Chapter 2
Chapter two
Bryce Frost
“Touchdown at Reagan, Takeoff Into Chaos”
The hum of the engine was the only thing that kept me grounded.
Christmas lights blinked along the runway as the plane taxied to a slow crawl, the glow bouncing off the windshield like reminders I didn’t ask for.
That was my last rotation before a full two weeks off, and I’d been counting down the hours with parole-level anticipation.
We eased into the gate at my Delta base, and I went through the shutdown steps on autopilot.
By the time the wheels chocked and the jet bridge locked in, the cabin door was open, and my crew was already gathering their things.
But I stayed in the cockpit for a moment longer; headset still on, hands hovering over switches I’d already turned off.
That was always my ritual…
Sit, breathe, and let the silence catch up after three days of flying city to city.
My crib was only twenty minutes from the airport, and normally I’d be one of the first things smoking to get off the plane—not that night. Maybe it was because the holidays were louder that year… or maybe because my time off meant I’d actually have to sit with the shit I’d been ignoring.
My co-pilot, Ryan, unbuckled beside me.
“Smooth flight,” he said, stretching his arms. “Could’ve done without all that damn turbulence, though.”
“Yeah, well, welcome to December in the Midwest.”
“You doing anything for the holidays?” he asked, standing, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“I don’t have any major plans… just heading up to my cabin in Shenandoah in Blue Ridge, Virginia.”
“That’s what’s up. You lucky as hell getting a vacation this time of year. I can’t wait to reach that point in my seniority where I’m not flying Santa’s whole damn route.”
I smirked. “Flying? Technically, you ain’t flying. Nigga, you’re the co-pilot, which means, you’re really just sitting there holding Santa’s clipboard,” I joked.
“And I’m still logging the hours! Fuck you mean?!” he shot back as if I offended his job title.
I shook my head, still grinning. “Facts.”
“But you going with somebody up there?”
I kept my face neutral. “Something like that.”
Some men wear their hearts on their sleeves; mine was zipped inside a black flight jacket where nobody could see the damage.
Ryan lifted an eyebrow but didn’t push it. “Well, I hope ‘something like that’ don’t turn into ‘what the hell was I thinking’ before New Year’s.”
I gave him a look. “Appreciate the vote of confidence.”
He grinned and backed toward the door. “Well, be careful, man.”
I frowned slightly. “Nigga, cold air don’t scare me…
nor do bears, bobcats, wolves, or whatever else y’all city folks think is out there plotting on somebody.
My pops raised me up in terrain most people couldn’t survive two days in.
That nigga had me outside fixing generators in the snow and hiking before sun-up just to check traps.
Rain, sleet, or damn near frostbite—you name it, I’ve been through it. I’m built for that life.”
And that wasn’t just talk; those were facts.
I was a man who knew how to survive mentally, physically, and emotionally.
Life had tried to break me more than once and failed every time.
I’d slept under tarps during ice storms with nothing but a hatchet and willpower, skinned my own food at fifteen, dug a car out of a snowbank with my bare hands after a whiteout nearly left me stranded overnight, and fixed busted pipes with duct tape and prayer in cabins that had no business still standing.
Hell, I’d even flown across time zones with a broken rib and a broken heart…
because that’s what it meant to show up when the world expected you to.
If survival had a face, it looked a lot like mine.
Ryan chuckled. “It’s not so much the weather or animals that I was referring to; it’s the company you plan on taking.
Cabin trips tend to bring out the truth in people; either you grow closer, or you can’t wait to get away from each other by day two.
Ain’t no distractions in the woods; just silence and somebody’s real personality. ”
I zipped my jacket and shook my head. “I’ll take my chances.”
He tapped the top of the cockpit doorway. “Aight, man. Happy holidays. I hope you find whatever peace you looking for up there.”
I nodded at him. “Merry Christmas to you, too, man. Stay safe… and try to breathe between flights. You been on go all month.”
Ryan snorted. “Shid, I wish I could breathe. I’m back in the air in forty minutes.”
That’s pilot life for you. Everybody think we be out here living glamorous.
They don’t see the real shit; the back-to-back legs, the layovers so short you barely got time to piss, and the turnaround flights that hit before your brain even resets.
