The Sky Was Never Enough

Chapter 1 — The Girl Who Didn’t Leave

Rain tapped softly against the enormous windows of the Walter mansion, turning the gray English afternoon even colder. The sky outside looked heavy, exhausted, colorless.

Inside the third floor of the mansion, warmth existed only because Anne Woodward forced it to.

Hubert Walter sat in his wheelchair near the fireplace, unmoving.

Completely unmoving.

The fire reflected softly over the sharp lines of his face, over the dark stubble that had appeared during the last few days because he had refused to let anyone shave him. His black sweater fit perfectly over his broad shoulders, though his body beneath it remained lifeless.

Two years ago newspapers had called him Crazy Thunder.

The golden pilot. The reckless genius. The man who could fly through storms like he owned the sky.

Now he could not even move a finger.

His wheelchair faced slightly toward the middle of the room, where Anne sat cross-legged on the carpet with a thick romance novel in her hands.

His room was absurdly large.

Not a room. An apartment.

Dark wooden shelves filled with books. A grand piano nobody touched anymore. A sitting area beside the fireplace. A private kitchen. A massive television. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rainy gardens. Photographs from Hubert’s old life scattered everywhere.

Hubert surfing in Australia. Hubert climbing mountains. Hubert laughing beside fighter jets. Hubert with his teammates. Hubert with Lucy Worth.

That last picture had been turned face down months ago.

Anne flipped another page dramatically.

“Oh my God,” she muttered.

Hubert stared at her silently.

She gasped suddenly, sitting straighter.

“This man is actually stupid.”

Hubert’s eyes shifted toward the book.

Anne pointed at the page like the fictional man could see her anger.

“She literally confessed her love and he answered with ‘you deserve better than me.’”

She looked offended personally.

“What does that even mean? Men in novels always say this nonsense.”

Hubert’s deep voice finally filled the room.

“Because apparently women enjoy emotional suffering.”

Anne immediately looked at him.

“There you are.”

“What?”

“You spoke.”

“I unfortunately do that sometimes.”

She ignored his sarcasm easily now. Four months with Hubert Walter had taught her survival skills stronger than military training.

The first week he had called her unbearable twenty-three times.

The second week he told her her voice made him regret surviving the crash.

The third week she had smashed a teapot on his head.

After that, things had improved strangely.

Anne narrowed her eyes at the book again.

“And another thing,” she said. “If a man ever tells me ‘you deserve better than me,’ I’ll say thank you for informing me and leave immediately.”

A faint shadow of amusement crossed Hubert’s eyes.

Tiny. Almost invisible.

But there.

Anne noticed because she always noticed.

“You smiled.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

“You’re hallucinating again.”

Anne grinned proudly and returned to her book.

Silence settled again, but unlike before, it wasn’t heavy.

At first the room around Hubert had always felt suffocating. Every nurse, every caretaker had entered with pity in their eyes. Careful voices. Careful smiles.

Anne had arrived complaining about the stairs.

“Why does rich people’s houses always look like castles? My legs are shaking.”

That had been her first sentence to him.

Not: Poor you. You’ll recover. You’re so brave.

Just complaints.

Then she had looked directly into his cold eyes and said:

“You look terrifying by the way.”

And somehow she stayed.

Hubert watched her quietly now.

She wore one of her oversized cream sweaters with black leggings, her hair messily tied because she had cooked earlier. A pencil was stuck through her bun because apparently she lost hair ties every day.

She looked comfortable here.

Too comfortable.

His mother adored her. The staff adored her. Even Eldon trusted her completely.

Traitors.

Anne suddenly gasped again.

“Oh no.”

Hubert sighed internally.

“What now?”

“He died.”

“Who?”

“The brother.”

“That sounds tragic.”

“It IS tragic.”

She glared at him like he personally killed the fictional brother.

“You have no soul.”

“I lost it in the crash.”

Anne rolled her eyes.

“See? That right there. That dramatic nonsense is exactly why old ladies would love you.”

Hubert stared at her.

“You compare me to old ladies often.”

“Because you behave like one.”

“I used to fly military aircraft.”

“And now you complain if soup is too hot.”

“That is a reasonable complaint.”

“You also complained because your blanket felt emotionally aggressive.”

For the first time in days, Hubert let out a low laugh.

A real one.

Short. Rough from disuse. But real.

Anne froze immediately.

Hubert’s expression changed at once, the walls returning to his face.

But too late.

Anne slowly lowered the book.

“You laughed.”

“No.”

“You literally laughed.”

“You’re becoming delusional.”

“You laughed.”

“Anne.”

“Oh my God.”

“Anne.”

“You actually laughed.”

“I’m revoking your speaking privileges.”

She burst into laughter herself now, falling backward dramatically onto the carpet.

Hubert watched her.

And something painful moved inside his chest.

Not physical pain.

That would have been easier.

It was the terrifying feeling of remembering himself.

The old him.

The man before the crash.

The man who laughed easily.

The room slowly quieted again.

The fire crackled softly.

Rain continued outside.

Anne eventually sat back up and looked at him carefully.

Not pitying.

Never pitying.

Just… looking.

“You know,” she said softly, “I think you’re exhausting because you try so hard to make people leave.”

Hubert’s eyes hardened immediately.

“And yet you continue talking.”

“I’m serious.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes you do.”

His jaw tightened.

Anne closed her book gently now.

“When people get close,” she continued quietly, “you become cruel on purpose.”

Hubert looked away toward the rain outside.

“Maybe I simply dislike people.”

“No,” Anne said instantly. “You dislike being seen like this.”

Silence.

Heavy this time.

Dangerous.

Most people would’ve apologized immediately.

Anne didn’t.

Hubert’s voice turned cold.

“You think you understand me after four months?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“I just think,” she said carefully, “that maybe you’re angry because your life continued without asking your permission first.”

His eyes snapped back toward her.

That hit too directly.

Too accurately.

Anne saw it.

And immediately softened.

“Anyway,” she muttered lightly, trying to ease the tension, “this novel is still worse than your personality.”

Hubert stared at her for a long moment.

Then finally said quietly:

“You should quit.”

Anne blinked.

“What?”

“This job.”

She frowned slightly.

“Why?”

“You’re wasting your life here.”

She snorted.

“You literally terrorized twelve workers before me and now suddenly you care about careers?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Hubert looked at the fire.

“You’re twenty-seven.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“You should be somewhere else.”

Anne leaned back on her hands.

“Well. Until my dream restaurant magically opens itself, I need money.”

“You could work somewhere normal.”

“And miss your charming personality every day? Impossible.”

He ignored that.

“You shouldn’t spend your twenties taking care of a half-dead man.”

The words came out flat. Emotionless.

Practiced.

Anne’s expression changed immediately.

Not pity.

Anger.

“You know what your problem is?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“You talk about yourself like you’re already buried.”

Hubert stayed silent.

Anne stood up from the floor slowly and walked toward him.

She stopped in front of his wheelchair.

Close enough for him to smell vanilla and tea leaves from her sweater.

“You’re alive, Hubert.”

He looked away.

“No,” he said quietly. “I survived. That’s different.”

For once, Anne had no quick answer.

The fire crackled between them softly.

And outside, rain continued falling over the enormous Walter mansion while somewhere beneath all the bitterness, something dangerous began breathing again inside Hubert Walter’s ruined heart.