Into the Blue (A Wild Aces Romance) (19 page)

Eric rose, walking toward the bathroom, giving me one hell of a visual. I turned onto my side, gathering the sheets around my body, unable to take my gaze off him.

We had to talk about the fact that he was leaving soon.
The longer we left things unsaid, the more they settled around us like a miasma.

A lump formed in my throat.

Do not get emotional. Do not cry.

Eric walked back into the bedroom, gloriously naked, a smile on his lips and something that looked a hell of a lot like love in his eyes.

“Do you want to order some dinner?” His smile deepened. “I worked up an appetite earlier.”

I shrugged. “Sure, if you want. We can do pizza or something.”

There was too much tension rolling around in my stomach for me to be hungry. I needed to rip off the Band-Aid, needed to face our dwindling time together. I took a deep breath and went for it, trying my best to sound casual.

“So when do you go back to Oklahoma?”

His body stiffened, the lazy smile falling from his lips. Something flickered in his gaze—remorse, regret? When he spoke, his voice was devoid of the husky tone I loved.

“My flight leaves Wednesday morning. I have to be back at work on Thursday.”

I’d known he was leaving soon, but now, having the date . . . it just felt so final. Like we were hurtling to an inevitability we couldn’t escape.

Hell, maybe I was the only one who wanted to escape it. For all I knew, he missed flying, was eager to go home. For all I knew, I was the only one feeling like my heart was shattering into pieces.

I swallowed, trying to beat back the emotions, the hurt, the loss of him that I began to feel even though he wasn’t gone yet. I’d been here before, though, had become an expert at getting over Eric Jansen—trying to, at least.

“You know what? I’ll take a rain check on food. I should get dressed and head back home. I have to be in court tomorrow morning.”

I leaned forward, the sheets pooling at my waist, and Eric reached out, leaning over me, his fingers walking down my spine, stroking me until I had to fight the urge to lie back and go for round two.

“You could stay a little longer,” he murmured, his lips brushing the skin below my nape.

I wanted to, but I wasn’t the one who was leaving. If it were up to me, I’d choose us. Even now there was a part of me that was like,
Screw it, give up your job
. I’d had a good run. I didn’t need to keep practicing law.

Except I did.

Because I believed in the work I did, in helping people. Because it mattered to me, and even if he mattered more—which, yes, he probably did—the part that I couldn’t get past was that even if I chose him and left everything to follow him around the world, he
didn’t
choose me. In fact, twice, he’d chosen a plane over me, over us. And I didn’t want to give up everything so I could play second fiddle to his job. I wanted him to love me, to put me first, to put any children we might have together first. And nothing in our history together had told me he would do that, that he could do that. He loved me. The last couple weeks together had answered that question with finality. But it wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t give up my future, all I’d worked for, the things I loved, knowing he wouldn’t do the same.

I loved him, but I still had to be able to look myself in the mirror at the end of the day and hold my head up. And I couldn’t. Not like this.

His grandmother was right—he’d needed the time to figure out who he was, what he wanted. But I’d taken the
decade we were apart to do the same and knew exactly what I wanted—I wanted the career and the family. I didn’t want to give up one to have the other.

“I really should go.”

I’d told myself I wouldn’t lose it, that I wouldn’t indulge in some kind of binge-eating-ice-cream-cue-the-emotional-breakup-music scene since I’d gone into this with open eyes and he hadn’t made any promises. And I wasn’t planning on it. But I definitely needed to get the hell out of here so that if I did lose it, even just a little bit, I did it in the privacy of my own home.

I slipped out of his grasp, grabbing my clothes from the hotel room floor.

“Becca.”

I kept my head ducked as I slid my underwear on, reaching for my dress.

“Are we going to talk about this?” he asked.

I fastened my bra then slipped the fabric over my head and turned to face him.

“What is there to talk about? You’re leaving; we knew it was coming. It’s fine.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. What about us?”

“What do you mean, what about us?” I kept my cool, even though that word, “us,” sliced me to ribbons. “We’ll still keep in touch.” It hurt, but I’d sort of given up on the idea of me having a life that didn’t include him in it. We could be friends, just as soon as I found a way to kill the feelings inside of me that wanted so much more.

