Chapter 4 - Wes
I should leave. I don’t.
I stay where I am, coffee cooling under my hand, because standing up would mean admitting I’m more affected than I care to be.
Hailey turns back to me, curiosity bright and unguarded. “You asked what I do,” she says. “What about you?”
“I’m an Air Force flight instructor,” I reply. “Which means I spend a good part of my time in the air—and an unfortunate amount behind a desk.”
Her brows lift. “Paperwork?”
I exhale through my nose, a restrained half-smile tugging at my mouth. “More than I’d like. Schedules, evaluations, reports. It comes with the territory.”
“Oh, I didn’t picture you behind a desk, Captain.
” She shrugs lightly, her eyes drifting over me in a way that’s anything but accidental.
It’s flirting—subtle, warm, unmistakable.
My chest expands, heat spreading low and slow.
Before I can ask what it means, she continues, “It just doesn’t seem like it’s what you’re built for. ”
The word built lands heavier than it should.
She hums softly, thoughtful. “Yeah. You’re definitely not built for paperwork.”
I shouldn’t enjoy exactly how focused she is on every detail of my body.
My hand shouldn’t tighten around my glass to keep myself in place.
I sure as hell shouldn’t be forgetting we’re in a public space or considering how easy it would be to hop over the bar and get closer to her – give her a better view of me just to see what she’ll do under my gaze.
“Is that a fact?” I ask, voice lower and rougher than it should be.
She shrugs. “I could see you on the front line or as some kind of secretive op saving the world on a daily basis without breaking a sweat.”
The corner of my mouth twitches into a smile that makes her eyes widen and her plush lips part. “You’ve watched too many movies.”
“Or you haven’t watched enough. You have Jack Reacher beaten.” I shake my head, then she glances to the side. “Gotta get back to work. Maybe you’ll have more than a drink tonight.”
That little hint that she remembers exactly how much I drank last night isn’t huge, but it feels important. Like she’s as aware of me as I am of her. I know better than to get involved with the Colonel’s daughter, but her honest and sunshiny smile makes remembering that much more difficult.
Not that remembering Colonel Carter keeps me from finishing my decaf—or from staying when a second one sounds tempting. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to linger. To keep Hailey within reach. To let my eyes stray longer than they should, even knowing someone might notice.
When she comes back, mug already in hand, I remember exactly who I am—and what it means to lose control.
“Captain… another?” she asks, soft and hopeful. “Or maybe something a little stronger, if you’re done for the night?”
It’s said lightly, without intent, but it lands anyway. I shake my head, forcing restraint.
“Just need to close my tab.”
Something flickers across her face—disappointment, quickly hidden. “Right.”
I shouldn’t wonder what that means. Whether she wanted me to stay. Whether leaving now is the only smart choice.
She isn’t someone I can want, let alone keep. Not because of her name alone, but because there’s an openness to her—a searching quality—that feels dangerous to someone like me. I need structure. Certainty. Not someone made of warmth and questions.
“Tomorrow?” she asks as she slides the bill toward me.
I pass over my card. “I don’t drink every night.”
A small smile curves her lips. “Then maybe I’ll see you in the halls. If you’re buried in paperwork.”
She walks away before I can answer, but her eyes linger on me a second longer than necessary, that familiar blush rising to her cheeks.
I watch her move through the room, the way people seem to soften around her, ranks fading, rules loosening. Hailey has that effect—quiet, effortless. Her hair keeps slipping behind her ear, a small green stud catching the light, her smile real enough to make this place feel less rigid.
Distance. That’s what I need.
Because I don’t want to leave.
I need to.
“Good night,” I say when she returns for the signed slip. “Hailey.”
Her breath catches, just slightly. “Good night, Captain,” she murmurs. “I hope you sleep well.”
I would sleep better with you in my bed.
The thought hits fast and uninvited, vivid enough to tighten my grip on the edge of the bar.
FFS, get a grip, Wes.
I straighten immediately, jaw setting, the weight of that single, reckless thought enough to tell me exactly why I can’t stay another second.
***
She’s just someone new. A reminder of warmth brushing up against routine. In time, she’ll settle. The questions will fade. The pull will dull.
It always does.
All I need is time.
Time, apparently, lasts a day and a half.
I’m passing through the Post on my way back to base when I spot a familiar folder sitting in the outgoing tray—documents flagged for Legion Post 317. Michael Trent’s name is on the cover. Routine stuff. Forms. Signatures. Nothing urgent enough to warrant a special trip.
I pause anyway.
“I’m heading toward the Ridgehouse,” I say to the clerk. “I can drop those off.”
They hand the folder over without comment. Efficient. Ordinary. Exactly the kind of thing I can justify without examining my motives too closely.
