Afraid to Fly (Anchor Point Book 2)

by L. A. Witt

  “I know. Except I’m kind of afraid of what could happen. Because I know what can happen. And I’m fucking terrified this time because to be honest . . .” I hesitated, a weird mix of shame, fear, and God knew what else churning in my stomach. “I haven’t felt like this about someone since Dion.”

  Paul tensed. “Wow.”

  “Yeah. I guess . . .” I inhaled slowly. “Dion and I had a lot of valid reasons to stay apart.” My own words made me wince. “I mean, I loved him. I always will. But what choice did we have? There was so much on the line . . .”

  “I know,” Paul said softly. “I can’t imagine anyone blames you for the choice you made. The choice you both made.”

  “Except . . .” I winced.

  “What?” He paused. “Talk to me. It’s just us. Whatever you need to say, that’s what I’m here for.”

  My throat tightened, but I finally managed to speak. “Even though Dion and I weren’t together, God . . . I loved him. So much. And I think I’m scared to death to feel that way for someone else because I know how much it hurts to lose them. Maybe it would have been different if we’d been together, and things had gone bad, and by the time we broke up, we were done with each other. Kind of like when Jessica and I divorced. I mean, that one hurt like hell, and it took me a long, long time to get over her, but Dion . . .” I cringed. “I know, I’m harping on the past. And I’m probably a complete coward. But every time I look at Clint, and every time I realize how much I want to be with him, I’m fucking terrified of how much it’s going to hurt when he’s gone.”

  “When?” Paul shook his head. “Jesus. You’re already completely resigned to him being gone?”

  I moistened my parched lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He stared out at the ocean for a solid minute, and so did I. What was I supposed to say?

  Paul turned toward me again. “Look at me, Travis.” When I did, he held my gaze with unflinching eyes. “Let me ask you something.”

  I swallowed. “Okay . . .”

  “If you had it to do over, and you knew from the start how things would turn out with Jessica and with Dion, would you have done anything differently?”

  The question was a punch to the chest. I sat back again, slowly releasing a breath. “I don’t know.”

  “Think about it for a minute. And ignoring the fact that without Jessica, you wouldn’t have Kimber. I mean specifically your relationship with your ex-wife.”

  I ran my thumbnail along the edge of the faux-leather placemat. “With Jessica, I don’t know. I really don’t. But with Dion . . . yeah, I absolutely would have done things differently.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded.

  “In what way?” He studied me. “You would have pursued something with him?”

  “I . . .” Chewing my lip, I stared at the table. “Probably not, no. I think it would have been better for him if we’d never made any kind of connection.”

  Paul didn’t speak for a long moment. When he did, his tone was soft. “You still blame yourself, don’t you?”

  Every day of my life.

  I looked in his eyes again. “Of course I do.”

  “Travis, Dion’s feelings for you aren’t what killed him.” Ticking off points on his fingers, Paul went on, “A messed-up policy that kept him from dating men. Pressure to have a wife and a family so he could move through the ranks. Even more pressure to toe the line so he didn’t lose his kids in the divorce. The complete and utter system failure that kept him, Charlie, you, and God knows how many other vets from getting treated properly after—”

  “I get it.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I do. I get it.”

  “So you get that Dion’s death was not your fault.”

  “I . . .” I thumbed the edge of my placemat. “I guess I’ve never been able to stop wondering how much our . . . well, not relationship, but—”

  “The relationship you both wanted?”

  Ouch.

  “Yeah. I guess I’ve always wondered how much of a factor that was. How much it pushed him toward the edge.”

  “And how many more years of your life are you going to spend questioning that?” He reached across the table and squeezed my forearm. “None of us will ever know what made him break. But I knew him, and you knew him, and you will never convince me that he would have wanted you to spend your life alone with a guilty conscience.”

  All the air rushed out of my lungs.

  “Dion would have wanted you to be happy.” He gave my arm another squeeze, then pulled his hand back. “Whatever drove him to end his own life, you know he never would have wished that on you or anyone else. He never got to be happy. Don’t you think he would have wanted you to have what he didn’t?”

  My throat constricted, but damn him, he wasn’t done.

  “If he were sitting here now,” Paul said gently, “don’t even try to tell me he wouldn’t be asking why the hell you’re fighting so hard not to be in love with Clint.”

  “Pretty sure that ship’s sailed.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “I am definitely in love with him.”

  Paul smiled. “Then quit fighting it.”

  I should’ve been relieved. Smiling back at him. Nodding and thanking him for talking some sense into me.

  But deep in the pit of my stomach, a knot of apprehension was turning into a ball of lead.

  I drummed my fingers on the table as I let my mind wander back over the previous couple of months. Even though things had been challenging at times, Clint had never given me any reason to believe he was faking it. And hadn’t he had the same worries when we’d spent the night together for the first time? I sure as hell wasn’t put off by his nightmares any more than he seemed to be put off by mine.

  I loved being in bed with him.

  I loved being with him.

  I loved him.

  His past and his nightmares didn’t make me love him any less, just like his phobia-level fear of flying didn’t change anything.