“That’s it?”

I took a deep breath, struggling to keep my voice even.

“Yeah, pretty much. I don’t know what you want me to say here. We knew this would happen. There’s something
between us, there always has been. And I’m not going to lie to you and say that the last decade apart hasn’t shown me that what we have isn’t easy to find. But none of the other things between us have changed. These past few weeks have been amazing, but they were more like a vacation than our normal life.”

“It could be more.”

The first spark of anger filled me. “How? Please tell me how it could be more.”

“We could date. Long distance. We could talk on the phone and fly out and visit each other.” He made a frustrated noise. “It’s really not that weird. People have complicated relationships all the time. My friend Burn and his wife, Jordan, got together that way.”

“Okay. So let’s say we do long distance. Then what?”

He blinked.

“We were together for five years before we broke up. We know each other. There is no getting-to-know-you period for us. Even with the time apart, we caught up in what, a few days? So where do we go after dating?

“I’m thirty-one years old. I’ve been ready to have a family for over ten years. We were
engaged
. We’ve done the get-to-know-each-other thing. We’ve been to the next step. So this idea that we’re just going to screw around isn’t really appealing to me. It was one thing when we were talking about a couple weeks, but I’m not going to live my life perpetually on the hook.

“I know what I want. I want a husband and kids. I want a home. I want to put down roots. And you don’t want that. So don’t tell me we should just see where this is going. It’s been a decade. I don’t have it in me to wait anymore.”

“Do you think I don’t want a family?” Eric asked. “That
I don’t want kids? That I don’t want to put down roots? That I don’t want you?”

I couldn’t do this. This was the exact opposite of what we were supposed to be about this time—fun, sex, maybe friendship, because there was simply too much history between us to ignore.

“I’ve changed,” he said.

Had he? Or was he just hurting, and confused, and back here because it was easy? Because he knew that even after all we’d been through, I’d always be the constant in his life. Would always welcome him with open arms.

“I don’t believe you.”

And that was the problem. Trust was the missing ingredient here, the biggest casualty of our breakup, and I feared it was lost for good.

“What would it take for you to believe me? To take a chance on us?” He took a step closer to me. “What would it take for you to come with me?”

I froze. “To move to Oklahoma?”

He nodded, his jaw clenched, his gaze intent.

Ten years ago we’d fought and fought, stuck between my dream and his, and I’d offered to give up my dreams, to give up on law school, to follow him to Texas where he was undergoing pilot training. It had hurt, and there had been doubts, but I’d loved him so much that I’d been willing to give up my dreams in exchange for his. Had been ready to throw away the dream of finally having the home I’d craved since my parents died.

And he still hadn’t wanted me.

“I offered you that.”

Guilt flashed in his eyes. “I know. And I made a huge mistake.”

That was the part I couldn’t get over, that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t let go. I’d offered to change my life for him, and instead he’d walked away. It wasn’t quite the same; he’d been young and unsure of himself then, but I didn’t know how to trust that it would be different this time. Maybe we’d hurt each other too much; maybe he’d hurt
me
too much.

“I didn’t want that for you. I don’t want that for you now. You love what you do and you’re great at it, and I never want to be the cause of you losing it. But there has to be another way. I can’t believe that we found each other after all of this time just to have it slip away again. Please. Think about it. Give us a chance.”

“What about you? Would you give up flying for me? You said your commitment was almost up. You talked about your frustrations with your job. How unhappy you’ve been. Have you considered a different path?”

He looked stricken, and so torn, and I figured that brief flash of panic was a better answer than anything he could give me.

“It’s all I’ve ever known. All I’ve ever done. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at in my entire life. I’m a fighter pilot. It’s who I am. I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“So that’s it. If we’re going to be together, then I’m supposed to give up my career and choose you. Even though you wouldn’t do the same for me.”

He looked pained. “I can’t.”

“You can. You just don’t want to.” I grabbed my bag, evading him as he reached out, trying to hold on to me.

