“Thanks,” Jordan answered. “That would mean a lot to her. She’s planning their wedding so that’ll probably help her stay busy, but I imagine it has to be tough, especially since she struggled so much with his job.”
They’d been engaged when they were in college, but broke up when Thor went to Texas to start pilot training. Ten years later, they’d run into each other in their home state of South Carolina. Fast forward a few months, and they were engaged again, adorably in love, planning their wedding.
Jordan took anther bite of her brisket, a nervous expression on her face I recognized all too well and had seen directed my way countless times, so much so I’d termed it the “Widow Look” in my head. We were headed somewhere into the murky territory of talking about either Michael’s death or my widowed status. It wasn’t her fault; everyone got that look on their faces, as if they were afraid their words would break me.
I didn’t know if it would make them feel better or worse if I assured them nothing they said would really make a difference. I was already shattered inside.
“What would you think about going to dinner with someone?”
I froze, my fork hovering in midair. The words pushed out with a squeak. “You mean, a date?”
Jordan winced—another gesture I’d gotten used to in the last year—her expression suggesting she’d kicked a kitten.
“Nothing serious. Just for fun.”
I couldn’t think of much that sounded less fun.
“He’s my doctor and he’s really nice. Mid-thirties. Divorced. Cute.”
“I—”
Am so not ready.
Apparently, the one-year mark was when people started feeling comfortable saying stuff like that to you. I wasn’t sure I would ever feel comfortable hearing it. I still wore my wedding rings. Still considered myself married. Jordan wasn’t the first person to suggest I try my hand at dating, but each time I heard it, it sent a knife through my heart. I wasn’t ready to move on. I didn’t want to move on. Moving on meant Michael wasn’t coming back, and while I knew it, I didn’t want the reminder in my face every single fucking day.
I opened my mouth and closed it again.
Do not cry. Do not cry.
I took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m there.”
Sympathy filled her gaze. “Do you need more time?”
Time was the last thing I needed. Time was my enemy now . . . when I looked down the long tunnel of my future, fifty-plus years of being alone, of mourning my husband, stared back at me.
“Maybe,” I lied.
“‘Maybe’ sounds like ‘no.’”
It was hard to fool the people who knew you best.
I sighed. “It might be. It would take someone pretty incredible to make me want to be in a relationship again. Michael was a wonderful husband. And he loved me. Really loved me. I don’t see myself settling for anything less, can’t imagine going through dating and more if it isn’t someone really special. And it seems too much to hope I could get so lucky twice in my life. I’m okay on my own.”
At least, as “okay” as you could be in a situation like this.
Jordan reached out and squeezed my hand. “Yeah, but you’re really special. And I hate the thought of you alone all the time. You’re getting through this as best you can, but I love you, and I want you to be happy again. I’m not saying this has to be anything serious, but go and give it a chance. Worst case, you gain a friend.”
“It’s been almost ten years since I dated. I don’t know how to go through that again. It was a lifetime ago.”
I still couldn’t wrap my head around how I’d gotten to this point. I was supposed to be a mom by now. We were supposed to be a family. Instead I was talking to Jordan about going out on dates.
Why me? Why him? Why this?
“Isn’t it harder going through this alone?” she asked.
I wasn’t sure I had an answer to that one. It was hard no matter what. I was lonely, I couldn’t deny it, but at the same time, the answer wasn’t to shuffle some guy into the spot Michael had occupied. It felt disrespectful to everyone involved, and even more, like I’d told Jordan, I didn’t see how it could work. There was no way anyone could replace what he’d been to me, what he was to me, and I’d never love anyone as much as I’d loved him. I didn’t want to love anyone as much as I’d loved him. Not again.
I forced my lips into an approximation of a smile. “I know you’re trying to help, and I appreciate it, I really do. And I’m sure your doctor is a really nice man, but . . .”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
I didn’t know anymore. My worst thing had already happened. Nothing else came close. But that wasn’t exactly true. The new worst thing that could happen—my new reality—was my fear that if I went out on a date with another man, I was closing the door on my relationship with Michael. I was giving up on him, on us. Even though he was already gone.
“It seems like a betrayal,” I finally answered.
“Dani.” The compassion in Jordan’s eyes sent another pang to my chest. “He loved you. So much. He would want you to be happy.”
I nodded, the tears building now. “The logical part of me knows you’re right. But it doesn’t make it easier. I still feel guilty, every time I move on. When I took his clothes out of our closet and donated them to charity, when I got rid of his car, selling our house.” The tears came now, and nothing I could do would hold them back. “I see him in everything and it hurts so much, and at the same time, the thought of losing those pieces of him hurts even more. I don’t know how to move on. Or if I want to.”
I held on to my grief now that I had little else left to hold on to.
“I can’t take my wedding rings off. I’ve tried and I just can’t. I’m not ready to be single again. It’s too much like I’m erasing him, as though we never happened.”
Jordan’s voice trembled. “That’s okay. I’m sorry I pushed. So sorry.”
