The Reality of Everything - Rebecca Yarros Page 0,33

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The cover photo stopped me in my tracks. It was a group photo taken at a military formal, with four lieutenants in dress blues and their dates. Instead of one of those posed, formal pictures, it was a candid, everyone laughing, smiling—or in the blond couple’s case, kissing. I immediately recognized Sam, the girl who’d helped Morgan move in, standing near the center with one of the lieutenants.

Next to her stood the guy whose name tag read “Carter.”

And there was Morgan.

She was midlaugh in a hell of a dress, her nose scrunched and her head tilted slightly toward Carter. So beautiful, joyous, with none of the shadows that haunted her in her eyes. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, and his eyes were locked on hers in a look full of so much awe that I almost felt like I was intruding on something.

You are, dumbass.

But…I looked closer. There were no wings on any of the lieutenants. I sent up a little prayer that the wings in the truck were just a coincidence. Any kind of coincidence. I noted that the picture was taken two years ago December and minimized it.

“I’ll only look at a few more,” I mumbled, like it was any kind of excuse for what I was doing.

I clicked on the highlighted photos, and the first popped up full screen. It was the same truck, covered in mud in the middle of a field, and leaning against it was Morgan. Her head was tilted down, the brim of a maroon baseball cap covering her face, but I’d recognize those legs anywhere.

The next was a candid of Will wearing the same hat.

Next—shit. There was Morgan, her hair pulled back on one shoulder, pinning a set of shiny silver wings on his chest while he stood in his dress blues, looking stoically ahead.

Fuck. Those had to be the same wings on the truck’s visor.

Raking my hands over my hair, I let out a deep sigh. Then I closed out the social media page without looking at any of his posts and went back to the search, clicking on the news story listed second.

Local Pilot Killed in Afghanistan

The family of William Carter has confirmed the reports that he was killed this weekend in Afghanistan. Carter, an Enterprise High School alum turned West Point graduate, was serving his first tour overseas as a medevac pilot when he fell to small arms fire that followed a helicopter crash. Carter and his crew had been on a rescue mission for another downed aircraft.

According to a spokesman from his unit at Fort Campbell, Carter saved the lives of three other soldiers before his death, personally pulling four pilots from the cockpits of the dual crash, two of whom were already deceased. Going above and beyond the call of duty, and with blatant disregard for his own safety, Carter stood alone, discharging his weapon to protect the wounded soldiers, although he had been wounded in the crash himself. He was killed shielding the wounded men.

“I cannot put our grief into words at the loss of Lieutenant Carter,” Brigadier General Richard Donovan, the previous CG of Fort Rucker, told us by phone. “It doesn’t surprise me that he gave his life for others. That’s simply who he was.”

William Carter is survived by—

I put my iPad on the coffee table, having read more than enough.

There was only one reason a unit spokesman would be that detailed to the press, the same reason they used the deliberate phrasing of going above and beyond the call of duty, and with blatant disregard for his own safety.

Will wasn’t just a pilot, or the guy Morgan was obviously still in love with.

He was a fucking hero.

The kind who got awarded medals that took years to receive.

No wonder she was torn up as hell. She didn’t have to put the guy on a pedestal; he was already up there. Not only that, but the minute she realized what I did for a living, she’d push me so far away that we might as well live on opposite sides of the island. Not that I’d blame her.

I had my own hang-ups about the death of my parents—I couldn’t imagine how Morgan felt about the military, or helicopter pilots in general.

And I was both.

And given what I’d just read, I didn’t hold a candle to that guy.

Awesome.

I’d never been one for inferiority complexes. I was damn good at what I did. Hell, I was the best, and proud of it.