On Broken Wings

by Chanel Cleeton

  I made it home, and the moment I stepped over the threshold, it hit me—the sensation that I had returned as someone entirely different than the person who’d left it. I stripped out of my clothes, my limbs surprisingly sore. My cheeks heated as I saw the marks on my body from his mouth, his hands. And then my gaze drifted to my fingers, to the rings on my left hand once again, and the world shifted beneath my feet.

  A sob escaped, one I’d held in since I’d left Easy’s, followed by another, guilt and grief piercing the veil that had kept my emotions at bay. My legs crumpled and I hit the ground, my arm braced on the edge of my bed for support. Our bed. Mine and Michael’s.

  Even as some rational piece of my brain attempted to find solace in the notion that I hadn’t technically done anything wrong, it still felt like a betrayal of the vows I’d made when Michael had placed the wedding band on my finger.

  We’d promised ’til death do us part, and while I’d always known I could lose him, that his job might take him away from me one day, I’d always envisioned death to be gray hair and grandchildren by our side, had imagined whichever one of us went first, the other would fade away until we could be together again. But there were no grandchildren together, no weddings where we’d beam with pride as our children walked down the aisle, no days when he would look at me and tell me I was still beautiful even as my face was covered in lines, no nights when we would look back at the memory of the life we’d lived together and smile. There was only me. Alone. The gaping, yawning void of a life spent without him. And the memories we’d had together, the short life we’d lived, were now tainted by this night and what I’d done, as though I’d taken a sledgehammer to our marriage and shattered it.

  I didn’t know if it was that I’d moved on, feeling like I’d left Michael behind, the moments when he’d simply slipped out of my mind, when I’d forgotten him, if it was the sex, or even worse, if it was who I’d been with, the sensation that I’d betrayed Michael, that we’d both betrayed him.

  And then I felt another pang, for Easy and the fact that I’d simply fled, and worry that he was as screwed up about it as I was.

  I considered texting him but I didn’t know what to say. I’d thought about going to see him off tomorrow, but now I couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable a face-to-face would be, and the last thing he needed was the distraction before he deployed.

  I twisted my rings around my finger, each turn a knife stabbing deeper and deeper into my heart.

  EASY

  She’d left.

  It was as though she’d never been here at all, like it had all been a dream, but no—

  I stared at the empty bed, the rumpled sheets, the indentation in the pillow where she’d laid her head. I could still smell her perfume on the sheets, bore the marks from her mouth and nails on my body, and she’d fucking fled, as though I was some one-night stand she was too ashamed to face afterward.

  Fuck.

  I’d had one-night stands, had sex better forgotten the next morning. Hell, I’d been the one to sneak out so many times before; there was probably some poetic fucking justice at play here, but right now all I knew was she’d fled after the best night of my life.

  I sank down onto the edge of the bed. As much as it had hurt to want her and not have her, the only thing that hurt worse was having her and learning that it meant nothing, that I was little more than an interchangeable body and an easy orgasm, that she didn’t really want me.

  And even worse, I’d crossed a line I’d sworn I would never breach, in doing so betraying a man who I respected and missed.

  I barely slept, the memory of Dani in my bed a constant loop I couldn’t shake. I considered texting her, typed out a message over and over again only to lose my nerve every single fucking time.

  I could drop a bomb without breaking a sweat, had been to war, nearly died more times than I could count, but she was the scariest thing I’d ever faced, my feelings for her sending me into a spin.

  As fucked up as everything was between us, as much as I hated the way she’d left things, as fucking guilty as I felt, I wanted to see her again, wanted some chance to make everything right between us. What if she wasn’t here when I got back? What if I’d trashed the friendship we’d developed?

  My head spun with questions and doubts, but the truth was, I wasn’t ready to face the possibility that I’d lost her for good.

  I’d intended to nap during the day, but I couldn’t get my shit together. She’d left her mark on my room, on me, and I couldn’t erase the traces of her no matter how hard I tried. I finally ended up taking one of the “go” pills the flight doc gave us, already dreading tonight’s flight. Spending hours cramped in the jet while we flew across the ocean, not getting to do anything cool, wasn’t anyone’s idea of a good time, and these flights were always the worst. Sometimes we’d play trivia games with the tanker guys who refueled us in the air, doing whatever we could to stave off the mind-numbing boredom. I was leading a six-ship tonight, the guys in my formation fairly young wingmen. I needed to have my head in the game.

  By 6 p.m. I gave up on any hope of hearing from Dani, came to terms with the possibility that I’d irretrievably screwed everything up. Maybe it was for the best if the house sold and she moved on, if we lost touch, if I let her go.

  I got my bags together, throwing stuff in at the last minute as Noah arrived at the house to take me to Bryer so I wouldn’t have to leave my car on base while we were gone.

  “You ready?” he asked in greeting.

  I nodded, for the first time feeling like I really was. Flying always made sense, and for three months my life would narrow to the jet, to the mission, to doing what I’d spent my days training for.

  “How was it at Charley’s after I left?” Noah asked once we’d settled into the car.

