Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“I know it looks bad out there, but I’ve flown in far worse.” I had to be out of here in the next ninety seconds. “I will be fine.”
She shook her head. “No. No. No. The visibility is shit. What do you think the ceiling is? Five hundred feet?”
I glanced toward the sky. “Probably closer to four—wait, how do you know what a ceiling is?”
“Because I helped him study during primary!” Her voice pitched to a near shriek.
Fantastic. My girl was terrified and knew what she was talking about. “Morgan, honey, I’m more than comfortable with four hundred feet, and I’m just fine flying IFR.” Not that I was a fan of having to fly instruments during shit weather, but it was better than letting people die.
She looked out at the ocean and back to me. “Call the pilot in command. There’s no way this can be approved. Look at it!”
If I hadn’t known her past, I would have kissed her on the forehead and walked out the door, which was pretty much what I needed to do anyway.
“I already checked in with him, and the flight’s approved.” I grasped her shoulders lightly, hoping the physical connection would emotionally ground her. “I have to go, and I don’t want to leave you like this, but people will die if I do not leave right now. Do you understand, honey?”
“Who would approve this?” she cried as the chaise slammed against the window. Perfect fucking timing.
“Me,” I said as calmly as possible. I was down to twenty seconds, if that. “I’m the pilot in command.”
Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and it crippled a part of my soul. God, I’d never wanted to be the one who caused that kind of defeat in her.
“And if I ask you not to? If I ask you to choose your own life over those people out there?” Misery emanated from her so thick I could almost taste it.
How could you die for them and not live for me? Those were the words she’d screamed at Will’s truck the night I told her I was an SAR pilot.
I slid my hands to cradle the back of her head. “I’m not choosing their lives over mine. I wouldn’t risk my crew like that. I wouldn’t risk Finley’s future or yours, Morgan. Do you trust me?”
She nodded slowly.
“Then trust that I won’t put myself in unnecessary danger. I have to go.”
“Okay.” She swallowed and blinked back tears without letting them fall. “Okay. You go. I’ll…wait here. But don’t expect any popcorn to be left by the time you get back.” Her words shook, but I’d take them. I couldn’t begin to guess what saying them had cost her.
I yanked her into my arms and pressed a hard kiss to her forehead, then pulled back so I could see those gorgeous brown eyes again. “I love you, Morgan.”
Her eyes widened even further.
“I love you more than I can possibly tell you in the next three seconds, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. I will come home to you, I promise. Do you believe me?”
Her lower lip trembled, but she nodded.
I kissed her, hard and quick. “I love you,” I said against her mouth because it felt so fucking good to say the words.
Then I walked out of Morgan’s house and ran the rest of the way to my car. I was dressed and in the seat thirty seconds after Sawyer finished the preflight. We launched immediately.
Morgan was right. Ceilings were low and visibility was shit, but I hadn’t lied—I was comfortable flying in it.
I just didn’t like it.
And when that fishing boat’s mast came within inches of my tail rotor in those choppy-ass seas and gusting winds, she nearly took us down with her, but there was zero chance in hell I was ever going to tell that part of this story to Morgan.
Not ever.
Chapter Twenty-One
Morgan
I want you to be happy. Never forget that.
I glanced at my phone again and read his text message for the hundredth time.
Jackson: Landed safe. I’ll be there after debrief.
The message had come in an hour ago, at which time I’d started breathing again.
The bowl of popcorn sat untouched on the table, and my book remained unread in my lap. I’d been staring at my wall of windows for the last three hours and twenty-seven minutes, listening to the rain pelt the glass mercilessly.
I hadn’t even prayed that he’d come home like he promised for the fear that God would notice that I still existed and then take Jackson, too.
He loved me.
How could that incredible, kind, frustrating, stubborn, phenomenon of a man love me? How was I supposed to be worthy of that?
This was it. If I stayed with Jackson and accepted his love, this was what my life would look like. How many hours would I stare at the windows and wait for him to come home? How many times would he kiss me and walk out the door in those kinds of conditions? How many times would he risk his life?