Chapter 24

When I come in the front door, my mama is sitting on the couch in her robe, wrapped up in a pile of blankets like a burrito. She's sipping a cup of hot tea.

"Hey Mama." I plant a big smooch on her cheek, noticing her skin feels slightly warm.

"Baby, where're your crutches?"

"I graduated, don't need 'em no more."

"That's wonderful," she smiles, looking brighter than I've seen her all week.

"What are we watching?" I snuggle beside her, grabbing one of the blankets for myself.

"Would you believe A&E is showing Gone With The Wind ?"

"Jesus Christ."

Mama smacks me upside the head faster than I can see it coming. She's an old pro. "You watch your mouth, son. That dog won't hunt round here, and don't you dare blasphemy my Scarlett!"

"Sorry, ma'am," I mumble, rubbing my head and trying my damnedest not to laugh. If she heard me around my friends, she'd blow a gasket.

I guess we're watching Gone With The Wind . Again . Now I see why the Bitches complain about Top Gun . After you watch anything fifty-something times, burning your TV and canceling your cable subscription seems like a great idea.

"Mama, remember them costumes you made for us so we could be Rhett and Scarlett for Halloween?"

"Good Lord," she laughs, her face lighting up with the memory. "You must have been about six or seven."

"You looked so pretty in that dress." My mama blushes, which is something I haven't seen in years.

"Well, I do declare, Rhett Butler, your tongue is as slick as a buttered casserole dish."

She's cute when she puts on her most dramatic southern voice. "Can I get you something to eat or drink?"

"No baby. I'm supposed to be fussin' over you, not the other way around."

"I don't mind at all, Mama. You've fussed over me for twenty-three years."

"Let's just sit and watch this movie together."

Her favorite part is coming up, where Rhett tells Scarlett he doesn't give a damn. I already know she's going to say it out loud. If this was on DVD, she would rewind it three times.

"Mama, have I told you how happy I am you're here?"

"Me too, my little sugared pecan." She leans into my side, and I wrap my arm around her blanket-covered body.

My body reacts physically the closer I get to the airfield. A boost in energy, my mood soars, and I feel excited about something for the first time in… in what seems like forever.

Adrenaline spikes when I walk into the hangar, and my heart feels like it's gonna beat right outta my damn chest.

"Rhett!" Randall Mallory jogs over and gives me a one-armed hug. Damn, he smells amazing. Like pine and leather? I'm not sure, but I love it. "I can't wait to show you what I've got." His words sound innocent enough, but it's the gleam in his gray eyes, and his sexy smirk, that add meaning to the words.

"Show me. I'm all yours."

He laughs wickedly, sliding his arm around my shoulders. Randall guides me to a small room packed with metal racks of equipment and packed parachutes.

"I guess you have some experience with these," he guesses, smiling. "You're out of commission as a jump instructor, but I bet you can pack a tight chute."

Is that a sex reference?

"With my eyes closed, sir."

"Drop the sir and call me Rand."

I spot a bucket of carabiners, rigging and paracord, chutes, and backpacks. I'm in my element, finally. This beats wrapping silverware and refilling condiment bottles at the Tavern by a country mile.

"You can help book appointments, print and file waivers, and schedule plane maintenance. My flight logs are a damn mess, and I've got a pile of updated certifications and regulations sitting on my desk collecting dust. Wanna help me out?"

His enigmatic smile is hard to resist, especially when he's speaking my language. "Hell, yeah. Point me in the right direction."

"Right there." He points through the hangar doors to the sweet little Cessna 172 parked on the landing strip.

"You want me to wash it or somethin'?" I just want to put my hands on her, even if I'm just holding a soapy rag.

"No," he laughs. "We're going for a spin. Climb in."

Holy fucking nitrous! I've never moved so quickly, even with my bum leg. I click the seatbelt and blood whooshes in my ears. My cheeks hurt from smiling. I feel alive , and I'm not even in the air yet.

