Jack tightened his arms around her, breathing in the salt air and the scent of her shampoo, committing this moment to memory. Their beach. Their blanket. Their stars. Their forever was beginning right here, right now.
They slipped their bathing suits back on before sitting to watch more stars begin to appear in the darkening sky. Jack knew they needed to head back soon. Shiloh would expect Rachel home, and he needed to finish packing for tomorrow, knowing his parents would want their time with him. But he was reluctant to let this moment end, to break the bubble of peace they'd created here on their beach.
“I promise we’ll always have this.” He sealed it with a kiss, tender and full of everything words couldn't quite capture.
They gathered their things, shaking sand from the blanket and stuffing it into the beach bag. Jack kept Rachel's hand in his as they walked back toward where his truck was parked, the scrapbook tucked safely under his arm.
“Jack?” Rachel stopped before they reached his vehicle.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.” She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the moonlight. “For tonight. For every night. For making me feel brave enough to want this.”
Jack pulled her close one more time, savoring the feel of her against him. “Thank you for trusting me with it. With all of it.”
As they drove back toward Shiloh and Joseph’s house, Rachel's hand stayed in his, Jack thought of the final goodbye he knew would tear him apart even as he walked toward his future.
But he also thought about the scrapbook beside him, filled with proof that they'd already survived so much. About Rachel's courage in claiming what she wanted. About the promise they'd made to each other here on their beach.
Jack glanced over at Rachel, seeing her profile illuminated by the dashboard lights. She caught him looking and smiled, that beautiful smile that had captivated him since the first moment he’d seen her.
Four years suddenly seemed both impossibly long and remarkably short. Long enough to test them, short enough to endure. Yeah, they could do four years. And on the other side of those four years was everything they'd dreamed about.
6
Nine Years Ago
Jack stared at the calculus problem in front of him until the numbers blurred together. He'd been looking at the same equation for twenty minutes, and it still made about as much sense as it had when he'd first opened the textbook at oh-five-hundred that morning.
Around him, the study room buzzed with the low murmur of exhausted voices. Six other midshipmen sat scattered around the table, textbooks open, notebooks filled with scratched-out attempts at solutions. The overhead lights cast everything in a harsh fluorescent glow that made Jack's eyes ache.
“Anyone get number seventeen?” Wayne asked, his voice tight with frustration. He was a good guy, sharp as hell, but even he looked like he was drowning.
“Nope.” Sarah didn't even look up from her own work. “I'm still stuck on fourteen.”
“I got through seventeen,” offered Tony, “but I have no idea if it's right. Pretty sure I made it up halfway through.”
A few tired laughs rippled around the table. Jack scrubbed his hand over his face and tried to focus. He had this study session until thirteen hundred, then baseball practice until sixteen hundred, then maybe two hours to finish the rest of his assignments before lights out. And tomorrow it would start all over again.
He’d made it through plebe year and was now a midshipman in his second year, otherwise known as youngsters. And right now, he felt like a youngster.
“This is brutal,” Wayne muttered, echoing what they were all thinking.
“It's the Academy,” Sarah said, her tone flat. “It's supposed to be brutal.”
Jack knew she was right. They all knew it. They'd signed up for it. The relentless schedule, the impossible standards, the constant pressure to be better, faster, stronger, smarter. But knowing it didn't make it any easier to live through.
He pulled out his phone during the five-minute break and checked for messages. Nothing from Rachel. He'd sent her a text that morning, just a quick good morning, and she’d responded with her own version of a sweet good morning. Better than what he’d managed. She hadn’t sent anything since. Probably in class. Or maybe she was tired of waiting for him to have time to actually talk.
Jack shoved the phone back in his pocket and returned to the calculus problem.
By the time the study session ended, Jack's brain felt like mush. He grabbed his bag and headed for the door, already mentally preparing for practice. His shoulder ached from yesterday's pitching drills, and his legs felt heavy from the morning run, but he couldn't afford to show weakness. Not on the field. Not anywhere.
“Jack, wait up.”
He turned to find Melissa Grant catching up to him in the hallway. She was in his platoon, a year ahead of him, and one of the few people who seemed to have her shit together. She was tall, athletic, with short dark hair and sharp eyes that didn't miss much.
“Hey, Melissa,” Jack said, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.
