be taking applications in person January 4th at 4 p.m. at the Navy Lodge, El Centro, room 101.
I dropped the temolote I had been using to grind the salsa from my right hand. Did that say one thousand dollars a week for ten weeks?
Ten thousand dollars?
That money could be life-changing for my sisters and me. I could move the girls to San Diego and leave my mother and her destructive ways behind. I could rent a small apartment and send them to school out there, even get a job at a local restaurant to support them.
I stared at the old clock that hung on our cracked wall. It was quarter past two. The Navy Lodge was a few miles away, so I would have to leave enough time to walk. Ay, Dios mío, what would I wear?
I turned to Mónica and grabbed her shoulders. “¡Ayu
deme! I need you to watch Ana María and pick me out an outfit. Something simple and classy. Nothing tight. I’m going to finish these enchiladas and bring them to the interview. Do not tell Mama where I went if she decides to come home.”
Mónica’s face dropped as she gazed longingly at the enchiladas. “Our enchiladas? What will we eat?”
“Beans and rice and tortillas. Military men like to eat. These enchiladas could be our ticket.”
“Sí, entiendo. You got this. You’re great with kids. If he hires you, I’ll help out completely back here, no attitude, I swear.”
My hand shook. How would this even work if I got this job? Who would take care of my sisters? My mom wasn’t reliable. My only option was my uncle, but he was a goddamn mess. For ten thousand dollars and a way out of this town, we could make it work.
Mónica tilted her head. “I wonder if he’s an Angel? I bet he’s smoking hot.”
A Blue Angel pilot . . . he had to be if he was offering one thousand dollars a week. No enlisted man in the support team of the Angels would pay that much money. A little girl? Where was her mother? Was she dead? Or just a dead beat like my mom?
For ten weeks every year, the Blue Angels descended from the heavens and landed in El Centro. The Angels were notorious as much for their sky stunts as they were for their land antics. They would hit the bars here, romancing the young local Mexican girls who dreamed of a life as a naval aviator’s wife. It was like the sucia version of An Officer and a Gentleman, minus the happy ending; no Blue Angel had ever married a local girl.
Blue Moon (Blue Devils Book 2) Page 15
