The Reality of Everything - Rebecca Yarros Page 0,63

fingers laced with mine as I held her hand awkwardly behind my back. Unless my shoulder dislocated, I wasn’t letting go.

I used every single one of those 257 steps to formulate a plan—to come up with a way to phrase the truth of what I did for a living so she wouldn’t run. By the time we reached the ground, my breathing had evened out, but my mind was blank.

We thanked John for letting us into the lighthouse after hours and walked back along the sidewalk to the parking lot.

“Thank you,” she said with a little sigh, smiling up at me. “That really was worth the hike.”

“My pleasure.” I tried to smile, but it came out weirdly enough that Morgan’s brows knit.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as we approached the car.

I tried to answer, but the words just weren’t there. She’d been brave enough to lay her shit out—well, everything but the cause of her anxiety attacks—and here I was fumbling for an explanation.

She raised her eyebrows at me when I opened her door, but she got in without protest.

I slid behind the wheel and fired up the ignition, then slowly pulled out of the lot.

“Did I do something wrong?” Her voice trembled on the last word in a way that broke my fucking heart.

“No. God, no. You’re perfect. That was perfect. Kissing you is…” I shook my head as we drove out of the park.

“Perfect?” she guessed, but her smile was shaky.

“More than. But I didn’t plan on that happening.” My left hand gripped the wheel as my right reached for hers.

“Right,” she replied with a touch of ice, retracting her hand and placing it in her lap.

The move was a direct gut-punch, and I more than deserved it. “What do you mean, right?”

She shrugged, staring out the windshield. “I mean I’m sure you didn’t plan on me basically jumping on you and kissing you like that. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” I snapped in surprise, my gaze jerking toward hers as much as possible while still keeping my eyes on the road. “Why the hell would you be sorry?”

“Because it’s obviously not something you wanted!” she exclaimed with a sharp note of self-loathing.

“Trust me, it’s definitely something I wanted. Something I still want.” I was tempted to put her hand on my dick to prove just how much want there actually was. “There’s just something you need to know about me first, and I was going to tell you tonight—”

“I already know you’re still in love with your ex.”

What?

“Hell no!” I pulled off the pavement, turning onto one of the many dirt roads that led to the beach and putting the car in park so I could turn to face her. This wouldn’t wait the five minutes it would take to drive us home. “I’m not in love with Claire. No fucking way.” Just the thought spiked my blood pressure.

Her face puckered with confusion. “You’re not?”

“No!”

“Then what could I possibly need to know before a kiss?” she fired back. “Are you a murderer?”

“No.” I scoffed.

“A kidnapper? Rapist? Do you have three other wives spread around the United States?” She shrugged in obvious frustration.

“I don’t have a single wife, let alone three—”

“Then what—”

“I’m a pilot!” Shit. Shit. SHIT. It fell out of my mouth so carelessly that I wanted to suck it back in, hit rewind on this moment, and do it all again.

She stilled completely. No blinks, no cursing me out, no glares, nothing. I wasn’t even sure she was breathing.

I sure wasn’t.

“You said you were in the coast guard,” she accused softly, still staring at me in what I assumed had to be shock.

“I am,” I assured her, leaning on the console between us. “I’m a search and rescue pilot for the coast guard.”

Her eyes flared, not in fear but with stark, palpable terror. “Helicopters,” she finally whispered.

“Helicopters,” I confirmed, swallowing the rising knot in my throat. “This wasn’t how I wanted to tell you. I was going to explain why I chose my career and—”

“Take me home.” The demand was icy and flat as she turned away from me.

“Morgan, please. Let me explain.” My mind scrambled with panic. If I could just get her to listen, then she’d understand, right?

She opened the door.

“Where are you going?” I reached for her elbow.

She turned just enough to glare at my fingers on her sweater.

I removed them immediately. Fuck, this wasn’t going well.

“If you won’t take me home, I’ll walk. I can see the lighthouse from my deck, which means if I