From Air (Wildfire)

Chapter Forty-Eight

CALVIN

Will gives me a suspicious look when I pull into the driveway. He sets aside his can of deck stain and wipes his hands on a rag hanging from his back pocket. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes things go as planned.” I head toward the back door.

“Those are called damn good days.”

“Amen,” I mumble.

He follows me into the house, pulling two beers from the fridge and handing me one.

“Thanks,” I say. “You have the whole weekend off?”

Will takes a long swig and then nods. “I attended a wedding yesterday.”

“Open bar?”

He chuckles. “Vineyard reception.”

“Wine.” My face sours while I set my beer on the counter. “Well, I need a nap.”

“Okey dokey.” Will gives me another weird expression.

But I don’t have the energy to give a shit, so I head upstairs and straight into the bedroom, where there’s a pair of silver heels on my bed.

I turn to have a word with my dumbass roommate for getting drunk and screwing some girl in the wrong damn room. But as soon as I turn, I find him leaned against my doorway, arms crossed over his gray T-shirt splattered with dark stains.

“Ran into our old roomie at the wedding yesterday.”

My jaw stiffens; just the mention of her unearths unwelcome pain.

“She’s been hiking the trails where it all happened over twenty years ago. Her dad’s dying of cancer. She’s as innocent and beautiful as the day she walked through our door. And she was a little too tipsy to be left alone after the reception, so I brought her here. But she wasn’t wearing her shoes by then, so I carried them inside, and she barely made it up the porch steps because I showed her that any guy could carry her shoes. When all this time, she dreamed of you carrying her shoes down some boardwalk after spending the night with her on a boat.”

Will glances at the floor, scraping his teeth over his bottom lip several times before shaking his head. “I love my job. I value my freedom. I thought there was nothing better than casual sex, breaking gaming records, watching football, and drinking good beer.” He lifts his gaze, eyes slightly narrowed. “But last night, I caught a tiny glimpse of what you let go. I didn’t see my old roommate. I saw a woman who loves you. And all I could think was how I’d give my whole fucking life to find my own Jaymes Andrews. I’d give my whole fucking life to be the guy who carries her shoes and makes all her dreams come true.”

He nods to the bed. “I wrote the hotel address on the bottom of her shoe.”

I take two steps before glancing at the bottom of her shoes. He also wrote the date. I peer back at him, eyes narrowed.

Will grins. “I knew she’d want to remember the date she lost her shoes just to find you.” He turns and struts toward the stairs. “It’s time, buddy. Go bring our girl home, or else I will burn down the shed, kick your ass to the curb, and put a ring on her finger myself.”

It takes me forty-seven minutes to step out of my truck. And when I do, it scares me more than any jump I’ve ever made from a plane. She’s the fire I will never control. If I let her burn, she can bring new life.

I knock twice on her hotel-room door and wipe my hand across my forehead while swallowing past the lump of doubt in my throat. It’s been six months. She shouldn’t be here. I should have found her first. This is a terrible idea. She’ll expect answers that I don’t have. So I turn, but it’s too late. She’s opening the door.

Her wide eyes blink several times before they shift to the heels in my hand. “Will is a liar,” she murmurs.

I don’t know what she means. All I know is my heart wants to throat punch me. It’s livid that I’ve kept it from her for six months. Every breath drops to the pit of my stomach—it feels like the first time I jumped. My body’s disconnected from everything else. I must remind myself to breathe.

She’s the breathtaking horizon.

The canopy that slows my fall.

The perfect place to land.

She’s the quietude after the last flame dies.

“Can we talk?” I manage past the boulder in my throat.

Her gaze returns to mine, and she smiles and steps aside.

I hand her the heels and make my way to the far side of the room, next to the window.

“Who wrote in permanent marker on the bottom of my shoes?”

“I’ll get to that.” I sit on the window ledge.

She frowns at the writing on her shoes for a few more seconds before dropping them onto her bag and giving me her full attention. She’s the best sight in the world, even in frayed denim shorts and a wrinkled white T-shirt. Not being with her has felt like a long trip from home.

“Is it ...” My cowardly gaze drifts to my feet, and my voice loses momentum. “Is it okay if I need you? Or is it too late?”

She doesn’t answer, so I’m forced to look at her.

Shaking her head, she sits on the end of the bed. “No. I’m not what you need.”

God, she fucking slays me. “Why?”

“Because I require more than you have to give. And I know this because it’s been six months, and Will stole my shoes to get us in the same room. That’s not fate. It’s manipulation.”

“Maybe it’s fate.”

She scoffs. “You don’t believe in fate.”

“You don’t know what I believe. And I know this because I don’t know what I believe anymore. But I know sometimes you need to step back and distance yourself from the situation. Sometimes, you need to walk away to gain perspective and see things clearly.”

“Are you telling me you’ve had a recent moment of clarity?”

“Yes,” I say with unwavering confidence.

Her expression bleeds with uncertainty.

I shrug. “What do you need?” I’m dying. My need to touch her has me in knots, a suffocating rope around my neck while the ground beneath me begins to crumble. I rub my hands along my jeans.

She eyes my fidgety hands. “Everything,” she whispers.

“Everything,” I echo, nodding several times before standing. “Okay.”

