Fly With Me (Wild Aces #1)(66)

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 f*ck 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.