Eyes Turned Skyward (Flight & Glory #2)

Eyes Turned Skyward (Flight & Glory #2)

by Rebecca Yarros
Eyes Turned Skyward (Flight & Glory #2)

Eyes Turned Skyward (Flight & Glory #2)

by Rebecca Yarros



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Notes From Your Bookseller

Book two in the Fight & Glory series delivers on the humor and heart. With complex characters and a simple, yet endearing storyline, this is the kind of emotional journey that makes for a meaningful read.

Life's too short to play it safe...

Since her sister's death, twenty-year-old Paisley Donovan has been treated like delicate glass by her parents. She may share her sister's heart condition, but nothing will stop her from completing her Bucket List, even if it kills her. And it almost does, until Jagger Bateman pulls her from the ocean and breathes more than air into her lungs—he sets her soul on fire.

Jagger is enrolled in the country's toughest flight school. He's wickedly hot, reckless, and perfect for a girl looking to live life to the fullest. Except that Paisley is the commanding general's daughter, and her boyfriend is Jagger's biggest rival. Now Paisley must decide just how much to risk for a guy who makes her heart pound a little too hard.

They're flying through dangerous territory—and one wrong move could make them crash and burn...

The Flight&Glory series is best enjoyed in order.
Reading Order:
Book #1 Full Measures
Book #2 Eyes Turned Skyward
Book #3 Beyond What is Given
Book #4 Hallowed Ground
Book #5 The Reality of Everything

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781633751491
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Publication date: 12/08/2014
Series: Flight & Glory Series , #2
Sold by: Macmillan
Format: eBook
Pages: 342
Sales rank: 6,831
File size: 2 MB

About the Author

About The Author

Rebecca Yarros is a hopeless romantic and lover of all things chocolate, coffee, and Paleo. In addition to being a mom, military wife, and blogger, she can never choose between Young Adult and New Adult fiction, so she writes both. She's a graduate of Troy University, where she studied European history and English, but still holds out hope for an acceptance letter to Hogwarts. Her blog, The Only Girl Among Boys, has been voted the Top Military Mom Blog the last two years, and celebrates the complex issues surrounding the military life she adores. When she's not writing, she's tying on hockey skates for her kids, or sneaking in some guitar time. She is madly in love with her army-aviator husband of eleven years, and they're currently stationed in Upstate NY with their gaggle of rambunctious kiddos and snoring English Bulldog, but she would always rather be home in Colorado.

Rebecca Yarros is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than fifteen novels, with multiple starred Publishers Weekly reviews and a Kirkus Best Book of the Year. A second-generation army brat, Rebecca loves military heroes and has been blissfully married to hers for more than twenty years. She’s the mother of six children, and she and her family live in Colorado with their stubborn English bulldogs, two feisty chinchillas, and a cat named Artemis, who rules them all.

Having fostered, then adopted their youngest daughter, Rebecca is passionate about helping children in the foster system through her nonprofit, One October, which she cofounded with her husband in 2019. To learn more about their mission, visit oneoctober.org.

To catch up on Rebecca’s latest releases and upcoming novels, visit RebeccaYarros.com.

Read an Excerpt

Eyes Turned Skyward

By Rebecca Yarros, Karen Grove

Entangled Publishing, LLC

Copyright © 2014 Rebecca Yarros
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-63375-149-1



22. Ditch responsibilities and head to the beach.

Breathe and drop the towel. That's what people did at the beach, right? They wore swimsuits and didn't hide behind enormous beach towels. You can do this. I could be fierce. I used to be, I just had to remember how.

I sucked the humid Florida air past my lips, tasting salt from the ocean. My heart skipped, and I gripped the towel tighter.

"She was afraid to come out of the locker. She was afraid that somebody would see," Morgan sang next to me, her southern drawl even more pronounced than mine.

"You hush up," I whispered. I was embarrassed enough without her making a scene.

"You promised, Paisley." Morgan tugged at the towel, but I held firm.

I swallowed, trying to keep lunch in my stomach. "I know, and I'll do it. I just need a minute."

Her exaggerated sigh did nothing to calm my nerves. "It's just a bathing suit."

"It's a bikini, Morgan, which is most definitely not just a bathing suit." I dug my toes into the white sand.

