“Dani . . .”
“I have to be there.” She choked out the words. “I have to be there for him. He would have wanted me to be there. I need to represent him.”
I bit down on my cheek, fighting back tears. I couldn’t lose it when she managed to hold herself together. I couldn’t imagine having the strength to watch those jets land.
TWENTY-FOUR
JORDAN
I gripped Dani’s hand so hard our nails dug into each other, our eyes trained to the gray sky. Families held signs, children playing in the grass near the flight line, and despite the fact that this was a homecoming, there was very little happiness about it. No one spoke. No one smiled. We all stood there, tension cloaking us, the knowledge that one less pilot was coming home casting a shadow over the entire day.
And then there was Dani.
She stood ramrod straight, the center of everything.
I didn’t know how she did it. I couldn’t have done it. There was a grace that flowed from her now. The kind of strength that I didn’t even know existed, of enduring the unendurable.
It was a different kind of courage; the kind that didn’t get praised with American flags waving in the air, or parades, or people coming up to shake your hand and thank you for your service.
There was no uniform for this, no outward evidence that she’d suffered an unspeakable loss, that she’d given her life to her country in an entirely different way than those who risked their lives to fight for our freedom.
She gave a whole new meaning to the concept of sacrifice.
I squeezed her hand, and then we heard it, the sound of jets in the sky, everyone’s attention riveted to the clouds, searching for the first plane, for the first spot of hope, that while nothing would ever be all right again, at least we could put a tourniquet on our loss, and somehow, impossibly, begin to heal.
My heart pounded as I searched the cloudy sky, as I waited, my fingers gripping Dani’s even tighter, tension flooding my limbs until my body felt like it had been filled with lead. Like I was underwater, fighting for breath.
And then the first plane came into view.
It was Noah. He’d told me he would be leading the formation, and I watched as he flew through the sky, three planes trailing behind him.
I released a breath, and then another, tears pooling in my eyes.
We all watched, unable to tear our gazes away from those four jets as they got closer, flying in a tight formation, looking like a flock of birds in the sky, four jets that became one. And then a murmur rose through the crowd and Dani’s arms wrapped around me as the second jet in the formation pulled away from the others, flying high in the sky, as if soaring away from earth.
I heard the words “Missing Man formation,” felt the way Dani’s body quaked against mine, as the squadron gave their own a good-bye in a moment that felt sacred, as though Joker joined all those who had fallen before him. It was beautiful and terrible all at once, and we stood there, a captive audience, tethered to those we loved among the clouds.
I didn’t know how to explain it. I wasn’t even sure there were words for it. But there was something about watching that plane up in the air, knowing Noah was inside it, that evoked a feeling that simply engulfed me.
I was thirty years old. I’d spent most of my teen years and adult life looking for love while simultaneously guarding my heart, calculating risks, approaching love like it was something I could ensure. And here it was. Bigger than me, than my fears, than anything. There was no guarding against this. No insurance I could take out that would protect me. This was skydiving, free fall, jumping off the cliff with no idea if there were rocks below or how deep the water was.
And whatever questions I might have had, the fear that I’d go splat when I reached the bottom, were carried away with the wind.
His job was dangerous. And I knew without a doubt in my mind that I’d be in for a lifetime of worry, sleepless nights, my phone tight in my hand while I waited to hear if he was safe. And as much as I hated it, I couldn’t ignore the possibility that one day I might be in Dani’s position, my hand clutched in someone else’s, watching jets fly in a formation saluting my fallen pilot.
I hated to say it, hated to even think it, but watching Dani go through an immeasurable loss made it even more real. Made it impossible to ignore the fears I figured would be my constant companion for years to come.
I didn’t care.
I was in. All in.
When it was love, capital letters, can’t-live-without-you love, there wasn’t much of a choice. We were forever, for however long forever lasted.
A rush of adrenaline hit me as I saw the first plane over the runway, as I watched that big metal beast get closer and closer to the ground. It was a moment that felt like an eternity, and I swear I held my breath the entire time, watching as those wheels got closer, closer, and finally hit the ground, the jet heaving a nearly imperceptible sigh as the nose bounced up for a second and then it was taxiing down the runway and I could breathe again.
Dani clutched me a little tighter as the rest of the jets landed and we waited for them to taxi over to the hangars.
En masse we walked onto the flight line, heading toward the hangars, ready to welcome our pilots home. Dani let me go with a squeeze of her hand, her body swallowed up by some of the squadron wives who formed a protective circle around her.
And then I was walking, no, running, toward Noah. I could see him through the canopy, my arms aching to wrap around him, my heart pounding like an intense drum session.
And then the canopy popped up and my heart spilled open.
NOAH
I’d come home from dozens of TDYs. There was always a rhythm to it—a weariness from what was usually a long, tedious flight in a cramped jet, the exhaustion of crossing time zones, the desire to collapse in the comfort of my bed, a beer in hand, game on the TV.
