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)
“But reading won’t get you killed,” I challenged.
“My heart almost did.” She shrugged. “You don’t have to go to war to put your life in danger. You can just get in the car, or walk down the street, or step into the ocean.”
“But after…what happened…aren’t you scared?” I whispered the question, afraid of the answer. Afraid that I might be the coward in the pair of us.
“Terrified,” she admitted. “Every time I see his scars, I’m reminded. Every time he flies, I hold my breath. I’m amazed I don’t pass out some days.”
“But you put yourself through it, anyway.”
She sighed and adjusted the blanket over her lap. “I do. How long does he have left on his flight school obligation?”
I didn’t feign ignorance. “Six years.”
“So he can’t stop flying even if you asked him to.” Her voice softened.
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. We broke up. We’re not together.”
Her eye roll involved her entire head. “Right.”
“I can’t go through it again. If something ever happened to Jackson…” I swallowed past the lump in my throat and slowed my breathing. Not today, Satan. “When Will died, he took my heart.”
“I know.” She nodded with a sad smile.
“But Jackson…” I pulled the book from my chest and laid it across my lap. “He would take my soul. There wouldn’t be anything left to keep me breathing.”
She moved to my side, and I turned so we sat shoulder to shoulder.
“You have to decide what’s bigger—your love for him or your fear of losing him. And you’d think they go hand in hand, but they don’t. My love for Jagger wins out by a hair. And it’s the smallest darn hair, but it’s there. I’d rather risk losing him than spend my lifetime not loving him.” Her green eyes locked on mine.
“But I don’t love Jackson,” I whispered.
She took my hand. “Call it what you want. Whatever you feel, if it’s bigger than your fear, then you grab onto it with both hands and you don’t let go.”
“But what’s the point? What if I do, and I’m not enough for him? What if I can’t let go of the past? What if…” I sighed.
She pinned me down with her gaze. “What if you don’t learn from that past?”
I startled. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, Morgan.” She squeezed my hand gently. “There is someone who loves you. And he tells you every day, and you can’t accept him because you’re scared. Scared that you don’t have a whole heart to give him. Scared that you won’t be able to love him in the way he deserves. And he challenges you, and he pulls you out of your comfort zone, and the chemistry between you is obvious to anyone with eyes, and when your chance for happiness is staring you in the face, you push it away and blame the timing. You push him away because if you let yourself love him, and he dies, you won’t survive burying him. You know because you’ve done it before. You’ve buried the love of your life, and you’ll be damned if you’ll risk that kind of pain again.” She stared at me, daring me not to connect the dots.
“Oh God,” I cried, crumpling in on myself as the pain of my own ignorance cut me to the core.
I’d worked so hard to protect myself from feeling another loss like Will’s that I’d become just like him, but instead of my heart being on the line—it was Jackson’s.
…
My first day of school, there were two dozen roses on my desk from Jackson. The note was simple:
Today it begins. And yes, I’m singing “Hot for Teacher” all day long. X Jackson
I scoffed, then laughed. The man never outright called, but he made his presence known in every way. He was tenacious. I’d give him that.
Next to those glorious roses sat a small vase containing a single gerbera daisy. He didn’t have to tell me what to do with it.
While my students had to wait outside for the bell to signal the beginning of the day, the kindergarten kids were allowed in fifteen minutes earlier, and we were in that window. I took the flower down the hall, smiling at the other teachers and adjusting my lanyard so they could see I was one of them.
I still wasn’t sure who the hell decided I was mature enough to be a teacher, but I’d fake it until I made it.
The kindergarten rooms were at the opposite end of the wing, and the noise was astonishing. I opened the door on the left and was met with a barrage of nervous parents and excited children, all scrambling to put away their supplies and find their backpack hooks.
The redhead I was looking for spotted me over the heads of her classmates.
“Morgan!” She parted the seas like the social butterfly she was and flew into my arms. I dropped down to her eye level, careful to keep my skirt from riding up.