She shakes her head as I take a step toward her. “If you touch me ...”

I stop. “Then what?”

Her head continues to shake while emotion builds in her eyes. “Then you’d better be ready to accept all of me.”

Again, I echo her, “All of you.” Then I take another step.

She swallows hard and bats away the first tear. “You’d better be ready to give me everything .”

“Everything.”

“No. You can’t just repeat my words. You have to know what everything is.”

I shrug. “It’s everything.”

She tips up her chin, so brave and strong—so beautiful. And she’s everything I’ve convinced myself I don’t deserve.

But dammit, I want her anyway.

“ Everything is a wedding where you cry when you see me in my dress for the first time. And it’s supporting my career as much as I support yours. It’s digging my car out of the snow and doing all the dishes when I bake for you. It’s not outrunning me on my skateboard.”

I can’t hide my grin as I take another step.

She holds out a flat hand and shakes her head. “It’s a trip to the urologist to reverse your vasectomy.”

I don’t move. Not a blink. Not a breath.

“It’s rubbing my back and feet while I grow our babies. It’s sending me texts to let me know you’re alive. It’s only taking carefully calculated risks with your life because it’s no longer just yours. It’s football games and trips to the beach. It’s being a part-time homeschool teacher because we both know our kids will do weird but awesome shit, like studying the moon cycles and poring over books about world wars and sinking ships.”

Just when I think she can’t stretch her neck any further or set her jaw any firmer, she does. She waits patiently (and guardedly) for me to disappoint her again.

“Can you do that, Fitz? All of that?”

Again, I open my mouth and start to take the final step.

And again, she stops me. But she can’t stop her tears. “And my f-father is dying.” Her lower lip quivers. “And I know that makes you h-happy.” She sniffles and wipes her face. “But it’s crushing me.” She bites her lips together and gulps more emotion. “And I need you never to say anything hurtful about h-him again.” She holds her breath and shakes her head, voice barely audible. “I’m truly sorry. I know he’s responsible for your family dying. And I hate that he caused you that kind of loss and pain. And I hate that he won’t live long enough to be of sound mind, because I believe if he really understood what he did, his remorse would be so heavy that his heart would sink to the bottom of the ocean. I hate everything about that fire he started. I hate that he did it. But I don’t hate him .”

She sniffles, lower lip still trembling. “I’ve grown to love him in a complicated way, but Fitz ... I love you more. So. Much. More.”

I kneel before her, wedging my torso between her legs. First, I wipe her tears. Then, I rest the pads of my fingers on the back of her neck. “Everything,” I whisper, brushing my lips against hers.

All the tension drains from her body, and she leans in, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me. Jaymes isn’t the girl of my dreams. I never allowed myself that luxury.

She’s the girl who has taught me how to dream.

I don’t know what to say about her father. Fear of saying the wrong thing has a choke hold on me.

Her delicate hands frame my face; residual tears cling to her eyelashes. “Why is the date and hotel address on the bottom of my shoes?”

The rapid subject change draws a laugh from me. I glance over my shoulder at said shoes. “Will thought you’d want something to commemorate the day you lost your shoes so you could find me. He’s an idiot.”

“That’s so romantic.”

I roll my eyes.

“Do you think Mrs. Wilke will be my matron of honor?”

This. Woman.

How does she do it?

How does she open her heart so wide it can encompass the grief of losing her father and my need to breathe—my need to escape the gravity of the moment?

Not much brings me to tears, but Jaymes Andrews owns my emotions. She knows me better than anyone, including myself. And it has nothing to do with “getting to know me.” She simply gets me.

“I haven’t asked you to marry me. You’re getting ahead of yourself.” She remains statuesque, silently calling my bluff.

“I don’t have the ring,” I say, knowing that I’m going down. I know it. She knows it. But I think she’d be disappointed if I rolled over too easily.

She blinks. That’s it—a single blink.

I grin.

Her soft lips twitch into their own tiny smile, and her thumb slides along my cheekbone.

“For the record,” I continue, “I was coming to get you before I knew you were in town for the weekend. I didn’t consciously know it, but that beating thing behind my rib cage knew it. So we’re not giving Will credit for everything.”

The sparkle in her eyes shines a little brighter the longer I hold out. All she’s giving me is a knowing grin.

I can’t let her win. I’ll propose when I’m ready.

“I don’t know the moon cycles. I’m going to mess things up. I think I’ll be a good father, but we don’t even know if my testicles can be fixed.” Now I’m just grasping.

She breaks form just to give me a slow, reassuring nod.

“But I’m him.” My fingertips stroke the back of her neck. “When the world’s most fascinating woman stops by my work on a random Wednesday and offers me sex, I’m him . I’m the guy who will drop everything to have sex with her.”

My confession threatens her composure as she rolls her lips between her teeth to hide her smile.

I turn my head so her palm brushes my lips, and I close my eyes and kiss it. Fuck it. She wins.

“Be my wife, Jaymes Barbara Keane Lanette Andrews.”

When I open my eyes, more emotion fills hers.

I ghost my lips over her mouth and whisper, “I will love you like a hero. Jump without looking back. I will fight for you. I will save us .”

Her soft laugh comes out as a tiny sob. “You’re him.” She kisses me. “You will always be him .”