“No. It’s not your fault. I’m not mad at you, only at the situation. You’re right. I can’t stay like this, can’t live like this; it’s choking me and I can’t breathe. I keep trying to come up with a plan for what I’m going to do after the house sells, for what job I’ll have and where I’ll live, and I keep trying to envision this life I’m apparently building without Michael, and I can’t see it. I spent the last nine years envisioning myself somewhere completely different and I have to adjust, but I’m falling apart instead.”
Jordan wiped away the tears that had fallen down her cheeks. I really was an uplifting dinner companion.
“You need to go out. You need to start putting yourself out there, even if you don’t want to, because you have to find some way to move forward. And I know it’s tough, can’t imagine how you’re dealing with this, but you have to have faith and give yourself a chance to be happy, even if it won’t look exactly how you envisioned it. None of this is fair. And I’ll never understand why this happened, but you have to try your best to move forward, because you can’t stay stuck in your pain forever. I know it’s easy to say, and I have no idea how you’re handling this. I only want you to be happy.”
I hated the words falling from her lips, felt an irrational, horrible flash of anger that she sat there, with everything she wanted—the husband, the baby—and told me to move on. I wanted to scream that I couldn’t move on. Wanted to rail at the injustice of it all, that we had been happy and it was all ripped away from me.
I hated when everyone told me I would be “happy.” They meant well, hoped I’d find solace in their words, but if anything, the promise of “happy”—the lie of it—almost made things worse. Grief didn’t allow for “happy,” instead it yanked the rug from under your feet and knocked you on your ass until you were drowning in quicksand with no one there to pull you out.
“Happy” only made me angry.
The anger snuck up on me at the most inopportune times, turning me into someone I’d never been, someone I didn’t know how to handle. I met with a grief counselor regularly, and I knew these emotions were part of the process, and yet, they threw me for a loop every single time. I’d read the books in the self-help section; had done everything I could to try to learn how to get through this, but it never got any easier. With each day I lost a piece of myself, the woman who stared back at me in the mirror becoming someone I didn’t even recognize, a shell of the woman Michael had loved.
That shamed me, too.
“I’ll go out with him.”
The words escaped in a whoosh, and as soon as they did, I was overwhelmed by the urge to take them back, to get up and leave and go sit in my house and hide away from all the things I had no desire to face.
I’d always prided myself on being a strong military wife. I’d definitely had my moments, the times when I found myself sick with worry or angry with Michael when he had to work late and didn’t come home yet another night, but he’d pretty much been my hero, and I’d worked hard to be a wife he could be proud of, who could weather anything thrown her way. I needed to get my shit together, needed to find some way to get through this. I couldn’t afford to keep floundering.
“Are you sure?” Jordan asked.
“Yeah. As long as he knows this is only casual. Maybe you could explain things to him.”
“I already mentioned you,” she admitted. “He remembered . . .”
She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t have to. There’d been a lot of local media attention and even some national press when Michael died, and the local community had definitely rallied around Bryer. Nearly one thousand people had shown up for his memorial service.
I barely remembered that day. Barely remembered the speech I’d given, what people had said about him. It was all a horrible blur I wished I could completely erase. Of all my memories, I’d happily cast those off.
“Is it okay if I give him your number?” Jordan asked.
“Yeah.”
“His name’s Paul. And he’s cute. Really cute. He’s been through a lot with his divorce, so he’s looking for someone who wants to take it slow, too.” She smiled. “He has a really calm personality, and he’s honestly a good guy. I promise I’ve thoroughly vetted him.”
I laughed even though I wanted to weep. Apparently, I was dating now.
THREE
EASY
I showed up at Dani’s house Sunday afternoon, questioning my sanity for the hundredth time since I’d agreed to paint her spare bedroom the day before. The past few months hadn’t been so much out-of-sight, out-of-mind as much as out-of-sight, out-of-trouble, and I’d figured the best way to keep things from becoming awkward between us was to avoid her, period. Except—
She’d looked so lost in the paint aisle, standing there by herself, and if I had an Achilles’ heel, she was it.
I knocked on the front door, shifting my weight back and forth. I was way too excited to see her. Excited and dreading it. And then Dani opened the door, a smile transforming her mouth as her gaze settled on me, and I braced myself—
She stepped into me, wrapping her arms around my neck, her body pressing against mine.
Her hugs weren’t casual; no, she hugged you as though she meant it, and I couldn’t resist the urge to let her hold me close, for my palm to rest on her back as I inhaled the scent of her shampoo. Her hair was silk against my face, a strand brushing across my lips. She wasn’t curvy, but she was soft, her body the kind you wanted to curl up against. The height difference between us was significant enough that she felt tiny in my arms, and the familiar need bubbled up inside me—to protect her, love her, worship her.
I took a step back.
“Thank you so much for coming over.”
The hint of her accent sent a pull low in my belly, and an ache even lower. I swallowed, my mouth dry, giving her a nod, not sure I trusted my emotions enough to speak.
