On Broken Wings

by Chanel Cleeton

  I’d settled on a loose maxi dress that provided the best chance of hiding the bump, figuring the last thing Easy needed was to land and immediately be faced with pregnant me. I’d planned on easing him into it, but now that I was minutes away from seeing him, I was having serious doubts about the whole thing.

  “Take a deep breath,” Jordan murmured. “It’ll be okay.”

  She reached out, her hand finding my free one and squeezing. Noah stood next to her, their daughter in his arms, a tiny set of headphones covering her ears from the impending roar.

  “What if he doesn’t want to see me?” I murmured.

  “That won’t happen.”

  “The last time he saw me I snuck out of his bed,” I hissed.

  “Yeah, but you sent him care packages and stuff.”

  “A package of cookies and some disgusting-looking granola bars aren’t going to mean all is forgiven.”

  He loved me and I’d walked out on him after sex. “Guilty” didn’t even begin to cover it. At the time, I’d thought it was just a sex thing for him; if I’d known he had feelings for me, I would’ve handled things so differently, been more careful with him.

  “It’s going to be fine,” Jordan said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I know Easy, and I know how he feels about you. Trust me, it’s going to be fine.”

  Of all the emotions hitting me right now, “fine” wasn’t anywhere on—or near—the spectrum.

  And then we heard it—the sound of jets screaming through the sky. We all looked up, a squadron of families waiting to welcome our loved ones home.

  Noah had mentioned Easy would be leading the six-ship formation, and I found my gaze searching for that first plane as I’d done so many times before, a different pilot in the cockpit now.

  Despite the nerves raging through me, the uncertainty of how this would all play out, I couldn’t deny I was excited to see him, that I’d missed him in the months we’d spent apart.

  Going through the pregnancy without him felt weird; he was going to be involved in this baby’s life, and I wanted him to have that chance, to share this experience with me. Complications aside, he was and always would be one of my best friends.

  You’re about to meet your daddy, I told the baby silently, my hand settling on my stomach instinctively before I remembered I was in public and only Jordan knew I was pregnant. I let my hand fall to the side, my fingers curling in a ball. I missed the connection between us, had grown used to the reassurance of the baby beneath my palm, even if it was little bigger than the size of a passion fruit.

  When I was pregnant before, I’d been so excited, so happy, and I’d felt the same instant connection to the life inside me. But at the same time, while there had been some fears in my mind, I’d been so sure I would sail through the pregnancy, that we’d bring home a baby from the hospital at the end of all of it that I hadn’t held on as tightly as I did now.

  Love was different once you’d known loss. Now I held on a bit tighter, knowing all too well how it felt to have your heart ripped away from you.

  I focused on Easy’s jet, my body tense as he began his descent. The moments before the wheels touched the ground were always the most nerve-racking, the feeling that you were almost out of the woods, but not quite. Takeoff and landing were typically the most dangerous—not that you could discount the moments in the air.

  Michael had died from spatial disorientation on a routine sortie while the squadron was in Alaska. “Spatial D,” as the pilots called it, happened often; most times it wasn’t deadly. Michael had become disoriented in the jet, thinking his position was different than what it actually was, and by the time he’d realized his confusion and tried to correct it, it was too late. His plane had crashed into the cold ground.

  My heart pounded as Easy got closer, closer, and then his wheels hit the concrete, the jet’s nose bouncing in the air, once, twice, and I exhaled, the tension and worry releasing at the same time a new set of concerns entered my mind.

  Maybe I should have given him some notice before showing up here after we hadn’t spoken in months. What if he didn’t want to see me? Jordan said he did, but what if she was wrong or had misjudged the situation—

  Jordan leaned into me. “Stop freaking out,” she whispered. “It’s going to be fine.”

  “Let’s start walking over to the canopy,” Noah called out over the loud roar of the engines as the next planes in the formation began to land.

  I nodded, following Noah and Jordan on shaky legs.

  The closer we got to the jet, the more the nerves built. What the hell was I thinking? I should have waited an appropriate time before coming to see him. Should have given him a heads-up or something.

  And then the jet taxied into view and I got my first sight of Easy, and the nausea in my stomach gave way to something else—

  Flutters. So many freaking flutters.

  He had his helmet and mask on, his visor down, the jet’s canopy surrounding him. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I knew the exact moment when he saw me, watched as he turned his head, his focus on me standing next to Jordan and Noah.

  I waited for it, waited for him to lift his visor, to drop the mask, waited to see the expression in his eyes, not sure what I’d find there. We stared at each other across the flight line, Noah and Jordan fading away, until it was just Easy and me.

  I held my breath as he pulled his mask off, as he flipped up his visor and stared right at me.

  Damn.

  He looked good.

  Really good.

  My heartbeat kicked up, my skin going hot, and not only from the warm Oklahoma sun beating down on me.

  Smile. Please smile.

  I bit down on my lip, unable to look away from the sight of Easy, safe, home, and then my heart cracked open a little bit as his mouth curved and he broke into a smile, the one I knew so well, the force of it blinding, his eyes on me the entire time.