I’d never come home after losing one of our own. And I’d never come home to a girl waiting for me. Not like Jordan.
A different kind of exhaustion filled me now. A different kind of desire.
I felt as though I’d been chopped up into pieces, and try as hard as I could, I couldn’t put them back together. Couldn’t erase the sound of Joker’s voice on the radio seconds before we lost him.
I needed Jordan. Needed her strength to hold me together. Needed her to piece me back and make me whole. I felt as though I was sinking, my hand reaching out, desperate to grab on to something . . . on to her.
She stood next to the jet, her eyes covered by enormous sunglasses, looking so beautiful it hurt. My emotions felt barely strung together, days of trying to take care of the squadron in Joker’s absence crashing into me. I didn’t know if I was going to cry or collapse at her feet. Didn’t know how much longer I could pretend that everything was okay, that I was okay, when I couldn’t get that night out of my mind. It replayed, over and over again, interspersed with the nagging questions: Could I have saved him? Did I fuck up somehow? Or was it just an accident?
I shrugged my gear off, the pressure in my chest building, and then I was climbing down the ladder, and Jordan threw her arms around me, and for the first time in days, I felt like somehow, impossibly, I just might be okay.
She clung to me, her arms wrapped around my neck, her lips on mine, breathing life into me. Tears trickled down her face, wetting my skin as our flesh felt like one.
“You’re home. You’re home.”
She whispered the words over and over again, her voice pushing them out between sobs.
My body shuddered, any hope of composure lost in the face of her love. Each sigh from her body broke me down and put me back together again.
Minutes passed before we pulled away from each other, our limbs tangling as we touched each other’s faces, as though we needed the physical weight of each other to ensure that this wasn’t just a dream. I needed
something tangible to anchor me from a week when I’d felt like I’d been floating through a nightmare.
Our palms found each other, fingers linking.
We walked toward the crowd of people, toward Dani standing at the center of it all. I didn’t know if it was the white noise in my mind, or if silence truly did descend over the crowd, but either way, it felt like all of the sound was sucked away, my world reduced to the sight of my friend’s widow standing in front of me and Jordan’s hand clutched in mine.
I stopped in front of Dani, words failing me. Jordan had told me that she wanted to come, we’d all been prepared to see her, and yet there was no preparing for something like this.
And then I heard his voice in my mind. Clear as day. Not the radio calls, not the horrible moment before, but I swore I heard him in the after, and as weird as it sounded, it was impossible to ignore the possibility that maybe Dani had been Joker’s anchor much as Jordan was mine, and maybe, somehow, he was here inside her.
I hugged her, using whatever strength I had left to fight the tears rising in my throat. It was impossible to fall apart in the face of her strength. She didn’t cry. She didn’t speak. She just held on to me for a moment, and then I pulled back and met her gaze through the frames shielding her eyes from the world.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Her voice came out as a whisper, so different from the last time we’d spoken, when her voice had been a song of laughter and joy.
I ached.
“He loved you more than anything.”
She nodded, her voice raw. “I know.”
“Anything you need. We’re here.”
She squeezed my hand. “Thank you. He loved you, too. Loved flying with you. You were a good friend to him. You’ve been a good friend to us.”
I nodded, the lump in my throat even bigger now, the threat of tears even more perilous. Without speaking, Jordan seemed to sense how close I was to losing my shit, and she nudged me along and we moved to the side, watching as the rest of the guys in my cell walked toward her.
Thor came first, his face pale, his eyes red, looking like he was about to throw up. He’d been second in the formation, Joker’s wingman. I’d tried talking to him after, knew Easy had as well, but it was clear just by looking at him that he wasn’t ready to hear anything we said. I got it. We were alone in the cockpit, the jet ours, and yet we flew as a formation. We were trained to think about the guy on our wing, about our lead. We were trained to think of each other. But more than that, we were bros. Living this life, we all knew that every single flight was a risk that someone wouldn’t return. We all knew someone who’d crashed. Especially when you’d been in this job as long as we had.
But living it was something else entirely. Coming home one man down changed you in a way I’d never understood before. The three of us would forever be bound by the memory of this horrible night. It was the worst kind of brotherhood to belong to.
Dani spoke to Thor in whispered tones. He hugged her, his eyes wet. And then it was Easy’s turn.
JORDAN
I felt like I should look away, as though I was intruding on an intensely private moment. And yet the moment crested like an aching note hovering above us, and it was impossible to look away.
Easy didn’t walk anywhere. Ever since I’d met him, I’d watched him swagger everywhere, his long limbs moving in a beat that ensured all eyes were on him and he knew it.
Not today.
He walked like he’d aged twenty years overnight, as though each step was a weighty effort, like a condemned man heading toward his execution. It hurt to watch him walk, each step filled with a palpable pain. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t look at anyone. He stared down, his shoulders hunched, his body broken.
I could feel the guilt and shame in Noah, had seen it in Thor, but on Easy it was something else entirely. Easy walked like he wished he could disappear, as though he could trade places with Joker, and it would be his body on the ground.