Rand settles into the pilot seat beside me and points out the various gauges and levers, explaining everything as he runs through his preflight checklist. He motions for me to put my headset on, and then his smooth voice flows into my ear like honey.

"Hang on. I'm about to blow your mind. Let's get you back in the air where you belong."

I've never heard sweeter words spoken. Back in the air. Yup, that's exactly where I belong.

The roar of the engine is deafening, barely muted by the headphones. My stomach flips with the increase in altitude, something I haven't felt in a long time. Too long. Goddamn, I've missed this.

"I'm glad I could give it back to you."

Shit, I said that out loud? I give Rand a thumbs up and he smiles beautifully and points out his window. I have to lean over his lap to see. The Blue Ridge Mountains stand tall and proud, spread out like a blue-gray blanket over thousands of miles. Puffs of white smoke billow into the thin air.

His voice tickles my ear. "You should see it from this height in the Fall."

"Can't wait."

By the time we land, my cheeks are rosy and sore, and my perma-grin's gonna last all day, no matter what happens. I'm exactly where I'm meant to be. I'm home.

Rand goes on about my PPL license for private pilots, logging flight hours, and how next year I'll be ready for my commercial license and working toward my flight instructor certification. His words rush by like wind at gale force speeds, which is exactly how fast my head is spinning, but I'm totally on board with whatever he has planned.

If I can't jump, I'm gonna fly.

Like he said, I belong in the air.

The Footlocker is exactly how I remember it—nothing about this bar has changed in the time I've been gone. In fact, everything about Fayetteville looks the same. No new construction, nothing went out of business, just the same old, same old, different day. It's bizarre because I feel as if everything has changed for me, almost as if I'm becoming a different person.

My priorities have shifted. Whereas I used to live for the moment, the next thrill, taking life day by day, I now see the bigger picture. I never imagined I would fall for a man. Hooking up with them, definitely, but always on the down low, never out in the open. No longer am I a soldier trained to take orders instead of thinking for himself, trained to jump on command. I'm now learning to fly, to soar above the clouds and pilot my own plane, to chart my own destiny.

I feel like the world is wide open and full of possibilities. It's a little scary, but for an adrenaline junkie like me, it's thrilling.

My first thought when I stepped off the plane, still high from the rush, was to drive four hours to Fayetteville and tell my best friends, my brothers. If anyone can understand, it's them. They still have what I lost, and they know how much I loved it, what being in the 82nd meant to me. Airborne was my whole life, and when I lost that, I lost everything. I felt like my life was over. I couldn't imagine there was another path waiting to be discovered.

"Marsh! Get your ass over here," Ormen shouts across the bar when he spots me.

They've already bought the first round and my glass is waiting by the empty chair beside Warren. "You won't believe what I did today."

"Jacked your cock?"

"Stubbed your toe?"

"Joined the Peace Corps?"

"You're all way off base. I flew in a Cessna. I'm getting my pilot's license! In the meantime, I'll be working at the flight school, packing chutes and booking appointments." My face stretches into a perma-grin just talking about it.

Villaro laughs. "A jump instructor who doesn't jump?"

"Fuck off," I snort, showing him my middle finger.

Warren claps my back. "That's awesome, man. Can't wait to go up with you."

The conversation turns back to Army life, to the unit and barracks drama, and I listen with a smile, but I've got nothing to contribute because that's not my life anymore.

Riggs's words come back to haunt me. ‘Life will go on without you, and you'll be watching from an outsider's perspective, and every time they mention anything to do with the Army, you'll feel bitter and resentful.'

Fuck, I hate it when he's right. Except I don't feel bitter, just sort of lonely and sad that this isn't my life anymore, and that they aren't a part of my new life, my new friends, and that I still haven't told them I'm falling for Riggs.

Brian died with his secret, but I don't want to be that guy that dies with regrets. I want to live, I want to love, and I want to do it out loud.