  “Fine.”

  “Thor mentioned some shit went down with you and Dani.”

  If he only knew.

  “What, do you guys chat before bed every night?” I asked, staring out the window as we headed toward the base.

  “Something like that,” he replied, his tone wry. “So?”

  “I don’t want to talk about Dani.”

  “Is everything okay?” he asked, concern in his tone.

  Not even fucking close.

  “Just keep an eye on her while you’re here, okay?”

  “Did something happen?”

  If there was anyone I trusted, it was Noah, but there was no fucking way I could tell him this. Not when it was Joker’s wife, not when we’d all seen the year she’d had, how she’d struggled to move past her grief. I didn’t want him to think I’d taken advantage of that, and at the same time, I didn’t know how to explain that we’d had sex.

  “Just keep an eye on her. If she needs anything, that sort of thing.”

  His gaze slid to me. “I thought that was your deal.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “What happened between you guys?”

  “I don’t want to talk about Dani, okay? Promise me. If anything happens to me while I’m gone, I want to know she’ll be taken care of.”

  He was silent for a moment, and I wondered if he’d push, but then he nodded. “Of course. I got it.”

  We drove in silence, and I found my mind drifting again, to the memory of her mouth, her body, how amazing it had been when I’d thrust inside her, when she’d clenched down around me, surrounding me in her tight heat.

  My hand clenched in a fist.

  We got to the squadron as the sun was setting. The plan was for us to take off at night. Twenty-four of us were flying jets over; an advance group had already gone ahead earlier in the week to set up for the squadron to arrive.

  “You sure you’re fine to fly?” Noah asked.

  Flying was the one place where I didn’t feel completely and totally fucked. Thor had struggled in the cockpit after Joker�
�s death, had been plagued with PTSD for nearly a year now. For me, it was the opposite. When I was in the jet, everything made sense. I’d never forget that day, never forget the sound of Joker’s voice on the radio, and everything that had come after, but when I was up there I felt the closest to him; I could make sense of all the shit in the air that I couldn’t wrap my head around on the ground.

  “Yeah. I’m fine. I’ll see you when you’re back from Korea.”

  He gave me a nod and a slap on the back, never one for drawn out good-byes, and then I grabbed my bag for the travel pod, most of my stuff already on the way over on the main body flight. I saw Thor and Becca, their arms wrapped around each other, watched sleepy kids in pajamas say bye to their dads in the squadron parking lot. As far as deployments went, this one was the shortest we’d had in a while, but a year later the memory of losing Joker was still too fresh, tension in all the families as they said good-bye.

  I tried not to, but I found my gaze scanning the crowd, looking for her, found myself checking my phone one more time, only to come up empty.

  Maybe it was better this way.

  I walked into the squadron, exchanging hellos with a few people. I made my way to the jet and stuffed my remaining bags into the travel pod, my mind already transitioning to the flight ahead, switching focus, leaving everything else behind me.

  I headed to life support, grabbing my G-suit, harness, helmet, and pubs bag. I put on my survival vest for the ocean crossing and headed to the vault to get my classified materials. I made my way to the desk and got my step brief, the last-minute information I needed before stepping to the jet. The weather looked iffy, high winds and low ceilings, leaving no doubt that the flight would be a bitch.

  Six of us walked out to the flight line, helmets in hand, our boots hitting the concrete in a chorus of thuds. No one spoke. The jets loomed ahead under the sunshades against the backdrop of a pink and orange sky, the sun getting ready to set. I did my walk-around, making sure everything looked good, exchanging a few words with the crew chief.

  Showtime.

  I stepped onto the jet’s ladder, my hands gripping the metal as I hauled myself up, my heart pounding as the adrenaline began to rev inside me. I hung my helmet bag on the inside of the jet and then I swung my legs into the cockpit, hoisting myself onto the seat, adjusting myself.

  I strapped in, and I shook the crew chief’s hand as he wished me a safe flight and stepped away, taking the ladder off the jet. I went through my verification checklist, the interior of the jet growing dark as the sun slipped away, the night quiet around me as I began setting up my cockpit for the flight across the ocean, all thoughts of Dani gone. These movements came naturally now, a calming rhythm to preparing for the sortie.

  I began talking to the crew chief on the radio, setting out all the important papers I needed on my kneeboard. I turned on the battery, powering the channels, switching on the main gen. A low hum sounded, lights flickering inside the cockpit. I put my helmet on, my oxygen mask hanging down.

  I looked at my line-up card, checking my watch, waiting for the start time—

  The sound of six jets starting up filled the night, a puff of smoke emerging from the jets around me. We pushed to idle, and the noise got louder, an orange glow emanating from the jets. The cockpit vibrated, the roar of power rushing between my legs.

  My engine gauges came alive, swinging clockwise, lights turning on as I ran through another checklist, making sure everything was working properly. I pushed up the throttle, the jet rocking forward a bit. I tested more systems, a low hum starting in my veins. I turned on the avionics power, loading my flight data into the jet’s computer, and then I was running through the rest of the checks, making sure everything was working as it should be.

