Into the Blue (A Wild Aces Romance)

by Chanel Cleeton

  “I thought about it,” she admitted. “But I do love it here. Bradbury has always been home, and I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. My roots are here, my memories of my parents. I always imagined raising my kids here, telling them stories about the grandparents they’ll never get to meet.”

  “I’m sure they’d be so proud of you.”

  She smiled softly. “Thanks. I hope so.” She reached out and took hold of my free hand, linking our fingers. “You know, your grandmother’s proud of you. Her face lights up when she talks about you. I used to hear about you through the grapevine because she was constantly telling the patrons who would come into the library about your accomplishments.”

  I felt my cheeks heat.

  “I was proud of you, too. Even when I didn’t want to be. She said something to me earlier—”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “No. It’s okay. She was right. She told me that when we were younger, when we were together, you were still trying to figure out who you were. I guess that while I was trying so hard to push for an ‘us,’ I didn’t appreciate the fact that you never really got to be your own person or figure out what you wanted independent of me.”

  “You weren’t—” I cleared my throat. “I don’t ever want you to think that you held me back or that you were a burden. I know what I said about Bradbury, but I didn’t see you that way. I loved you; I just didn’t know who I was yet.”

  “I know that now. I just didn’t then. We were both young and we made mistakes. Forever’s hard to navigate when you’re still in college, when you have no clue what your future will look like.”

  We needed to talk about what was next for us; we’d certainly volleyed the question enough today. I figured I’d lay my options out for her and see what she wanted, prayed she was willing to give us a shot. It was a lot to ask. Nothing about this life would be easy on her. I’d seen the other wives struggle, watched guys get divorced over the weight of deployments and TDYs, all the shit that got piled on us. My job was dangerous, and for someone like Becca, who’d lost her family in an accident, I figured it would be tough to live with the uncertainty and the fear that she’d get a call in the middle of the night saying I wouldn’t be coming home.

  The part of me that was completely in love with her wanted to throw caution to the wind and take the next step, but we had to go slowly. Not only were we reentering each other’s lives after a decade, but this was going to be a huge adjustment from two college kids in love. The military could put stress on the most solid relationship, not to mention a new one filled with lingering resentment from all that we’d been through.

  It wasn’t in my nature to take things slowly, to be anything other than balls-to-the-wall, but I told myself this wasn’t the time to rush, that if I wanted a future with Becca, I was going to have to ease her into it and slip past her defenses into her heart.

  * * *

  I followed her into my hotel room, lying back on what had somehow become “my” side of the bed, enjoying the view as Becca stripped out of the pretty flowered dress she’d worn to church and my grandmother’s. I reached out and caught her hand, tugging her toward me.

  She grinned. “Again?”

  We’d definitely burned off some calories before brunch at my grandmother’s.

  “Maybe.”

  She sank down on the edge of the bed, her lips twitching. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Maybe I just can’t resist you. And I definitely don’t want to.”

  I leaned forward, resting my forehead against hers, closing my eyes.

  “Eric . . .”

  I loved hearing my name fall from her lips.

  My nose grazed hers, my lips finding her cheek, pressing a soft kiss there, and then another one at the corner of her mouth.

  I love you. I love you. I love you.

  Her hands went for my shirt, tugging at the material, an urgency to her actions that always seemed to be there between us. I helped her, shrugging out of the sleeves. When I was naked from the waist up, I lifted her in my arms, rolling and twisting so she was beneath me.

  I reached between us, gathering her hair in my hand and spreading it out over the pillow. For a moment I just stared, a lump in my throat as I asked myself how I’d ever gotten so lucky—then or now—to have someone like her in my life. To have someone who looked at me the way she did, because for all that she was cautious, she looked at me now with so much love in her eyes that I ached from it.

  She humbled me. Constantly.

  When I was younger, it had terrified me, the responsibility of living up to the kind of expectation that lingered behind that love overwhelming me. It wasn’t intentional, but I still felt the pressure there, the need to be more, better, enough. But now, instead of scaring the shit out of me, it drove me.

  TWENTY-THREE

  THOR

  I shifted, spreading Becca’s legs beneath me, and then I settled between her hips, my arms wrapping around her again, arching her forward so her breasts brushed my pecs, her hands running over my back.

  I told myself to go slow, tried to temper my movements to drag out her pleasure, but I just fucking couldn’t. I was strung out on her, on the feel of her under me, the taste of her on my lips. I slid my hand between us, rubbing her clit over her silk underwear, her wetness seeping through the fabric, coating my fingers.

  We both hovered on the edge.

  I pulled back, reaching between us and tugging on the waistband of her thong, ducking and pressing kisses to her stomach that had her twisting her hips in response.

  She gripped my back even more tightly, her nails raking the skin there in a move that had my dick tightening in anticipation.