"You've got an amazing body. I don't know why this is such a big deal." She adjusted her sunglasses and pulled back her ebony hair, her towel long since replaced by unwavering confidence. I may have agreed to a two-piece, but my boy shorts and a halter-style tankini top covered a heck of a lot more than Morgan's triangle confection. "Look, it's our one day away from everything before classes start. This was your idea."

"Right." Yes, one day of wildness, freedom, where I wasn't just a Donovan. Besides, the beach was the easiest box to check on the bucket list, and I was down to 231 days.

"Paisley, no one cares who you are here or what you're wearing. There are no expectations but your own, just another college girl at the beach. Pretend you're not ... you know ... you." She waved her hand at me. "Now drop that towel before I pitch a fit."

Pretend. Yeah, I could do that. Deep breath. I straightened my posture like Mama was watching and let go of the towel like she wasn't. Now, if only I could have shed my inhibitions with it. Morgan nodded with approval, and we headed toward a group of acquaintances from school.

"Hey, y'all!" Morgan called, laying out our beach towels at the edge of the group. I gave a small smile and wave, then turned down a beer, which Morgan claimed. By the looks of it, they'd all been drinking for a while. I sprawled out on my towel and debated wrapping myself in it. I was never allowed to be this exposed at home. What would people think? Mama's voice burrowed through the sunshine.

I ran my finger down the line of my sternum. No, I'd bare this little bit of skin while it was still pretty, before I let the surgeons get their hands on it. And really, it didn't matter what the outside of my body looked like, not when it was failing from the inside.

"You're going to burn that fair skin of yours," Morgan lectured, handing me a bottle of SPF 90. I thought twice, then slipped off my purple watch, stashing it away before slathering the lotion everywhere I could reach. I didn't want it to get all oily.

Oh, now that was a lie. I just didn't want to wear the darn thing.

"You blondes always seem to burn faster." A deep voice spoke from behind me.

I craned my head and lowered my sunglasses. The guy looked like every other college-aged guy I saw, nothing special or descriptive. Maybe being with Will blinded me to other guys, but I certainly didn't get the hormonal rushes Morgan cooed about.

Crud. He was waiting for a response. Don't embarrass Morgan. I gave an easy smile. "Sunscreen saves the day."

Sunscreen saves the day? Kill me now.

He gave me the "Wow, you're a total dork" look I knew well but masked it with a smile. "Right. Can I ... uh ... get your back for you?"

"I'd rather you didn't," I answered, shorter than I meant to.

"Oh, okay?" he said and quickly retreated.

Morgan's sigh reminded me how bad I was at this socializing stuff. "Just because you're pretty much married to Will doesn't mean a guy can't put sunscreen on you."

"Being together for a year isn't married, but I'm not about to let a stranger put his hands on me."

She spread the lotion across my back, careful to cover me completely. "I know, darlin'. How is it being in the same town with him?"

It took me a second to mull that over. "It's nice. I'm still getting used to seeing him more than a couple days every few months."

"Well, y'all rocked that long-distance stuff." She motioned to my Kindle. "Just don't forget about the real world, okay?" She gawked past me to a crowd of guys playing Ultimate Frisbee near the surf. "Like that piece of eye candy!"

I peeked to see what had her drooling like a hound. "You know, there's more to a man than how he looks. You have to know what's—"

Sweet Lord, have mercy.

My Kindle hit the sand with my jaw. I'd never seen a man so beautiful, so raw in energy, or so ... delicious looking. He stood easily over six feet tall and had no problem leaping for the Frisbee. His blue board shorts hung low on his hips, and his chest was beautifully bare, colored in tattoos that stretched across his abdomen, half his chest, and down one arm. The Florida sun caressed the line of his carved abs, giving him a fine sheen of perspiration that made his skin glow.

His blond hair was cut close, but long enough to wave, and it framed a gorgeous face. Strong nose, angular lines of his cheekbones, a solid chin, and oh ... dimples in his cheeks when he grinned. He belonged on a beach. I halfway expected to find a label on him that said "Mr. California." He looked laid-back, even by Florida standards.

My heartbeat sped up, my lips parted, and my hands itched to touch him. Heck, I was shocked my thighs hadn't popped open of their own volition. What color were his eyes? I couldn't tell from this distance, and maybe that saved me from the utter disgrace of admitting that I was attracted to someone other than my boyfriend.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen someone and simply ... wanted, but I sure did now.

Mr. California's eyes focused on us when Morgan whistled through her fingers.

"Morgan!" I hissed.