"Hey, listen up. I got somethin' I wanna say." All heads turn to me as the conversation dies. My stomach solidifies into granite. I think I might be sick before I can even spit the words out. "I'm bisexual," I blurt, my heart pulsating in my throat. "I like girls and guys."

"I think we know what it means, genius," Ormen replies.

"Well, what you don't know is that I'm dating a guy. His name is Riggs. Navarro Riggs."

Warren asks, "That therapist from the gym? The one that wouldn't help you on your feet?"

I nod, swallowing hard past the constriction in my throat.

"He's badass! Reminds me of my drill sergeant in basic," Villaro cracks.

I roll my eyes, snorting at his assessment of Riggs. He's not far off. Warren and Ormen are grinning, like they're impressed I kept a secret this long. "Are we good?"

Ormen clasps my hand. "Of course we're good. We're brothers."

Warren straight up cackles. "You dirty dog. He's gonna put a hurting on you, boy. You're gonna need more physical therapy after he's done with you."

All my fears pop like a balloon and I dissolve into laughter with them as they make joke after joke about my sex life. I wish Brian were here, that he could have found the courage to do what I did and come out the other side better for it.

We shoot the shit for another hour, and another round of beer. "Hey, I'm gonna take off. I've got a long drive home."

"Do you want to crash with us? I bet we could sneak you into the barracks."

"No," I laugh. "I got someone waitin' for me at home. I'd rather share a bed with him than you."

As I head out to my car, I feel relieved that it went so well. It feels like shedding a fifty-pound rucksack from my shoulders after carrying it for a fifteen-mile run. If that fifteen-mile run lasted the last four years. I guess they truly are my brothers because they were definitely tested tonight.

The drive flies by quickly as I sing along to the radio. Peter Cetera's ‘ In Your Eyes' comes on—a classic—and I turn the volume up. The words remind me of Riggs. The light… the heat… I am complete. God, I can't wait to see him. I bet he's in the hot tub, buck-ass naked and waiting for me. The roads are empty at this time of night, and I step on the pedal a little harder, trying to shorten my ETA. At about the halfway mark, I pick up the phone and dial my mama. It's late, but I'm dying to tell her about my day, but the phone just rings and rings before it goes to voicemail.

"Mama, it's me. You won't believe the incredible day I had. I can't wait to tell you about it. Call me tomorrow mornin' first thing. No, never mind. I'll come by and have breakfast with you. Night Mama, love you."

It's almost midnight when I finally make it home. Riggs isn't in the hot tub. He's sitting at the dining table in the dark, his silhouette backlit by moonlight shining through the sliding glass doors.

"You're still up."

"You'd know that if you'd have called." His tone sounds ominous, and I immediately go on the defensive.

I set my keys down on the counter, cautiously moving closer, and gauging his mood. "You're pissed."

"No, Rhett. I'm not pissed."

He says it too calmly, and I can only guess the words on the tip of his tongue that he hasn't spilled. "I guess I got wrapped up in my head and lost track of time when I was drivin' and then, before I knew it, I was here."

Riggs comes to his feet, sliding his hands in his pockets. He just stands there, feet braced wide, waiting for me to spill it.

"I had the most amazin' day. Rand took me up in the air in one of his planes. Riggs, you wouldn't believe how good it felt. I was flyin'! At the mercy of the crosswinds. It rattled the plane every which way but loose, and the vibration of the engine, and the roar, it was deafening. He gave me these headphones to wear, and it muffles it some, but not completely, just enough to make it bearable. But you're still in the moment, you know? Still feelin' and hearin', and experiencing everything, and the thrill of it, fuck, I can't even describe the thrill of it."

I feel myself getting all worked up again just talking about it, yet Riggs is as calm and collected as I've ever seen him. "And then what?" he asks.

"And then… I called up the guys 'cause I had to tell them. Couldn't wait to share it with them. I mean, if anyone knows what I'm missin', and how bad it hurts not to jump anymore, it's them, you know? They were worried about me after they visited and I just wanted to tell them I think it'll be okay. If I can't jump, maybe I can fly. I've never felt so alive, not since…"

My words die off with my next breath. We both know how long it's been since I've felt alive. I don't have to remind either of us.