He’d been number three in the formation.
It seemed as though we all held our collective breaths as he stopped in front of Dani.
He spoke, his voice too low to be heard, his words only for her. I sucked in a deep breath as Dani reached out, her hands grasping his face, holding his gaze. They stood there like that, suspended, and I wondered if this was the moment when Easy would simply fall apart, as if seeing her loss would be too much to bear. I would have said he looked like he was held together by a string, but really, even that was optimistic. If it was a thread, it was gossamer. And even that appeared ready to disintegrate.
Except it didn’t.
Dani moved forward, her body collapsing into his, and it was as if she gave him her strength so that he could take her pain. Easy’s arms came around her, holding her tight, his face buried in her hair. Her small frame shook with sobs, his body still, anchoring her grief.
TWENTY-FIVE
JORDAN
The rest of the day was a blur. I felt numb going through the motions, doing everything I could to support Dani while trying to take care of the guys. While trying to keep it together for Noah. And then we got home and some of the tension eased.
Noah sat hunched over at the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He’d managed to unzip his flight suit and shrug out of the shoulders, but he hadn’t gotten any farther than that, so he sat there, half-undressed, staring at his boots as though he could will them off.
I sat on the bed, my chest pressed into his back, wrapping my arms and legs around him, my body enfolding his from behind.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I had no clue what to say to him, or if talking about it would even make it better, but I felt helpless, and I hated standing by and doing nothing while Noah suffered. I’d fed him and he’d attacked the food like a starving man. Now he looked ready to collapse from exhaustion, and I didn’t know if I was supposed to let him sleep or fix it with sex or conversation.
“I never want to talk about it,” he croaked.
His body shuddered against mine, his chest jerking as I held on to him tighter, trying to give him whatever strength I had left, even when my body felt nearly drained.
“The weather was good . . .”
I stilled, the ache in Noah’s voice piercing my heart.
“Visibility was fine.”
I closed my eyes.
“It was a normal sortie. We were headed home. We were on the radio. I heard him on the radio.”
My hold on Noah tightened.
“And then that was it. He was gone.”
His body shuddered again and the first tears seeped from my eyes.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Noah whispered, his voice cracking.
“I know.”
“Seeing Dani today . . .” Noah’s voice trailed off as he reached for me, grasping my hand, his fingers squeezing mine.
“I was with her when they told her.”
We hadn’t talked much about what was going on around us, me so focused on taking care of Dani, Noah working so hard to take care of the squadron and get everyone home.
Noah let out an oath, moving out of my arms to sit next to me on the bed. He cupped my face in his hand, his gaze locked on mine, and I swallowed, more wetness dripping down my cheeks. I’d tried so hard to keep a tight lid on my emotions, to keep him from worrying, to keep it all together somehow. But I couldn’t. Not now.
“I’m so sorry,” Noah whispered, his voice rough, his lips soft as he kissed my tears away. “I’m so sorry.”
“I love you.” I choked on the words, a basketball-sized lump in my throat. “So much. I woke up and Meg called me and told me to check the news and I saw that an F-16 had crashed.” I couldn’t say the rest of it. It was too much, too close to the fears I lived with each time he flew to even give a voice to t
hem.
But he knew without me even saying anything.
“I don’t . . .” He swallowed. “Looking at Dani, imagining you . . .”
I leaned forward, resting my forehead against his, our lips inches apart, breathing the same breath.
“I want to get married. I want to go to Korea with you.”
None of this was going down the way I’d imagined it. But from the beginning, that was how we’d been with each other. Everything had been unexpected. And so, in a weird way, it sort of felt right. Whatever I’d thought of romance, the reality of it, was something else entirely.
It wasn’t the splashy, Valentine’s Day, jewelry commercial moments. It wasn’t anniversaries or holidays—hell, he’d probably miss his fair share of those anyway. No, now I understood that romance was taking the moments you had—those little, precious, too-short moments—and stringing them together and clutching them to your chest as though you’d always cherish them, and never let go.
Romance, love, whatever you wanted to call it, was the faint smell of jet fuel when he came home from work. It was lying in bed at night, feet tangled, watching TV. It was the smile that took over my face every single time I saw him, as if the sight of him, the mere existence of him, was the best thing that had ever happened to me. It was holding hands, the way he always said “I love you” back, even when he was sleeping, even when it was a nearly unintelligible mumble. It was sitting with your phone clutched in your hand, feeling like your entire world existed in him. It was terrifying and amazing, and it was the kind of chance you hitched your future to. Even without a net waiting for you.
“You want to get married?”
I nodded.
“And move to Korea?”
I nodded again.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I hated that it had come to this, that my memory of deciding to marry him would always be tied to this horrible, horrible tragedy, but maybe this was the best way we could honor those we’d loved and lost. By living our lives to the fullest. By living our lives for love.
Fly With Me Page 21