"Oh, lighten up, Lee. I whistled; I didn't drop his pants. Not that I'd mind that."

Heat raced through my cheeks, not because her suggestion embarrassed me but because in that second I envisioned myself sliding those board shorts down over his hips and—No! What on earth was wrong with me?

Will. Will. Will. I forced his face to my mind, his close-cropped brown hair, his gentle, amber-colored eyes. Yes, Will. Not golden beach god over there.

"You could say hi, Lee," Morgan suggested. "Flirting never hurt anyone."

"No, thank you." First, I wouldn't do that to Will. Second, what would I even say to someone like that? Hi, I'm Paisley. I'm twenty years old, and my heart is a ticking time bomb. Want to be friends? I thought not.

"There's Luke! Do you want to hop on the WaveRunners with us?" Morgan asked, waving back at a guy near the water.

"I'd rather not. There's a red flag out." Hence a giant vat of death just hankering to swallow me whole.

"That one's just the warning; the beach isn't closed or anything."

"I'm just not a fan of the water."

"Okay, well, I'm getting your feet in the water sometime today, spoilsport!" She took off with a smile and a wave.

I snuck a glance over at Mr. California, who was surrounded by at least four different bikini-clad girls. It was no surprise; boys like that attracted attention. Heck, I was happy with Will, but Mr. California had my attention, too.

I sighed. There would be no reading if staring at him was an option. I traded my Kindle for my hot-pink sarong and stood, wrapping it around my waist.

The pier jutted out over the crystal blue-green water, and I wandered over to it, keeping my eyes fixed in front of me and not on the Frisbee players. That would never be me, running up and down the beach for fun. I couldn't run like that if my life depended on it. Actually, my life depended on me not running.

A fresh wave of heat wafted off the wooden boards of the pier before a gust of wind took it away. My sarong billowed out behind me as I explored, entranced by the rhythm of the waves.

When I reached the middle of the deserted pier, I leaned on the railing, my hair whipping me in the face and sticking to my lip balm.

Someone touched my bare shoulder. I turned, pulling my hair off my face. It was one of the guys from Morgan's group. He was massive and scared the daylights out of me when he swayed, obviously drunk, and nearly knocked me over. "You're Lee, right?" he slurred, his eyes vague.


"Morgan told me to get your feet wet." He bent down and plucked me right off my feet. Ugh. He smelled like a brewery.

My muscles stiffened in protest, and I pushed away from him. "I'd really rather not. I'm fixin' to go read. Could you please put me down?" I tried to be polite, but when he started for the other side of the pier, panic set in.

"She said you'd say anything to get outta going in the water." He laughed, his drawl sounding more sloshed than southern.

"Please, don't!" I cried out, shoving away from him in earnest.

"Oh, come on now, it's just a little water. You can fix your hair once you're out." He leaned his head over the side of the pier, and my eyes popped wide at the twenty-foot drop. "This looks faster than walking over to the beach, doesn't it?"

"No!" I screamed, throwing everything my five-foot-two frame had against his concrete arms. "No! No! No!" I kicked, thrashing in his arms, but there was no give. My heart pounded and my throat closed up.

He laughed, like this was some kind of joke. "Aw, girl, you know you'll love it once we're in! You go first."

He climbed up onto the rail, and I had to say it—keeping this embarrassing secret was going to get me killed. "Please! I can't swim!"

He wouldn't stop laughing as he swayed unpredictably, leaning over toward the water.

"No, really, I can't!" I stopped fighting and started clinging. He wouldn't drop me over. He wouldn't. Things like this didn't really happen.

His hands gripped my waist and pulled me away from him. "In you go!" It seemed effortless to him, taking away my last vestige of safety, and he tossed me into the air.

Everything stilled. My heart ceased its beat as I was airborne. The fall took forever and was over before I could blink.

I screamed the whole way down.

Cold water engulfed me, and didn't let go. The impact stole the air from my lungs, and I clung to what was left, fighting the instant urge to suck in. I sank, my head far beneath the surface, but I was scared to open my eyes. My feet hit bottom with a soft impact, and I pushed up with every ounce of strength I had, clawing at the water. Momentum brought me to the surface, and as I broke it, I gulped in a breath and screamed for help.

The next wave smothered my cry, hurling me under in a twisted death grip. My body was jerked in the opposite direction of where I wanted to go. Salt water burned my nose. I kicked viciously, reaching for the surface. Where was it? I flipped over again. And again.