  Words fell from our lips but I had no clue what was said, my mind gibberish, my heart already gone. There were other times when I mastered foreplay, other times when the buildup between us was electric. This was not one of those times. The only thing that mattered was sliding inside her, some primal part of me needing to feel like we were one, grasping the connection between our bodies even as I felt as though life pulled us apart.

  When her underwear hit the floor, I spread her even wider, opening her, my gaze drifting down to admire the view before me. I positioned myself at her entrance, her wetness seeping out onto my cock, and then I slid inside in one smooth stroke, a groan torn from my lips as she clenched down around me, all of that wet heat drawing me deeper into her body. My lips found hers as I held myself still inside her body, as she throbbed around me. I gripped her hair, looking into her eyes, needing to see the arousal there, needing to feel that connection as well.

  Nothing beat this feeling. Nothing came close.

  We didn’t speak when we were finished, our limbs entwined on the bed. I could feel the crash coming, knew we both thought of the moment we didn’t dare speak of, hovered on the precipice of what came next.

  It fucking terrified me.

  BECCA

  Eric rose, walking toward the bathroom, giving me one hell of a visual. I turned onto my side, gathering the sheets around my body, unable to take my gaze off him.

  We had to talk about the fact that he was leaving soon. The longer we left things unsaid, the more they settled around us like a miasma.

  A lump formed in my throat.

  Do not get emotional. Do not cry.

  Eric walked back into the bedroom, gloriously naked, a smile on his lips and something that looked a hell of a lot like love in his eyes.

  “Do you want to order some dinner?” His smile deepened. “I worked up an appetite earlier.”

  I shrugged. “Sure, if you want. We can do pizza or something.”

  There was too much tension rolling around in my stomach for me to be hungry. I needed to rip off the Band-Aid, needed to face our dwindling time together. I took a deep breath and went for it, trying my best to sound casual.

  �
�So when do you go back to Oklahoma?”

  His body stiffened, the lazy smile falling from his lips. Something flickered in his gaze—remorse, regret? When he spoke, his voice was devoid of the husky tone I loved.

  “My flight leaves Wednesday morning. I have to be back at work on Thursday.”

  I’d known he was leaving soon, but now, having the date . . . it just felt so final. Like we were hurtling to an inevitability we couldn’t escape.

  Hell, maybe I was the only one who wanted to escape it. For all I knew, he missed flying, was eager to go home. For all I knew, I was the only one feeling like my heart was shattering into pieces.

  I swallowed, trying to beat back the emotions, the hurt, the loss of him that I began to feel even though he wasn’t gone yet. I’d been here before, though, had become an expert at getting over Eric Jansen—trying to, at least.

  “You know what? I’ll take a rain check on food. I should get dressed and head back home. I have to be in court tomorrow morning.”

  I leaned forward, the sheets pooling at my waist, and Eric reached out, leaning over me, his fingers walking down my spine, stroking me until I had to fight the urge to lie back and go for round two.

  “You could stay a little longer,” he murmured, his lips brushing the skin below my nape.

  I wanted to, but I wasn’t the one who was leaving. If it were up to me, I’d choose us. Even now there was a part of me that was like, Screw it, give up your job. I’d had a good run. I didn’t need to keep practicing law.

  Except I did.

  Because I believed in the work I did, in helping people. Because it mattered to me, and even if he mattered more—which, yes, he probably did—the part that I couldn’t get past was that even if I chose him and left everything to follow him around the world, he didn’t choose me. In fact, twice, he’d chosen a plane over me, over us. And I didn’t want to give up everything so I could play second fiddle to his job. I wanted him to love me, to put me first, to put any children we might have together first. And nothing in our history together had told me he would do that, that he could do that. He loved me. The last couple weeks together had answered that question with finality. But it wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t give up my future, all I’d worked for, the things I loved, knowing he wouldn’t do the same.

  I loved him, but I still had to be able to look myself in the mirror at the end of the day and hold my head up. And I couldn’t. Not like this.

  His grandmother was right—he’d needed the time to figure out who he was, what he wanted. But I’d taken the decade we were apart to do the same and knew exactly what I wanted—I wanted the career and the family. I didn’t want to give up one to have the other.

  “I really should go.”

  I’d told myself I wouldn’t lose it, that I wouldn’t indulge in some kind of binge-eating-ice-cream-cue-the-emotional-breakup-music scene since I’d gone into this with open eyes and he hadn’t made any promises. And I wasn’t planning on it. But I definitely needed to get the hell out of here so that if I did lose it, even just a little bit, I did it in the privacy of my own home.

  I slipped out of his grasp, grabbing my clothes from the hotel room floor.

  “Becca.”

  I kept my head ducked as I slid my underwear on, reaching for my dress.

  “Are we going to talk about this?” he asked.

  I fastened my bra then slipped the fabric over my head and turned to face him.

  “What is there to talk about? You’re leaving; we knew it was coming. It’s fine.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. What about us?”

  “What do you mean, what about us?” I kept my cool, even though that word, “us,” sliced me to ribbons. “We’ll still keep in touch.” It hurt, but I’d sort of given up on the idea of me having a life that didn’t include him in it. We could be friends, just as soon as I found a way to kill the feelings inside of me that wanted so much more.