I hesitated before turning back to face him. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to love someone with everything you have, only to know that you play second fiddle to his job? To a fucking plane? To know that I will always be
second to you, to worry that if we have children, you won’t love them as much as your job?

“Maybe it makes me selfish. Maybe I should be the kind of person who doesn’t care. Who’s just content with the scraps you throw my way. But I’m not. I haven’t had a family since I lost my parents. That’s my dream.

“I want a home. Christmas mornings watching my kids open presents. I want to fall asleep and wake up staring at your face. I want to sit at the dinner table each night and talk about our days. I want those little moments that you flung in my face a decade ago, that weren’t good enough for you then. I’m not going to give that up for someone who doesn’t really want me.”

“I love you,” he whispered, the pain in his voice nearly enough to call me back.

“Not
enough.”

I got into the car, my hands shaking, restless energy pouring through me. I needed to get out of here. Now. My chest felt too tight, like each breath was a chore, anger and panic washing over me.

I wrapped my hands around the steering wheel, leaning forward and letting my forehead rest against the leather. I took deep breaths, trying to steady myself, and maybe, if I was really being honest with myself, waiting to see if Eric would come after me.

He didn’t.

Motherfucker.

How was it possible that I was just as fucking stupid at thirty-one as I’d been at twenty-one?

I placed the key in the ignition, turning the car on, and pulled out of the parking lot, not sure where I was going, but determined to get the hell out of here.

I put the windows down, the air cooling me, the breeze doing the trick and releasing some of the tension from my
chest. I turned on the radio, flipping around until I found a song I loved, turning it up to blaring, letting the air dry the tears on my cheeks.

I was fine. I would be fine.

I’d survived this once. I’d do it again, no problem.

I hit the highway, torn between driving somewhere and just heading home. And then it hit me, and I was turning off onto the narrow gravel road, not sure if I was trying to ease the wound inside me or making it worse by opening it up and pouring salt inside.

The drive was familiar, another spot like the farm, where we’d spent so much of our youth.

Cranberry Lake was a popular spot for teens to hang out. It was gorgeous, private, and the kind of place you took a date when you wanted to get busy and had nowhere else to go. I’d lost my virginity to Eric on a blanket underneath the stars, had gone skinny-dipping and swimming there with him more times than I could count, and when he’d proposed to me on Valentine’s Day during our junior year of college, it had been on the dock of Cranberry Lake.

I’d avoided this place for ten years. Avoided the memory of what it had been for me. Of what he had been for me. Tried to do everything I could to forget the moment he’d gotten down on one knee and asked me to be his wife, and then the moment that felt like its counterpoint after he left—when I’d come here for the last time and tossed my diamond into the lake.

I got out of the car, walking down the dock, not sure where I was headed, but hoping I’d figure it out when I got there. I’d nearly reached the end when I heard the sound of a car engine, of tires over gravel, and then the engine cut off, a door slammed, and I didn’t have to turn around to
know that it was Eric’s footsteps heading toward me. He knew all my moves, even before I did.

“What do you want?” I asked, not bothering to turn and face him, knowing that looking at him would make everything so much worse.

His voice scraped over my skin like sandpaper.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I don’t know what to do with that.”

I stared out at the water, trying to fight the anger bubbling up inside me. Why did this have to be so hard? Why did he keep doing this? Why did I keep letting him?

“It’s been my life for over a decade.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that. Thanks.”

He made a frustrated noise. “I know you’re pissed at me. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you. I don’t want to keep repeating the same mistakes.”

I turned, my heart clenching at the sight of him standing there before me, six-feet-Prince-Harry-hair-blue-eyes of everything I ever wanted and could never quite hold on to, no matter how hard I tried.

“Really? You’re doing a pretty good job of it.”

“I don’t know what I want, okay? I thought flying was what I was meant to do. I loved it. Love it. When I’m in the air, everything makes sense in a way it only ever has when I’m with you. And yeah, I’m confused. My life seems like it’s spiraling out of control, and I’m trying to hold on, but I’m afraid I’m holding on to the wrong things. I love my job, but I love you, too.”

God.

