“Aaron, come on. I need to know. Just tell me what she’s doing.”
Aaron sighed. “She’s doing good, man. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I think it’s time for a little reality check here. You’re the one who left her, remember? You wanted to do this wild oats shit. And hey, I’m not judging. We both know I did my time being reckless and irresponsible, but maybe—”
“Reckless and irresponsible? What the fuck? I’m working full-time, paying my fucking bills, and seeing the world. How am I reckless?”
Aaron was silent for a moment. “Emotionally reckless.”
I snorted. “Okay Dr. Phil. Thanks for the advice!”
“You’re an asshole, Jack.”
For whatever reason, Aaron’s use of my proper name instead of my call sign—the nickname I’d been dubbed during my time with the Navy—sent me hurtling back to earth. I pushed away the rest of the bourbon and squeezed my eyes closed as I leaned down to brace my elbows on the smooth, marble topped wet bar.
My free hand raked through my thick hair and I exhaled long and slow. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, Aaron.”
“Quarter-life crisis?” Aaron suggested, a hint of humor infused in his voice.
I chuckled softly. “I think I passed that marker a while ago. Is there such a thing as a third-life crisis?”
“Apparently. And I got a front row ticket to the shit show.”
I frowned. “You’re a dick.”
Aaron laughed. “You know I’m right.”
I nodded. He was. I’d come undone and while I’d thought running to the East Coast and putting three thousand miles between Holly and my problems would help, it turned out that I was even more aware of them. I worked full time but flying cross-Atlantic trips left me way too much time to think. And obsess. If I was honest.
“I spent my whole damn life being this super solid, put together guy. I had my shit—and everyone else’s shit—handled.”
“That means me, right?” Aaron quipped.
I grinned. “Mostly.”
Aaron was like a brother to me and I’d bailed his ass out of trouble with our CO’s more times than I could count. He used to be the wild and crazy one. The good-time guy that everyone in our squadron idolized—or at least enjoyed watching with a tub of popcorn. Meanwhile, I’d climbed the ranks, kept my head down, and earned promotion and recognition. I wanted things calm, controlled, and predictable. Ironic considering my profession.
Somehow, since leaving active duty, all that resolve and clear-cut planning had gone right out the window and left my life in shambles. I didn’t know what I wanted. Where I was going. And even if I could figure those things out, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find a way to get them.
“When I was flying, it all seemed clear. Obvious, even,” I started. I crossed the room, gathering my thoughts, and sank down onto the edge of the king-size bed. “You know when you’re on a deployment and you find yourself in the belly of some ship in the middle of the fucking ocean, everything is clear. Any downtime is spent thinking about what you’re going to do when you get home again. I thought I’d have that kind of clarity if I put some space between me and home. But…”
Aaron gave me some space to continue. When I didn’t, he interjected, “Seems to me it’s pretty clear, Boomer. Whenever we talk, the only thing you can talk about is Holly. When are you going to admit that you’ve already got this shit figured out? What are you waiting for? Some skywriter to spread it across the sky over Big Ben? I mean, come on.”
I sighed. “I want Holly.”
There, I’d said it. To someone other than myself.
But what good did it do? I couldn’t have her. Not anymore. I’d fucked it up and some things couldn’t be undone.
18
Holly
I’d posted it right in the center of my fridge, the little black and white picture with a grey silhouette to the right. Of course it was more than shadow or outline. It was my new everything. My baby.
Jack’s baby.
According to the doctor, I was cruising through my first trimester and was due at the beginning of October. Even after spending the past month and a half trying to adjust to the idea of being pregnant, I still hadn’t quite managed to wrap my head around it. At least, not entirely. I knew a huge part of that was because I couldn’t talk it out or share with anyone else. I couldn’t tell anyone else without first telling Jack. He needed to know. But I wasn’t even sure where he was at the moment. I knew I could find out. All it would take was a phone call. He hadn’t changed his number. It was listed on the paperwork that arrived earlier that week. The paperwork that, once signed, would transfer his half of the house to my name.