Half the time, I feel like I blink and I’m already back in the damn sky.
“Better you than me, co-pilot,” I commented with a smirk.
“Yeah, yeah,” he laughed, pointing two fingers my way before heading down the jet bridge. “Enjoy yo’ vacation, Captain. I’ll catch you after the storm.”
After Ryan left, I sat there a bit longer, staring at the snow building along the edge of the runway, stacking up like the years me and my ex-fiancée, Chesteria had spent apart.
Two years didn’t feel like enough time to forget anything.
My eyes drifted toward the sonogram of our daughter—my angel—tucked on the dashboard. I kept it there on every flight, every drive, and every time I needed to remember that I once had something pure.
I ran my thumb across the tiny outline, and my chest tightened like it always did.
She wasn’t planned; hell, the timing made no sense.
But once the shock settled, me and Chesteria leaned into and dealt with it.
We even began rearranging our schedules and future.
We were scared, but ready—or so I thought.
The company had offered me a chance to slow down when Chesteria neared the end of her pregnancy.
It consisted of a lighter schedule, more time at home…
more time with her. But everything seemed normal.
Chesteria had no complications or warning signs…
she wasn’t even complaining. And since I didn’t want to seem overprotective or paranoid, I told myself I’d finish out the rest of my flying cycle, get through a few more flights, and then I’d take my time off, settle in, and be present the way she deserved.
I thought we had time.
But sometimes you don’t feel the cost of ‘later’ until you realize it robbed you of now.
Chesteria went into labor a month early. While I was thousands of feet in the air, she needed me, and I wasn’t there. By the time my feet touched the ground, everything had already unraveled.
The moment was gone, the cries I was supposed to hear never came, and the world just kept moving like mine didn’t fall apart midair.
I replayed that moment over and over—how I should’ve been home, how one different choice could’ve changed everything. Chesteria lost our baby while I was in the sky, checking gauges and cruising altitude.
How do you come back from that? How do you look the woman you love in the eyes and pretend you didn’t fail her in the worst way imaginable?
The truth was… I couldn’t.
Walking into our house after that felt like trying to breathe underwater.
That shit physically hurt. I could see the hurt in her eyes, and every time she looked at me, I felt responsible for the way she was falling apart.
I didn’t know how to be the man she needed when the very things that grounded me—my job, my control, my stability—were the same things she blamed.
So I started staying in motels… not because I stopped loving her, but because being in that house made me nauseous.
I couldn’t touch the crib, look at the nursery door, or sleep next to her when my presence only reminded both of us of what we lost. I thought maybe if I stepped back first, she could breathe, heal, and maybe even find someone who could show up in all the ways I didn’t.
One decision… one flight… that’s all it took to ruin everything we were building. And now this tiny black-and-white photo is the only thing I have left to answer to, and I’ve been carrying that guilt for years.
I barely had a second to exhale before I heard heels clicking up behind me.
“Baaaabe, there you are!”
I closed my eyes.
Fuck!
Isis leaned into the cockpit doorway, grinning, looking entirely too refreshed for someone fresh off a three-day work trip.
Isis was one of those flight attendants everybody on the crew tried to flirt with—females included.
She was fine, petite, brown-skinned, and had ass for days, but somehow, she always ended up in my seat.
Isis was cool and caring in a loud, always-talking, “need-someone-next-to-me” kinda way.
She filled the silence like it was her job.
We’d been messing around for almost a year—after flights, here and there…
but nothing serious. My job was very demanding, and I barely had time to entertain anyone, so I kept her around since she was always available.
“I’m heading to pick up our matching sweaters when I leave here!” she squealed. “Oh, and should I pack lingerie or is this, like… chill? I can’t wait for our little winter getaway!”
The lingerie part didn’t sound bad—Isis had a bad ass body; I’d give her that. But matching sweaters? What the fuck was she on?
I exhaled through my nose. “Isis… what did I tell you about all that?”
She blinked at me with those big lashes she always wore too heavy. “About… what?”
“All that extra relationship shit,” I clarified.
“I just thought… you know… maybe this could be a cute way for us to—” she wiggled her shoulders, “—show we’re getting serious… or at least take a lil’ Christmas couple pic for my Close Friends.”