  “That’s it?”

  I took a deep breath, struggling to keep my voice even.

  “Yeah, pretty much. I don’t know what you want me to say here. We knew this would happen. There’s something between us, there always has been. And I’m not going to lie to you and say that the last decade apart hasn’t shown me that what we have isn’t easy to find. But none of the other things between us have changed. These past few weeks have been amazing, but they were more like a vacation than our normal life.”

  “It could be more.”

  The first spark of anger filled me. “How? Please tell me how it could be more.”

  “We could date. Long distance. We could talk on the phone and fly out and visit each other.” He made a frustrated noise. “It’s really not that weird. People have complicated relationships all the time. My friend Burn and his wife, Jordan, got together that way.”

  “Okay. So let’s say we do long distance. Then what?”

  He blinked.

  “We were together for five years before we broke up. We know each other. There is no getting-to-know-you period for us. Even with the time apart, we caught up in what, a few days? So where do we go after dating?

  “I’m thirty-one years old. I’ve been ready to have a family for over ten years. We were engaged. We’ve done the get-to-know-each-other thing. We’ve been to the next step. So this idea that we’re just going to screw around isn’t really appealing to me. It was one thing when we were talking about a couple weeks, but I’m not going to live my life perpetually on the hook.

  “I know what I want. I want a husband and kids. I want a home. I want to put down roots. And you don’t want that. So don’t tell me we should just see where this is going. It’s been a decade. I don’t have it in me to wait anymore.”

  “Do you think I don’t want a family?” Eric asked. “That I don’t want kids? That I don’t want to put down roots? That I don’t want you?”

  I couldn’t do this. This was the exact opposite of what we were supposed to be about this time—fun, sex, maybe friendship, because there was simply too much history between us to ignore.

  “I’ve changed,” he said.

  Had he? Or was he just hurting, and confused, and back here because it was easy? Because he knew that even after all we’d been through, I’d always be the constant in his life. Would always welcome him with open arms.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  And that was the problem. Trust was the missing ingredient here, the biggest casualty of our breakup, and I feared it was lost for good.

  “What would it take for you to believe me? To take a chance on us?” He took a step closer to me. “What would it take for you to come with me?”

  I froze. “To move to Oklahoma?”

  He nodded, his jaw clenched, his gaze intent.

  Ten years ago we’d fought and fought, stuck between my dream and his, and I’d offered to give up my dreams, to give up on law school, to follow him to Texas where he was undergoing pilot training. It had hurt, and there had been doubts, but I’d loved him so much that I’d been willing to give up my dreams in exchange for his. Had been ready to throw away the dream of finally having the home I’d craved since my parents died.

  And he still hadn’t wanted me.

  “I offered you that.”

  Guilt flashed in his eyes. “I know. And I made a huge mistake.”

  That was the part I couldn’t get over, that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t let go. I’d offered to change my life for him, and instead he’d walked away. It wasn’t quite the same; he’d been young and unsure of himself then, but I didn’t know how to trust that it would be different this time. Maybe we’d hurt each other too much; maybe he’d hurt me too much.

  “I didn’t want that for you. I don’t want that for you now. You love what you do and you’re great at it, and I never want to be the cause of you losing it.
But there has to be another way. I can’t believe that we found each other after all of this time just to have it slip away again. Please. Think about it. Give us a chance.”

  “What about you? Would you give up flying for me? You said your commitment was almost up. You talked about your frustrations with your job. How unhappy you’ve been. Have you considered a different path?”

  He looked stricken, and so torn, and I figured that brief flash of panic was a better answer than anything he could give me.

  “It’s all I’ve ever known. All I’ve ever done. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at in my entire life. I’m a fighter pilot. It’s who I am. I don’t know how to be anything else.”

  “So that’s it. If we’re going to be together, then I’m supposed to give up my career and choose you. Even though you wouldn’t do the same for me.”

  He looked pained. “I can’t.”

  “You can. You just don’t want to.” I grabbed my bag, evading him as he reached out, trying to hold on to me.

  I hesitated before turning back to face him. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to love someone with everything you have, only to know that you play second fiddle to his job? To a fucking plane? To know that I will always be second to you, to worry that if we have children, you won’t love them as much as your job?

  “Maybe it makes me selfish. Maybe I should be the kind of person who doesn’t care. Who’s just content with the scraps you throw my way. But I’m not. I haven’t had a family since I lost my parents. That’s my dream.

  “I want a home. Christmas mornings watching my kids open presents. I want to fall asleep and wake up staring at your face. I want to sit at the dinner table each night and talk about our days. I want those little moments that you flung in my face a decade ago, that weren’t good enough for you then. I’m not going to give that up for someone who doesn’t really want me.”

  “I love you,” he whispered, the pain in his voice nearly enough to call me back.

  “Not enough.”