“All these years. She’s still so strong, so beautiful.”
“And she perfectly represents how I felt about you then and how I’m beginning to feel about you now.” My head whips away from the window. My lips part in shock. “I can’t go back in time and say what was between us would have made it. I was a terrified boy who didn’t know much beyond escaping the past and finding his future. I cared for you, and we made something beautiful out of that. I think forgiveness—on both sides—is key for us to give what’s still between us a chance.” Jennings yanks off his glasses so I know my answer isn’t just important to him; it means everything.
Shakily, words I didn’t know I’d had buried deep inside come out. “I can live on my own. I can survive. But if I could go back and give myself one gift, it would be you answering one of my emails. Just one. Just so we had a chance.” I take a deep breath, and my voice trembles. “Jennings, there was nothing to forgive you for. I just hope one day you can forgive me.”
Heat and hope descend on his features. Then a rueful acknowledgement of our location. “Fuck, now I’m the one who wishes we weren’t in this damn plane. I want to kiss you to show you I already have, but I won’t take that chance.”
Turning my face away from Jennings, I stare down at the glacier that always felt like it was tied to my soul. Then I murmur, “Even without our lips touching, I kinda think you just did.”
My head swiveling back, I catch the surprised look turn to cocky arrogance. I burst out laughing. “Come on, Ace. Show me more before it’s time to head back.”
Turning us, he turns again so I get one more magnificent view before saying to me, “The sky’s yours. Where do you want to go?”
“Where do you want to take me?”
The grin he gives me tightens my nipples and causes my thighs to clench together. “So many places, Kara. But for now?” He turns and heads us farther away from Juneau and the memories there.
And as we talk, I learn more about Jennings’s life now. What I find is that it sounds terribly lonely despite the crazy business he seems to thrive on. My life, with all of the horrific events of late, the ups and downs over the years, still feels like it was more complete than Jennings’s is.
And that makes me hurt for all of us.
We touch back down at the airport in the late afternoon after spending hours in the air talking. I now know more about the man Jennings has become than I ever imagined. And, I think ruefully, he knows more about me than I would have shared under any other circumstance. But damn him, I want to choke him when he mutters, “Good thing we got the clearance to land; we were riding on fumes.”
“Damn you, Jennings!” I screech, hauling off and punching him in his arm which has taken more than its fair share of abuse in the last four hours as the sky enveloped us and we got to know one another without anything between us.
He laughs, capturing my hand and bringing it to his lips while we’re at a stop as a parcel delivery flight that makes Jennings’s plane look like the one Kevin used to play with as a baby passes us by. “I need to get my computer out later,” I murmur.
“Why?” He drops my hand to put both hands back on the wheel to cross the now clear tarmac. “Want to tell your brother about your day?” I don’t feel upset about him bringing up Dean or the letters. It’s a comfort to have someone know.
“I’ll do that later, but Dean and Jed”—my voice softens—“were fanatics about backing up everything to the cloud. I have everything here, Jennings. All of Kevin’s pictures, his videos from when he was a baby to just a few weeks ago.” We pull into a hangar, and Jennings cuts the engine.
I don’t know what to do next, so I just wait until two strong hands reach over and lift the headset I’ve been wearing for hours off my head. “What made you remember that?” he asks me gently. His fingers trail down my cheek.
I smile widely. Of all the hundreds of questions I’ve answered today, that’s the easiest