When I walk into Michael’s office, he looks up in mild surprise. Then amusement softens his expression as his gaze drops to the folder in my hand.
“Well,” he says, taking it from me, “I didn’t realize flight instructors were branching out into deliveries.”
“Passing through,” I reply evenly. “Saw the paperwork. Thought I’d save someone the trip.”
He hums, clearly unconvinced, but lets it go. “Much appreciated.”
My attention drifts before I can stop it.
Hailey is at one of the side tables, sorting papers into tidy stacks, her brow furrowed in concentration as she murmurs quietly to herself. She taps something on the tablet, frowns, then gathers the papers and disappears into one of the corridors.
Michael follows my gaze and smiles to himself.
“She’s helping me track down which offices need updated copies,” he says. “Smart girl. The system isn’t exactly intuitive.”
He looks back at me, eyes sharp with gentle curiosity. “Since you’re already here… would you mind helping her find a couple of the admin offices? You know the layout better than most.”
I ignore the knowing glint to his eyes and nod. I stand, then pause. “The request for additional funds has been denied, President Trent.”
He stands as well. “For?”
“The specialty weekly dinners. If you counter with a request for half it will be approved,” I state. “I didn’t share that with you.”
“Of course not. It’s a natural negotiation tactic,” he agrees. “Penny pinching assholes at the top.”
“Their rank-”
“Doesn’t change the fact that they’re penny pinching assholes,” he says with a wink. “Rank doesn’t change character.”
I nod, then catch up to Hailey without difficulty. She’s studying the doors one by one, reading the plaques like they’re written in a language she hasn’t learned yet. I stop beside her, clasping my hands behind my back—discipline, muscle memory—to keep from reaching for her without thinking.
She looks up.
Her eyes widen slightly, breath catching just enough to register. Under the warm yellow hallway lights, her hazel eyes turn almost entirely gold. My gaze drops before I can stop it—just for a second—to her mouth. Soft. Parted. Pink from concentration, not invitation.
The sight hits harder than it should.
Heat coils low and immediate, my body reacting with blunt, unmistakable intent. I lock my jaw, forcing stillness, forcing control, acutely aware of how close she is and how badly my instincts want to close that distance.
She smells faintly clean, warm—soap and something softer. Her blonde hair frames her face in loose strands that beg to be brushed back, touched, tested for reality.
“Hailey.”
“Captain,” she whispers.
“You could be talking to any captain by just using the title,” I inform, control getting slowly back in place.
“I think you’re the only captain I know who really insists on the title,” she says, not accusing, just noticing.
“I worked hard for it,” I reply. “It took years. A lot of saying no to things that would’ve been easier.” I glance at her. “It matters to me.”
She nods. “That makes sense.” Then, after a moment, “I didn’t mean it like a criticism. I just… I can’t picture you behind a desk all day, following rules someone else made.”
“I don’t just sit behind a desk,” I say. “But structure is part of the job. Clear expectations. Clear paths.”
She frowns slightly as she walks. “That’s the part I struggle with. Structure sounds comforting, but also limiting. Like once you step onto a path, you’re expected to stay on it.”
“You don’t like being told who you’re supposed to become, uh?” I speak.
She looks at me, surprised. “No. I really don’t.”
“I think uncertainty makes things harder,” I reply. “But probably it also gives you more room to choose.”
She slows a little. “That’s exactly it. Everyone around me seems so sure. Enlist. Get a job. Settle down. I feel behind because I don’t know yet.”
“Well, not knowing isn’t the same as failing,” I say.
She exhales. “Try telling my dad that.”
I gesture toward the door she’s been looking for. “That’s the office.”
“Thanks,” she says, then hesitates. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“Do you ever wonder if following a system makes you miss parts of yourself?”
I consider that, rubbing my jaw. “Sometimes. But it also gave me a foundation to stand on.”
She nods slowly. “I think I’m still looking for mine.”
Her hand brushes my wrist as she steps away. Brief. Unintentional. But it lands.
“Thank you for helping me,” she says. “I know you’re busy.”
“You’ll probably need help finding the others,” I reply.
She smiles. “I’ll ask. People usually talk.”
Then she walks off, humming softly, leaving me standing there longer than I should.
One ordinary conversation — nothing dramatic — and I realize how wrong it is to think of her as na?ve. She isn’t lost: she’s searching.
I linger there a moment longer, almost hoping she’ll drop something off and reappear with a sense of efficiency that will make me question even more about her.
After a minute, I feel ridiculous for waiting.
I have other things to do. Hailey doesn’t get to eat up my entire schedule, even if I’m not sure I’m ready to let this conversation or her secretive touch be the last.