  “Maybe I’m overthinking this.”

  “Maybe?” Paul sniffed with subtle amusement. “Travis, take it from someone who’s known you half your life—you’re overthinking it.”

  “Good point. Well, um, thanks for the pep talk.” I managed a quiet chuckle. “Next time we’ll talk about football or cars or something.”

  “Golf?”

  “Don’t push your luck.” I glanced around for our waiter. “Now that that’s over, I think I could stand to eat something.”

  “Me too. Where the hell did he go?”

  Thank God for Paul. He never hesitated to rip off bandages and dig in until he found what was keeping me awake at night, and he wasn’t one to shy away from telling me like it was. It was never fun for me when he did that—probably not for him either—but in the end, I always had a clearer outlook. Even if that outlook wasn’t terribly pleasant, like when he’d gently pointed me toward the realization that my divorce was inevitable, I wouldn’t be lost and flailing so much anymore.

  And this time, he’d brought me to the conclusion that seemed so obvious now—that regardless of how many times the past had thrown me against the rocks, I’d be a fucking idiot to let that steer me away from Clint. This was my shot at something that had eluded me for way too long.

  All I had to do now was wait until I saw Clint again.

  I was always nervous when Mandy and I Skyped, but today, I was Valium-level nervous. Not that I had any Valium, or would take any if I did, but I was pretty sure this was the kind of knee-shaking, stomach-churning, mouth-drying nervousness the stuff had been invented for.

  And there was no turning back because she’d accepted my call.

  Sitting back against the couch, laptop balanced on my knees, I forced a nervous smile for the camera a split second before she appeared on the screen.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey.” She was at the kitchen table, elbows resting just off-camera and her hands loosely clasped under her chin. “I can’t talk long. What’
s up?”

  “Oh. Um.” I cleared my throat. “Okay. I’ll keep it short.” Here we go. I’ve got this. “I need to be honest with you about something.”

  Her features hardened and her eyes narrowed slightly, the way they always did when I was on thin ice. “Okay.”

  “I’m, uh . . .”

  “Did you relapse?”

  “What? No!” I threw up my hands. “Mandy, I’m not drinking. I swear.”

  “All right.” She folded her arms. “So, what’s this about?”

  I pulled in a ragged breath. “Well. Okay, when we talked on Christmas, and you asked where I was?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “I wasn’t lying that I was spending the holidays with someone in San Diego.”

  An eyebrow rose, but she still didn’t speak.

  “I’m . . . Well, I . . .” Here goes. No turning back. “I was spending Christmas with my boyfriend.”

  The faintest catch of her breath seemed to echo from the computer speakers. Her hands tightened on her arms, and her shoulders lifted with fresh tension. “Come again?”

  I swept my tongue across my lips. “I was there with my boyfriend. I . . . have a boyfriend.”

  She sat back hard against the chair. “You’re—” Her eyes darted toward something off-camera. The kids must’ve been out in the yard or in the living room. Possibly within earshot, since she lowered her voice. “You’re gay?”

  My mouth had gone dry, and it took a moment to speak so I could clarify that I was actually bi, as if that somehow made a fucking difference, as if that wouldn’t piss her off even more because of how she felt about bisexuality, but she spoke first anyway.

  She pushed her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “I suppose you want me to tell the kids.” A mix of defensiveness and anger almost hid the hurt in her voice.

  “No. Not now. And I think it would be best if we tell them. Eventually. But for now, I wanted you to know.”

  “Oh.” She squirmed, looking off-camera again. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Couple of months.” I paused. “Or did you mean me being interested in men?”

  “Yeah. That part.”

  “That’s . . . complicated.”

  “How so?” Her jaw clenched. “Have you been gay all along, or did you suddenly decide you like dick?” She jumped as if she hadn’t expected the words to come out, and threw a horrified glance toward where the kids were probably playing. Then she looked at me again, and the irritation returned, tightening her lips. “I just don’t get it.”

  I forced myself not to get defensive. “I knew for a long time that I was attracted to men. I knew . . . I knew I was bi. So when I was single, I acted on it.”

  “You mean during that period when you were drinking yourself stupid and fucking anything that moved?”

  This time, I jumped. “I—”

  “Yes, I knew about it,” she hissed. “You never were very good at covering your tracks when you were drunk.”

  Well, shit.

  I coughed to get my breath moving. “Okay. Yeah. You’re right. And yes, to be perfectly blunt, when I was self-destructing after we split, I did a lot of stupid things. And somewhere in there, I decided it was as good a time as any to see if I really wanted to be involved with men.”

  Her lips looked like they were on the verge of twisting. “Apparently you did.”

  “Apparently. But after I cleaned myself up and started getting back on the rails, and I started dating again, I wanted to date men. So I did.”

  “So this one isn’t the first that you’ve dated.”

  “Well . . .” I ran a hand through my hair. “He’s the first one I can confidently call my boyfriend, if that means anything.” Not entirely true, but she didn’t need to know about Logan.

  “Oh.” She chewed her thumbnail and stared at her keyboard with unfocused eyes. After a long moment, she met my gaze through the cameras. “How long have you known?”