No surface. No air. Where was it?

My heart raced in a dangerous beat, too fast. Way too fast. If I wasn't going to drown, I was going to have a heart attack. But I still have 231 days!

A wave swept me to the surface, and I flung my head back, desperate for air. I spent a precious second pulling the hair from my mouth to get to the sweet oxygen and took a gasping breath. I couldn't manage a scream before I was swept down again, my mouth full of seawater.

The urge to breathe in overwhelmed every other thought, but I couldn't do it. I swept my hands up, trying to get to air, but the wave wasn't bringing me up this time. No, another one came, knocking me farther down. My chest was going to burst if I didn't let the pressure go. It would be so easy just to let it go. I'm going to die out here.

It was supposed to be peaceful, right? Drowning? This wasn't peaceful. This was terrifying, and it hurt. I wasn't giving in that easily or drowning because some drunk boy threw me into the ocean. Mama wouldn't survive it. Peyton would have fought ... if she'd had that chance.

Her face brought me the fight I needed, those green eyes that mirrored my own. I kicked harder, aiming for the sparkling surface above. Kick harder, Paisley. Don't give up. Not now. I heard her voice; lack of oxygen was shutting down my brain. It wouldn't be long before my reflexes took over and I either lost consciousness or sucked in a lungful of the Gulf of Mexico.

Another wave assaulted me, stealing the last bit of oxygen from my lungs. There was nothing ... left. Which direction was up? Where ... was I? Don't breathe in ... don't ...

I heard my mother's voice, but that was impossible, right? "Paisley, stop that nonsense. Peyton will always be older. That's never going to change. When you're six, she'll be eight. When you're sixteen, she'll be eighteen. Even when she's eighty-two, she'll be older."

"No, she won't. She'll be dead."

The wave tossed me into the pier, and I felt the impact on my shoulder before my head struck the wood.

Then I felt nothing.



One day I'm not going to fail, and it's going to shock the hell out of you.

Holy shit. Did that guy just throw that pretty little blonde off the pier?

I ditched the redhead in my arms and jumped the last two stairs onto the deck. Run. My strides consumed the distance to the railing where she'd gone over, my arms pumping furiously. Get there. Faster.

The asshole had thrown her into the water when she'd begged him not to. What the fuck was he thinking? Goose bumps erupted over my skin as she screamed, the sound tearing through me long after the water covered her.

I shoved the juicehead out of my way as he stood there gawking like he hadn't been the one to drop her twenty feet to the ocean. The waves weren't fucking around today, obscuring the normally clear water. I climbed the railing and balanced on the edge, scanning the water. Come on, Little Bird, where are you?


Her blond hair popped above the surface for a priceless second before a wave dragged her under again, but it was long enough for her to cry out.

"Get help!" I shouted at the fumbling idiot, whose slack-jawed expression suggested he might finally understand what he'd done.

Stepping out into nothing, my arms circled to slow my impact. A deep breath, and I cut into the water, submerging with brutal force.

I scanned around me fruitlessly before I had to get to the surface and breathe. One breath later, a wave came in and pushed me toward the beach, away from where I'd seen her. The hell with that. I wasn't leaving without her.

The salt water scraped my eyes as I dove, kicking deeper. There she is! Limp, her arms semi-raised, her hair floated in a morbid halo, the blond catching the light from the sun through the water. Fuck. I was not too late. I refused to fail. Not in this.

I swam down to her, looped one arm around her waist, and kicked furiously for the surface, my lungs burning. Give me skates and ice and I'd decimate everyone, but I was mediocre in the water. Mediocrity wasn't something I handled well.

We burst through to the air. I rolled onto my back, pulled her face up onto my chest, and kicked for the shore. A wave washed over us, sending water rushing up my nose, but I brought us back to the surface, keeping my arm like a vise around her. She wasn't breathing, but she wasn't too blue yet.

My legs caught the material of her skirt, and I untied the knot at her waist, letting it wash away. A few dozen sure, solid kicks later, we reached where the waves stopped fighting us and instead pushed us closer to the shore. Just another minute. She could make it another minute.

Stark relief gutted me when my feet touched the sand. I lifted her into my arms, trying to keep her head balanced against my shoulder. Still not fucking breathing.


Excerpted from Eyes Turned Skyward by Rebecca Yarros, Karen Grove. Copyright © 2014 Rebecca Yarros. Excerpted by permission of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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