Page 322 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Always the class clown,” Betsy mutters in jest as she stands up with her plate in her hand.

“Can I help you clean up, Mom?” Grant asks as he scoots his chair back. “Emerson and I need to be getting back.”

“I thought you were off tomorrow,” Grayson says.

“I am, but I sprung this on Emerson without asking, so I’m sure she has other, more pressing things she needs to do.”

Every part of me wants to reject what he’s saying. It doesn’t matter how much I didn’t want to come here, because now I don’t want to leave.

There’s a feeling here I’ve missed for so very long.

A feeling I craved in my childhood that this house—that this family—provided to me.

Security.

That isn’t an easy thing for normal people to find in this world, let alone people with a past like mine. It’s often fleeting and habitually false.

It’s here and now that I’ve found it, I find that I’m scared to lose it.

“Head up. Wings out. What does that mean?”

I smile at Grant’s question and lean back on my hands as my legs dangle off the tailgate of Grant’s truck. “It was something my mom used to say to me. Originally, she told me that if I keep my head up and put on a brave face when I’m afraid, then the angels will put their wings out and use them to protect me.” I smile at the memory. “Over the years, it became shortened to head up, wings out. The first time I jumped, she made me carry it on a piece of paper in my pocket, as if it would ensure I made it safely back to the earth . . . so from then on, I said it before every jump. When she died, it kind of became my way of reminding myself she’s looking out for me. That it’s her angel wings keeping me safe.”

“Head up. Wings out,” he murmurs. “I like that.”

Silence falls between us for a few moments. “This is my favorite time of day to be here,” I muse as I stare at the lights of the runway

“Why’s that?”

“Because it’s quiet. There’s typically no one around, and if there is, it’s because they’ve filed a flight plan ahead of time and I already know about it. There are the lights of the runway and the rustling of the trees from the breeze. It’s even better when the moon’s full and the shadows are everywhere.” I fall silent, feeling silly but, for some reason, wanting him to know about one of the places I find peace.

“I can understand that. I have a place I like, too. It’s up in the hills, and when I go there, I can stare at the city’s lights below and the stars above for hours.”

There’s the baying of a dog in the far distance and then a reciprocated one from its echoes. This feels so normal, and I’m not sure why I’m not panicking that this is too close to breaking one of my rules, the one that demands I don’t do anything that seems like a date. But there’s a comfortable silence that I’m not used to, so maybe that’s why the anxiety seems to be missing.

Though, I did feel the same way—normal—at the Malone house tonight, which was far from quiet. With Luke and Moose and their little boy-big dog relationship, the constant ribbing between three brothers close as night but different as day, and the constant love felt between all members of the family, it was the most welcoming chaos I think I’ve ever seen.

“Who would have ever thought the three of you would be what you are today—a police officer, a firefighter, and a rescue pilot,” I muse, only realizing I’ve said it aloud when Grant’s chuckle rumbles through the night.

“I’m thinking I should be offended by that comment.”

“No. Not at all. It’s just . . . kind of cool.” My mind fills with memories I forgot I had. Of shy Grady and his books. Of loud Grayson and his daredevil stunts. Of responsible Grant always looking out for the two of them . . . and me.

He shrugs. “My dad instilled in us the need to serve.”

“And what does your mom think about that?”

“She’s tough.”

“Yeah, she is.” My smile is automatic when it comes to thinking of her.

“She’s a cop’s wife. She knows the drill. There have been a handful of times when I have known she has been really worried. Bad calls. Natural disasters. Accidents.”

“You sound so casual.”

“Like I said, she’s tough. Just as any woman who decides to take one of us on has to be.” He lifts his eyes to meet mine across the dimly lit night, and the look he gives me says the two words that don’t pass his lips: Like you.

Chills race over my skin despite the warm night air, and I’m nervous and cognizant that we are talking about ourselves more than I typically allow.