  I hesitated, not sure how honest I wanted to be with her here. “I think I’ve always known. At least since I was a teenager. Just didn’t really sort it out in my head until maybe ten years ago.”

  “While we were married?” she growled.

  I patted the air with both hands. “I never acted on it. I never touched a man until after we’d split up for good. I didn’t touch anyone while we were married.”

  Her eyes flicked away, but she said nothing.

  “All I did was figure out who I was. I never, ever acted on it until after we’d divorced.” I paused. “I know you think bisexuality is something people use as a license to cheat, but I would swear under a polygraph with my hand on a Bible that I never cheated on you.” Another pause while I tried to pull my composure together. “I made a lot of huge mistakes, Mandy, but that wasn’t one of them.”

  She looked at me again. “And yet in two years, you’ve gone from never touching a man to having a boyfriend?”

  “Two years is longer than you think.”

  Mandy huffed sharply. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

  The tension between us was palpable and swelling by the second, but goddamn it, I was not fighting with her today.

  “Look, I just wanted you to know. I thought about telling you a while back, but things were still pretty rough between us. I wanted to wait until we were like this. More civil. And . . . when I had someone worth telling you about.”

  “I see.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m just confused. This is so out of left field.”

  “I know.” I moistened my lips. “Look, I’ve had to do a lot of thinking about myself and my identity. I went from being a husband and father to being a confused bachelor who misses his kids and is trying not to fall apart.” I swallowed, startled by the sudden lump rising in my throat. “I don’t know if I’m still attracted to women, or if I still feel too guilty after what I did to you to even look at one. All I—”

  “If you’re still hung up on our divorce enough that you can’t look at women, do you really think this is a good time to be dating?”

  I mulled that over for a moment, then released a breath. “Maybe? But the way I feel about him . . . To tell you the truth, I don’t think anyone else could turn my head right now.”

  “Whoa.” She blinked. “So it’s getting serious. Quickly.”

  “Yeah, it kind of feels like that. We’re not moving in together or anything, but it’s . . .” I couldn’t help smiling. “It’s going really good.”

  “That’s . . . that’s good. Right?”

  “It is. I mean, I’m still sort of figuring myself out. But damn, I know what I feel for him. At the moment, I’m not looking at men or women. Just him.”

  “Oh. Wow.” A hint of a smile started to materialize, but it faded quickly. “I have a question.”

  I braced, not sure what was on her mind. “Okay. Sure?”

  She tilted her head slightly. “Are you happy, Clint?”

  The question brought a million emotions to life in my chest. Admitting to being happy with someone else—with a man—added some finality to my divorce from her. Of course it was over, and I’d made peace with it, but every now and then, the realization that that chapter of my life had ended took my breath away. After she’d kicked me out for good, I’d hated myself for destroying what we had, and that self-loathing surged to the surface now, along with the irrational resentment against her for not forgiving me. It was stupid, and rationally I understood exactly why she’d refused to take me back and why she was still standoffish now. In her shoes, I wasn’t sure if I’d have been as civil as she had.

  But feelings weren’t rational, and that resentment existed whether it made sense or not. And the grief over losing her and alienating myself from the kids, and the anger, and the self-hatred . . . it all existed.

  And at the same time, yes, I was happy. After three dark years and being convinced I’d never even feel human again, yes, I was happy. Now that someone had asked me point-blank, and I’d had to think
about it, there was no way I could give another answer.

  “Yes. I am.”

  “Good,” she said quietly. “You deserve to be.”

  “I don’t know about that. After—”

  “Clint.” She put up her hand. “Don’t. We both know you’ve been beating yourself up for the last couple of years. And yes, I fueled that, and I’m sorry.”

  “You shouldn’t be. I fucked everything up.”

  “No, the military fucked everything up.”

  The words knocked the breath out of my chest. Of all the things I’d needed to hear the most from her, I hadn’t even realized how much I’d needed to hear that. Just an acknowledgment that it wasn’t all on me.

  She must’ve taken my silence as a need for clarification, and sighed. “I know you can’t talk about it, but I can read between the lines. Whatever happened, happened. And whether you can tell me what happened or not, it affected you. Deeply. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known, so if it broke you, I don’t even want to know the truth.” She swallowed hard. “I had to protect myself and the kids. And yes, I was angry for a while, and I hated you for a while, but . . . you’re a good guy. You always have been. And I’m really glad to see you’re getting back on your feet and that you’ve found someone. We can’t go back to what we were before, but please don’t ever doubt that I want you to be happy.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “And that’s all I want for you too. Even with the military’s bullshit, I made a mess of things for you and the kids. If I could go back and change it, I would.”

  Mandy avoided my gaze, glancing away and swiping at her eyes. “I know. And, um . . .” She cleared her throat and rolled her shoulders before looking at me again. “I really hope things work with this guy. If he’s got you feeling like that, enough to tell me and the kids, he must be amazing.”

  “He is,” I whispered.

  “And we’ll . . . we’ll talk to the kids. Not right away. But we will.”

  Cool relief rushed through me. “Okay. I can live with that.”