Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Fuck me if I wasn’t a bit nervous all of a sudden.
It didn’t escape my notice that Noa was watching me, all while sucking on his thumb on KC’s lap.
It also didn’t escape my notice that the box Archie was carrying toward me had “Handle with care, this side up!” written in all caps on every side of the blue snowman-printed wrapping paper.
Okay, let’s see what Noa and Kit had been up to.
I placed the box on my lap and tore off the paper, then carefully lifted the lid.
Kit leaned in and bit his thumbnail.
As soon as I saw what it was, I shook my head and didn’t fucking know how to react. Sweet mother of amazing boys. My heart thumped a little faster, and I had to swallow hard as I picked up the glass case with an indescribably important model aircraft set on a stand inside. Indescribably important to me. This was history. This was…Kit.
I remembered the first time I’d brought him down to Norfolk to meet my folks. He’d gotten stuck on a photo in their hallway, a picture of my old man and me, standing in front of this very jet. The T-38 Talon. The first jet I’d ever flown in, back when my pop was an instructor. Then the first jet I’d had my own pilot training in.
This right here was the last drop, the very thing that’d made me proclaim that I was going to be a pilot like my father one day.
I turned the case in my hands, and I grinned at the memories flooding me. All the nerves, the sleepless nights of studying, the first hours you got to log, the debriefs when you were so goddamn tired you almost fell asleep right where you stood.
This was why I couldn’t retire just yet. Not fully. I wasn’t ready for a morning when I woke up, knowing I’d never fly again.
I glanced at Kit, finding him smiling softly at me.
He did know what this meant to me. He knew exactly.
“I love you so damn much, boy.”
His smile widened. “I love you too, Daddy.”
“There’s more in the box, Sir,” Noa said. “Something that’s actually from me.”
I wasn’t ready to let go of the case. Hell, the hours Kit must’ve put in on this model—in secrecy, to boot. The work was just out of this world. Down to the smallest details and markings. Reluctantly, I let Kit hold the case so I could see what Noa had left me at the bottom of the box.
A smaller box. A much smaller box. I opened it and cocked my head, sure I’d seen this before. It was a tiny, pocket-sized book, and it reminded me of the album my ma kept of all the newspaper clippings… Shit, it was that album, only downsized to fit in the palm of my hand. I flipped through the pages and saw copies of every entry my mother had put in the original album. News article from the day I’d earned my wings, another article from the time I’d almost crashed in Iraq—a news story that’d made Luke worried sick. We’d only shared a single night together at that point, right before I’d deployed.
“Kit and I drove down to your parents’ a few weeks ago,” Noa revealed. “Your mom makes the best lemonade in the whole world, by the way.”
I smiled widely.
Kit took over. “She showed Noa the album, and he was like, yeah, let’s replicate this so he can have one at home too.”
“She could probably talk about you and your sister for weeks without a break.” Noa laughed softly. “I totally friended her on Facebook, just so you know. She and I are pals now.”
I couldn’t believe them. “I’m blown away,” I admitted. “Thank you, both of you.”
And yeah, my ma made the best lemonade in the world.
“Then perhaps you can stop calling me your oldest friend?” Franklin suggested.
I laughed.
Noa scratched his nose. “I don’t know, Mrs. Carter looks pretty young. How can I be sure you’re not older?”
“For heaven’s sake, I’m the same age as Colt, practically,” Franklin argued.
Noa rolled his eyes dramatically. “Praaactically. Whatever you say, boomer perv.”
Ah, Noa, the comic relief we loved and adored.
As I looked around the living room, it was easy to tell that the boys’ thoughtful gifts had taken the fight out of us. I bet it’d be a while before we terrorized the little ones again. At least a day or two.
I couldn’t see Reese’s and KC’s gifts, but I understood why Greer was hugging the ever-loving shit out of his boys. Next to his chair leaned a wrought-iron sign that said Finlay Ridge Family Farm. And…I could only assume Kit was responsible for the Osprey model kit—or as he liked to call it, a Jarhead Taxi. And Greer was certainly our favorite jarhead.