I followed her into the house, my gaze drifting over the swaying copper-colored hair, the loose top, the denim shorts, the bare legs. There was a rhythm to her walk, one I’d memorized.
Fuck.
I forced myself to look away, the sight of the pictures on the wall—her and Joker on their wedding day—obliterating my body’s reaction faster than a bucket of cold water could have.
She led me into the room they’d planned for their nursery, the one I’d helped Joker paint blue what seemed like a lifetime ago. A whole other host of emotions hit me as I remembered that day, the two of us sharing a beer, talking about flying, about him becoming a dad.
He’d been the weapons officer at my first F-16 assignment, and despite the years between us, we’d struck up a friendship. He wasn’t defined by his rank; he didn’t use it to set himself apart. He was nice to everyone, approachable, genuinely cared about the people in his squadron. He’d been a bro. We’d kept in touch over the years, run into each other at various assignments, our paths crossing as they so often did in the small community of F-16 pilots. When I’d heard he was going to be the squadron commander of the Wild Aces, I’d been thrilled. He was the kind of guy you wanted leading, who was destined for great things. We hadn’t been as close back then, but I’d admired him, respected him.
The first time I saw Dani was at a squadron Hail and Farewell—a party to celebrate the pilots and families leaving the squadron and those coming in. I’d been standing at the bar, talking to Noah, and all of a sudden, I’d looked up and I swear to God, I fucking fell.
She’d been standing behind the bar with one of the wives, wearing a pink dress and a smile on her face that lit up the room. Her eyes fucking sparkled. And I wasn’t a guy who thought shit like that. At all. But the second I saw her, any hope of game disappeared. I had to talk to her. I’d taken the first step, and Noah had nudged me, and then I’d watched, the dream of her sliding away, as Joker took her into his arms and pressed his mouth to hers, my gut twisting as something inside me that had sprung to life simply died.
I wasn’t someone who messed around with married women or the kind of guy who would ever move in on a bro’s girl. There was a code to this stuff and it was the same code that made us willing to die fighting to protect the guy at our side. I’d vowed to put her out of my mind, that whatever I’d felt in that moment, or thought I’d felt, wasn’t real, didn’t matter, had to be forgotten at all costs.
Two years later, I was still trying.
“—I set everything up,” Dani said, and I realized she’d been speaking this whole time, and I’d been somewhere else entirely.
A smile played at her lips. “Are you okay? Rough night last night? Do you want me to make you coffee or something?”
There was no censure in her voice, merely affectionate amusement. I knew the reputation I had in the squadron—player, asshole, manwhore—and I couldn’t care less what people thought about me. Hell, I’d worked hard to cultivate that reputation and had a pretty damn good time doing it. As fucked up as it was, in my world you got ahead by being the flashiest guy in the group, by having a larger-than-life personality that translated to how you handled yourself in the jet. Ours was not a profession for the meek or humble. There was an arrogance to what we did, an absolute belief in yourself that often meant the difference between life and death, a need to be the biggest, baddest motherfucker in the sky and on the ground.
And at the same time, I couldn’t stand the idea of her seeing me through that lens—all swagger and no substance.
“No. I stayed in last night. Sorry. Distracted.”
I forced a smile, wishing I could relax around her. It hadn’t been this hard before, but now there was too much there, too many things twisting me up in knots, so much guilt washing over me that I was drowning.
I was here and Joker wasn’t.
“Are we okay?” Dani asked, her voic
e going quiet.
The worry in her voice added another layer to the guilt.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Are you sure? Because you seem different with me. You said everything was fine the other day, but it doesn’t seem fine.”
I ran a hand through my hair. Of all the emotions running through me, I picked the easiest one to address. We’d spent enough time together that she knew me well, and I figured my act wasn’t really fooling anyone.
“I’m sorry. I miss him. It’s weird being here again.” I took a deep breath, releasing some of the pressure from my chest. “I’m still . . .” My voice trailed off.
“Getting used to him being gone?”
“Yeah.”
“Me, too.” Her gaze surveyed the room before settling back on me. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
She bit down on her lip, worry in her eyes. “Jordan wants to set me up on a date.”
My gaze was so focused on her mouth, on all that pale pink, that I didn’t hear what she’d said, and then her words registered and they hit me like a fucking truck. Was Jordan trying to kill me?
“What?”
“Jordan wants me to go on a date with her doctor. I guess he’s divorced or something, and she said he’s really nice . . .” Dani swallowed, her face pale. “It’s weird. Michael’s gone, but I feel . . . guilty. You were one of his closest friends, and I guess I want to know . . .”
Was she really asking my permission to go on a date? If I thought her husband would be okay with her dating now? I experienced a momentary stab of anger at Jordan for wanting to set up Dani, for injecting some fucking doctor into this mess. I wasn’t waiting in the wings, but—
I moved away from her, needing to put distance between us.
On Broken Wings Page 3