I wish I could get a read on him. I'm starting to feel like I stepped in deep shit. He moves closer, but even when there's less than three inches separating us, it feels like the widest canyon.

"I'm not pissed at you. I'm just angry with myself for believing this could work. I knew better, but I wanted this so badly, and I convinced myself that we could make this work."

I slide my hands in the pockets of my jeans 'cause I'm so fucking nervous I don't know where else to put them. "We can! Of course we can. I just…" My fingers brush against a slip of paper, and I pull it out of my pocket to see what it is.

Riggs frowns and grabs it from me. "What's this?" I can't see 'cause there's no fucking lights on! "Really, Rhett? Tell me again how you were just out drinking with the guys."

"I don't even know what that is! I've never seen it before." He flicks on the dining room light and holds up the slip of paper so I can see. A phone number written in pink ink.

Fuck. Fucking fuck. Triple fuck.

"The waitress must've slipped it in with the change she handed me. She was makin' eyes at me all night."

Riggs snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. You're a wild card, and I just can't keep betting on you and gambling with my heart."

My heart pounds furiously as I work myself into a panic. Ten different scenarios run through my head, and they all end with Riggs dumping my ass. "No, I'm not a wild card, I'm a sure fuckin' bet! You can trust me. I swear it." Adrenaline courses through my blood as my fight-or-flight reflex kicks in 'cause I feel like I'm being threatened. Threatened with losing everything I care about, again, and it's just too much for me to stomach. I place my hands on his hips, but he takes a step back. "Riggs, you've got to listen. Believe me when I tell you I'm all in, I want this. I want you . I even told the guys about you tonight."

"I should've been the first person on your mind when you left the airfield. If you were all in like you say you are, I would have been the first person you called. You would have come straight home and told me. I'm thrilled for you, I really am. Thrilled that you found something you love as much as you loved jumping, but if I could just be second, and not tenth behind flying… that's all I'm asking. You couldn't even give me that."

I'm still stuck on the fact that he referred to his home as mine. It is, I feel like it's home, the first one I've had since I left my mama's house, and now he's taking it away from me. Tears burn my eyes, and my panic heightens, making my stomach swirl with nausea.

"Riggs, please. Just listen—" The ringing of my phone cuts off my words. I reach for it, noticing how Riggs glares like he expects me to ignore it. "I'm not puttin' the phone before you, but it's late, and it might be important. I've got to answer this."

He bites off a curse as I pull it from my pocket. "Hello?"

"Rhett, it's Mandy."

"Hey, Mandy. It's late, is everythin' alright?" My eyes are on Riggs, with his hands on his hips. He looks concerned now, or curious.

"It's your mom. They rushed her to the hospital."

"Who? When? Why?" I pull the phone from my ear and hit the speaker so Riggs can listen.

"I was just getting in bed when I heard your smoke alarm go off. It just kept going and going. So I knocked on your door, but she didn't answer. I had to call the paramedics."

All the blood drains from my face, and my mind freezes. My breath freezes in my lungs. I don't even know what else to say or ask because I'm just… frozen.

Riggs jumps into action, taking the phone from me. "Did you overhear the paramedics say anything?"

"No. They carried her out on a stretcher, though. They took her to Mission Hospital in Asheville."

"We're on our way," he barks. "Come on, Rhett."

Tears stream from my eyes, and I can't see, I can't think, and I damn sure can't move. Riggs steps in close to me, gripping my shoulders. "Listen to me, soldier. I need you to be sharp and strong right now, so you can help me take care of your mama." He tilts my chin up to meet his eyes. "Can you do that for me?"

I shake my head no and he smiles, this sort of sad, half smile, which totally convinces me nothing is going to turn out all right.

"I need you to do it, anyway. Come on. Your mama is waiting on you. She needs you."

And I need you. Promise me I can count on you.