  My hand drifted down, settling on my stomach, the move more instinctive than anything else.

  That’s your daddy.

  EASY

  She looked beautiful. So beautiful. After three months without Dani, I drank in the sight of her.

  Her hair was longer than I remembered, shining red-gold in the sunlight, her dress billowing around her. I smiled at her and she smiled back, and suddenly nothing else mattered.

  I’d been gone for months, had flown my ass off, my life narrowed to what I saw on the HUD, to the targets I focused on as though my life depended on it—to the guys on the ground who did depend on it. And now, I wanted this moment. Her, glowing, home. I wanted to pull her into my arms and surround myself in her embrace.

  I didn’t take my gaze off her as I sat parked in the jet, under the sunshade, waiting for the crew chief to bring the ladder.

  She didn’t look away, either.

  Finally the jet’s canopy opened up, and I climbed down the ladder, each rung taking me closer and closer to her. Somewhere in my periphery I was aware of the crowd around us, Noah and Jordan, guys from the other squadron welcoming me home. And at the heart of it, Dani.

  I walked toward her, her smile wobbling a bit as though she fought back tears, her feet carrying her toward me until she met me halfway, and we came together, her body sliding against mine, my arms wrapping around her waist.

  She buried her head in the crook of my neck, my skin wet from the tears that fell from her eyes, and I rested my cheek on the top of her head, brushing my lips against her hair, inhaling her scent, not sure who was anchoring who.

  I wanted to kiss her. Badly.

  I didn’t.

  I didn’t know how she felt about everything, and even as I tried to ignore them, we had an audience. Let them think we were friends, although after the way we clung to each other, I doubted anyone thought that anymore.

  I didn�
��t give a fuck.

  This was everything. The dream. Coming home to the woman you loved after going to war.

  Maybe it didn’t look exactly as I’d imagined it, but it was enough.

  Her body shook as she whispered words lost somewhere against my body, as her lips skated over my skin.

  “Shh,” I murmured. “It’s okay.”

  I stroked her back, tracing the ridges of her spine, tightening my grip on her, and I knew—

  I wouldn’t ever let her go again. Friends or lovers, we would always be in each other’s lives. There were some bonds that were forged when you needed them most, unshakable connections that spoke to a shared history, an understood pain.

  She soothed my aching spots, and, God, I hoped I did the same for her.

  We broke apart finally, a pink flush covering Dani’s cheeks as I stared down into her eyes, as my gaze fell to her lips.

  Fuck, I wanted to kiss her again.

  I settled for reaching out and taking her hand, linking our fingers together, tugging her forward.

  “Will you give me a ride home?” I asked, my voice raw.

  I wanted a chance to talk to her in private, without the curious gazes of a bunch of fighter pilots.

  Dani nodded, her focus on me, a flush still covering her cheeks. I could tell she was uncomfortable, that she’d shown more of herself than she was used to. For as much as she let her walls down with me, she still clung to the image of impenetrable-stoic-Dani. She was close to Jordan, Noah, Becca, Thor, but she kept her inner circle tight, didn’t want anyone to see anything she perceived as weakness, including her worry and grief.

  I squeezed her hand. “We can get out of here soon. I need to take care of a few things first.”

  “Okay. I’ll wait with Jordan and Noah. Thor’s supposed to land soon, right?”

  “Yeah.” I checked my watch. “In about thirty minutes.”

  “Becca should be getting here then. I’ll wait with them until you’re ready.”

  “Okay. I’ll be quick.”

  I hesitated. I needed to let go of her hand, needed to make my way into the squadron and take care of business so I could head home, but I didn’t want to leave her, not even for a moment.

  I took a step forward, hooking my free arm around her neck, pulling her toward me, burying my face in her hair again.

  “It’s so good to see you,” I whispered. “I wasn’t sure if you would be here; I was worried you would have left.”

  Worried I’d lost you forever.

  I pulled back, releasing her slowly, staring into her green eyes, fighting the urge to lay myself at her feet.

  Her gaze clouded and she swallowed, her tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip.

  “I missed you, too.” Her voice lowered. “You’re probably tired, but can we talk later?”

  My heart thudded at the words—“Can we talk later?”—pretty sure they’d never brought anything good in all of human history. Hell, I’d delivered them more times than I could count, usually followed by “It’s not you, it’s me” or something equally cliché. I tried to search her gaze, wondering if I’d see regret there, but was greeted by worry instead.

  I nodded, leaning forward and tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

  “Yeah. We should.”

  This time I did take a step away from her, facing the other guys, exchanging quick hugs, ignoring the darting glances, the knowing looks.

  When I got to Jordan, I expected to see the same burning curiosity stamped on her face, but all I found was a smile playing at her lips.

  “Welcome home, Easy.”

  “Thanks.”

  My gaze settled on my goddaughter, looking adorable in a T-shirt with an American flag on it, red jeans, and a headset blocking her ears from the loud jet noise. She’d grown so much since I’d seen her last, and it was crazy to realize how much I’d missed since I left. I thought about all the guys who had families at home, who’d spent three months away from their kids. How had Noah done it when he was in Korea?