  I called ops and checked in, signing off with the squadron motto—

  “Aces High.”

  The crew chief gave me the pull-chocks symbol and then I owned the radios, flashing my crew chief the hand signal as I lead out the taxi of six Wild Aces heading to the runway, our jets lit up. We paused, getting armed up by the arming crew, turning our lights off. I breathed into my mask, the hum building inside me like a crescendo, the beginning of an incredible high sparking. Then, in reverse order, from six to one, the jets turned on their lights, letting me know they were good to go.

  It was time.

  I called the tower, waiting to be cleared for takeoff, arming my seat, flipping switches—

  I taxied the jet, the runway mine, lining up, pushing up my throttle and checking the instruments. I rotated the throttle outboard and pushed forward, lighting the afterburner, the thrust of it a kick in the pants as the jet quickly accelerated. We hurtled down the runway, five jets following my lead, and then I was climbing away, leaving Oklahoma, and Dani, behind me.

  THIRTEEN

  EASY

  The first two months of the deployment went by in a blur of sorties, dropping bombs, strafing enemy targets on the ground. I was on the night train, sleeping during the day, flying most nights, collapsing into my twin-sized bed every morning, my body worn-out and exhausted.

  I worked for eight weeks straight with only three days off, and then finally at the eight-week mark our squadron commander, Loco, took pity on us and gave us a weekend off.

  I used the time to catch up on much-needed sleep and to connect with family and friends back home. I pulled up Skype on my computer, a trickle of sweat running down my neck in the Afghani heat. Oklahoma in the summer wasn’t exactly pleasant, but there was something about Afghanistan—the bright sun, the sand—that turned you to glass. I’d been burning up for two months now, going a little bit crazier each day, exhausted and worn out, ready to get out of the desert and go back home.

  Before, home had been wherever my squadron went, a traveling caravan I could pop up and take down in conjunction with the Air Force’s needs. Now home was a person I’d left behind, and I thought of her constantly no matter how hard I tried not to. It was impossible to focus on the mission when my personal life was such a mess, when I didn’t know what she wanted from me, or how she was doing, or how she felt after that night.

  Dani sent care packages to the squadron every couple of weeks, and it hadn’t escaped my notice that each contained my favorite things, stuff I hadn’t even realized she’d picked up on. Each time we opened the packages, I fell impossibly more in love with her, wondering if she was trying to send me some message in the granola bars, packets of energy drinks—hence the phone call to Jordan.

  She answered after a few rings, her voice breathless.

  “Hey, it’s Easy. Is this a bad time?”

  “Easy! No, of course not,” Jordan answered. “Wait, let me put Julie down in her crib.”

  Rustling sounds filled the line and then Jordan came back on.

  “How are you? How’s the desert?”

  “It’s fine,” I responded automatically, answering her questions and making small talk for the next few minutes, the whole time gathering up the balls to ask about the one person I desperately wanted to hear was fine.

  Finally when we’d caught up and it was safe to switch topics, I asked about Dani.

  “She’s good,” Jordan replied.

  Come on.

  “Has the house sold?”

  “No, it hasn’t.”

  “Relieved” didn’t quite cover how that made me feel.

  “Is she doing okay?”

  “Yeah, she seems good. She went back to Georgia for a few weeks to visit her family.”

  “Did she have a good time?”

  Jordan laughed. “Um, maybe you should call her. I mean, yeah she had a good time, but I wasn’t with her or anything . . .”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay. But I’m trying to figure out why you’re checking in with me and not Dani.”

  “I was just curious. I wanted to make sure s
he’s okay, that she’s happy . . .”

  Jordan’s tone sobered. “She’s okay. I’m keeping an eye on her and she’s fine. I promise.”

  Somewhere inside me, the knot in my chest loosened a bit.

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  I swallowed. I wanted the rest of it, even as I feared her answer, even as I had no right to it.

  “Is she—” My voice cracked. “Is she seeing anyone?”

  Silence filled the line, and in those moments, I told myself I was fine with her moving on with someone else, fine with what happened between us meaning far more to me than it had to her. At least I’d had the one night.

  “She’s not seeing anyone,” Jordan answered, pity in her voice.

  Thank God.

  It wasn’t much to go on, but I needed the thread of hope to cling to in order to carry me through the next month, until I could go home and see her again, before I could face what would happen between us.

  DANI

  Two months crept by; the house didn’t sell, I found myself still in Oklahoma, missing Michael, and thinking about Easy way more than I should have. I regretted missing the chance to say bye to him before he deployed, that things were left the way they were. And now I worried about him constantly, afraid something would happen while he was gone, and I would never get a chance to see him again, to speak to him again.

  The sex had been beyond incredible, and I cared about him; I always had. But I didn’t know how those two things mixed together—like bacon-flavored chocolate—good separately, questionable when joined. There were limits to what I had inside me, to my ability to have or want anything more than pieces of someone. If I could compartmentalize our relationship, somehow put us into boxes, sex and everything else, that was one thing . . .