I’d thought I’d hardened my heart to him, thought I’d prepared myself for this, and now that it was here, I couldn’t keep him out. Those four words did stupid, stupid things to
me, making me hope, making me
feel
. I was angry at him, but this wasn’t his fault; it was mine. I should have known better from the beginning. I should have listened to my instincts and stayed away from him. He’d broken my heart once, and against my better judgment, I’d let him do it again.

“This was a mistake.”

His hand caught mine, holding me in place. “Don’t say that.”

I shook my head, tugging away. “It was. I knew better than to get involved with you again. I
knew
this would happen, but I thought I was older now, wiser, thought I could somehow survive you again, and you know what? I can’t.”

His voice broke. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“You keep saying that, but it doesn’t mean anything. You might not be trying to hurt me, but you
are
. So just let me go. We keep trying, but maybe we need to stop and realize this is never going to happen between us. We’re going around in circles and hurting each other in the process.” I took a deep breath, steadying myself, trying to get a handle on my traitorous heart. “You need to leave. You need to go back to Oklahoma and move on with your life. You need to let go.”

I need to let go.

His jaw clenched. “So that’s what you want? You want me to leave. You don’t ever want to hear from me again.”

I wanted him to pick me. I wanted him to
want
to pick me. I felt like the girl I’d been before, heart in my hands, waiting to see if he’d make the right choice, if he’d pick us, and
fuck that.
I was done waiting for him to wake up and see what was right in front of him. Done waiting for him to see
me
. If this wasn’t what he wanted, then it was time for both of us to move on.

“I’m asking for more time.” He ran a hand through his hair, his face pale. “I just need to figure everything out.”

“You had ten years to figure it out. And what? Would you have ever come back here if we hadn’t run into each other? Or would another ten years have passed?” My voice rose, the truth behind my words hitting me like a slap in the face. “Your friend died. And I’m sorry you lost him. Sorry you feel responsible. It’s not your fault, but you don’t see that, and you know what, I can’t change your mind if you don’t want to change it.

“You came back here broken and gave me the pieces, and like the idiot that I am, I put them back together for you. Because I’m stupid enough to love you no matter how many times you break
my
heart.” I shook my head, too worn out and sliced through for tears. “I did what I always do—I put you back together again. So go back to your life. Go home.”

He flinched.

“This isn’t your home anymore.
I’m
not your home anymore.”

“Don’t do this—not like this.” The plea in his voice might have meant something once upon a time. Now it was just another thing standing between me and gone, and I wanted to get the hell out more than I’d ever wanted anything. “Give me time. Just give me—”

“I gave you everything. There’s nothing left to give.”

“Becca—”

I stepped toward him and he froze, his big body braced for an invisible blow. I stopped when I was close enough that our clothes brushed against each other, the hem of my skirt flirting with the bottom of his khaki cargo shorts. My hand reached out, my palm connecting with the worn cotton fabric of his T-shirt, the breeze ruffling my hair so it brushed against his arm, grazing the freckles dusted there.

His heart beat beneath my palm, steady and sure, the rhythm of it predictable even as I struggled to understand
the
how
and
why
behind how it drove him, as I tried to decipher the language it spoke.

As I gave up trying.

I pressed my lips to his, his chest heaving on a sharp inhale and then back again as the breath flowed from his mouth to mine. My fingers curled around his tee, holding him toward me for an instant before I pulled back, the heel of my palm pushing him away.

I gave in to a moment of weakness, letting myself get a little lost in his blue eyes, the pain there scraping over me.

“Becca—”

“Good-bye, Eric.”

I turned, the sounds of my shoes hitting the rickety wooden dock, a series of slaps. I could feel his gaze on me, boring holes into my back, and if I turned around, if I hesitated, if I indulged the feelings raging through me—the hope and pain beating my breast—I wouldn’t have the strength to do this. It would be so easy to sink back into his embrace, to give myself over to the power of his touch. It would be so easy and would steal whatever chunk of my heart remained.

So I walked on. And on. Each step taking me farther away, each step leaving Eric firmly in the past whether I wanted him there or not.

They were the hardest steps I’d ever taken.