  We walked toward the squadron en masse. The next cell of jets—Thor’s cell—wouldn’t land for a while. Someone had brought pizza and beer to the squadron, and Noah passed me a cold bottle.

  God, I’d missed this.

  When you were downrange, as we called it, you tried not to focus on what you were missing back home, on the people you ached to see, the life you’d seemingly pressed pause on. When you went to war, you splintered yourself into two—part of you so focused on the mission that eclipsed all else, the other part locked away, the part that felt, that missed, that loved. Without that clear boundary, the schism running through you, you ended up covered in hairline cracks until you eventually crumbled to dust.

  I lost sight of Dani in the crowd as people greeted me, kids running around and screaming, the squadron descending into chaos. I managed to get through the greetings pretty quickly, dropping off my gear, tying up last-minute errands. When I walked back into the bar, I glanced through the crowd, searching for Dani—

  I froze.

  She stood near the bar, a smile playing at her lips, deep in conversation with Jordan and Becca. She leaned forward, laughing at something they both said, her hands gesturing widely as she made her point, her hair glinting in the sunlight. I stood there, watching her, the memory of the first time I saw her, the moment when I’d fallen in love with her, not even understanding what that meant. I hadn’t understood then that the sliver of what I’d felt that day would lodge itself under my skin, shrapnel turned to a scar, infecting my bloodstream, running through my veins, until she became part of me, inextricably linked, her pain mine, the smile on her face answered in my heart.

  I remembered the moment when she’d turned and looked at Joker, and suddenly I was catapulted back in time, watching a car crash in front of me, unable to look away as I realized what I’d instinctively considered mine would never be mine at all.

  But this time, it was different.

  This time she turned her head and our gazes locked, and I watched, unable to speak as she said good-bye to Jordan and Becca and began walking toward me.

  “Are you ready to go home?” she asked when she was right in front of me, and I nodded, my throat and heart suddenly so fucking full.

  She might not have realized it, but I’d been home ever since I’d stepped off that ladder and taken her into my arms.

  She was my home.

  SIXTEEN

  DANI

  Easy stared out the window as I drove him home, his gaze hidden by gold-framed aviators. I snuck glances in his direction, studying his profile, attempting to gauge his mood, trying to predict his reaction to the bomb I was about to drop on him.

  He’d seemed happy to see me when he landed, and as awkward as I’d feared things would be between us, it hadn’t been awkward at all. Rather, it had been the most natural thing in the world to wrap my arms around him and welcome him home.

  He looked older now, worn, as though the months downrange had taken a toll on him. Michael used to come home like that, the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I’d always been the one to ease him back into normal life, to put a smile on his face and erase the lines of worry created by the responsibility of caring for the lives of an entire squadron and his determination to bring them all home alive. With Easy it wasn’t quite the same, and yet I could tell the months deployed had chipped away at him. I couldn’t resist the urge to take care of him, even as I was about to add a whole other host of worries to his plate.

  We stopped at a red light, and I tilted my head to the side—

  Easy stared back at me.

  “You keep looking at me,” he commented, his voice a low drawl.

  His tone was huskier, lazier, a hint of the Easy he’d been with every single woman but me. Whatever question still lingered in my mind of whether or not the sex had changed
things between us was answered by the purr behind his words and the accompanying flash of heat.

  He moved slowly, as though he was stripping the clothes from my skin, cataloging all the changes that had taken place in his absence. Could he tell my breasts were bigger, my hips a bit wider? Would he notice the barely there bump beneath my dress?

  I tore my gaze away.

  The light changed and I exhaled, trying to release some of the pressure pushing at me, turning my attention to the drive and not the way Easy’s gaze had lingered over me when we were stopped, obscured by those dark sunglasses yet impossible to miss.

  “You’re quiet,” he commented, reaching out and resting his arm on the headrest behind me.

  I wasn’t sure if he meant it that way or if it was merely a casual gesture, but it seemed like a move—one that, combined with the tremors from his voice, throbbed like a pulse between my legs, my body and mind at odds with each other.

  I leaned forward, turning the A/C up, simultaneously fighting the urge to lower the window and let some of the tension swirling between us out of the car. I wanted to move away from his arm, wanted to lean into his touch, wanted his fingers to reach out and stroke my hair.

  Before I’d looked at Easy as anything other than a friend, I’d wondered what it would be like to be one of the women he pursued. I hadn’t wanted him then, but I’d had a sort of morbid fascination with the stories I’d heard, with his reputation of having any woman he wanted. The face was a good start, the body even better, but what I hadn’t understood was how he could look at a woman and seduce her without even saying a word, and when he did speak—

  I swallowed, images of that night coming back to me. Yeah, Easy definitely had moves.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I admitted, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

  “How have you been?” he asked.

  “Good.”

  Any answer I could have offered felt like a lie given the big secret between us. I almost blurted it out then and there, almost said the word “pregnant,” but we were driving in the car, and I wasn’t sure there would ever be a time when I wanted to have this conversation. I wished we could fast-forward through all the potential awkwardness and get to the point where everything magically worked out.