Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
PASTEUR
This was it – and he knew it.
He was about to get his heart broken, cut to smithereens by Lila, or cross-examined by the world’s most jaded person, and he couldn’t blame her for any of it. She had been through more than any one person should ever go through, and it hurt knowing someone you cared about suffered at the hands of someone else.
As he moved to knock on the door, Lila was already walking out and had about the same semblance as a person on the way to the guillotine. Her face was pale, her lips pinched, and she wouldn’t look him in the eyes.
That did not bode well at all.
He wouldn’t push, wouldn’t press; he would listen to what she had to say and answer with an open heart because anything less would be disrespectful to her and their relationship.
Oh gosh, I want us to have a relationship too , he thought raggedly, swallowing as he drove. He could feel her eyes on him, watching and waiting silently, and it took everything in him not to bark ‘What?’ at her because he could tell something was wrong.
They pulled up to the same Cracker Barrel, almost sat at the same table as yesterday, and the waitress handed her a menu – only to see her shake her head. Just as he was about to ask her what was going on, a waitress walked up with a carafe.
“Y’all want some coffee?”
“Yes, please,” Louis said quietly and then paused, glancing at Lila. “Could we get some biscuits and a few minutes before we order?”
“O’course, sugar…”
He happened to be looking at Lila as she flinched slightly, glanced at him, and then looked away.
“Talk to me,” he urged softly. “Lay all these hypothetical situations on me because waiting for you to speak or talk to me is making me nervous.”
He reached across the table to touch her hand – and she withdrew it. Oh gosh… he swallowed, feeling his stomach plummet.
“Have you ever been angry?” Lila asked in a hushed voice, and he hesitated. That was not the question he expected.
“Sure,” he replied curiously. “I’m a normal guy and I get frustrated just like anyone else and…” he paused as he realized what this was. She was taking his temperature because she was scared to get hurt again and his heart was breaking as he suddenly understood. He cleared his throat and then clasped his hands under the table, speaking softly and clearly. “When I get mad, I usually try to distance myself from whatever it is. A lot of times I will take a nap, read a book, go swimming, or occasionally I’ll go run laps but usually that is only in the wintertime because I don’t want heatstroke.”
And she nodded, her throat working silently.
“Next question?” he prompted quietly, waiting.
“What do you like to do in the evenings when you are off work?”
“Well, I don’t have much of a home right now because it’s just my rack, so I read a lot. Sometimes, I’ll go watch television with the guys, but it’s hard to follow because they tend to comment on different things, and usually, it’s over the dialogue. That frustrates me. I like listening and seeing the deeper side of some interactions on a suspense show, and it makes it hard to follow… but if I had a place – I would think that I’d like to sit on the couch and watch television with someone that I could discuss it with.”
“Do you expect to have shared checking accounts?”
“It’s whatever you would prefer,” he answered honestly, watching her. “I don’t want to control your life – I would just like to share it.”
“Let’s say that I get a flat tire or wreck the car…”
“Are you okay in this scenario?” he asked quickly and saw her eyes meet his as her lips trembled in a faint, scared smile. “I don’t care what happens to the car so long as you are okay, Lila. The car is replaceable, and you are not.”
“Thank you,” she whispered softly, and he decided to bite the bullet.
“Now,” he began, his heart hammering in his chest as he held her gaze. “Do you want to ask me how I’ll react if you forget to plug in the Crock Pot one day and you are pregnant with my child?”
That sentence was directed at her past and had to be addressed because he knew she was still fighting that silent battle inside. He saw it in her eyes, in the way she froze, that tortured gaze as she stared at him with unshed tears, waiting and holding her breath.
“I’d say, ‘ Get your purse, sweetheart, we’re going on a date’ ,” he whispered knowingly, his own eyes burning with emotion for the silent battles she fought. “Then I’d want to go somewhere where we can eat in the car, where I can make a fool of myself by laying my head in your lap and humming off-key music to your belly, where our baby would be.”
“Stop,” she whispered tearfully, reaching for a napkin.
“I’m serious,” he replied and glanced around, needing to make her laugh once more because it filled his soul with such happiness. He wanted to make this woman smile forever and knew he had been led here, led to her, living for these moments, and marveled at the way the Lord worked.
He rose to his feet, circled the table, knelt before her as he moved her chair slightly, and crooned ‘ Fly Me To The Moon’ to her stomach openly – and closed his eyes at the feel of her hand touching the back of his head lovingly. He looked up a moment later, seeing her tear-streaked face, and he knew he’d won her over.
“I’m practicing,” he promised softly. “Doing my prep work for the future…”
“I see that,” she breathed tenderly, cupping his cheek as she stroked her thumb across his skin, staring at him.
“I love you,” he breathed openly. “Marry me and give me a chance to make your heart whole. You don’t have to answer now, but when you get home to Louisville, I want you to look around, think of me, and make a list of pros and cons for each location. If you want to be in Louisville, I will look at leaving the Navy and see how long we must wait to be together…”
She drew in her breath audibly, looking stunned.
“I would do anything to make you smile,” he admitted. “If you would prefer to stay there – then I will come to you. It would be easier for you to move here because I have my job and benefits, but we can do whatever you need so long as we at least give it a try.”
“Sir?” the waitress said, interrupting them as she returned to take their order. “Are you ready, or should I come back?”
“I’m ready whenever my lady is,” he said quietly, rising to his feet and returning to his seat, hoping his meaning was clear to Lila.
He was ready – whenever she was.
That evening, when Louis walked Lila back to Trophy and Stephanie’s apartment, he felt the weight of every step, knowing that each one brought him closer to goodbye. The night air was warm, thick with the scent of salt and the distant echo of waves rolling against the shore. The world around them felt quiet as if even the universe was holding its breath, giving them this moment to exist in a space that was entirely their own.
He wasn’t ready to let go.
The porch light cast a soft golden glow over them, but beyond it, the shadows of evening deepened, wrapping around them like a veil of solitude. They stood close, bodies pressed together in an embrace that felt both desperate and reverent. His hands memorized the shape of her back, the curve of her waist, and the way she trembled just slightly against him.
He wanted to beg her to stay. The words sat heavily on his tongue, aching to be spoken, but he swallowed them down. She had a life back in Louisville, an apartment, and responsibilities. Even if she chose him—gosh, he prayed she would—she still had to go back and tie up the loose ends of the life she’d built before him.
Just as he would do anything for her, he would wait.
Lila’s breath fanned against his neck, her fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck, her touch light, as if she was trying to memorize the feel of him just as desperately as he was memorizing her. Their whispers were low, intimate, and meant only for each other.
“The ship is pulling out for a week next week, so I might be out of communication…”
Her hand tightened against his shoulder. “I’ve got to get some things done on my end…”
His chest ached. He needed something—anything—to tether them together while they were apart. A fragile thread, a promise, a sign that she was truly his. The words spilled out before he could stop them.
“What size ring do you wear?” His voice was rough, edged with something raw and unfiltered.
Lila’s breath caught, her gaze snapping up to meet his. Her wide, uncertain eyes searched his, but he knew she wasn’t afraid. No, the way her fingers traced his ear, the way her lips parted as if she were on the verge of confessing something, told him everything he needed to know.
“Seven,” she whispered, almost like she was testing how the words felt between them. Then, softer, she added, “Something simple…”
His heart slammed wildly in his chest. She hadn’t said yes—not yet—but the needle was moving in his direction.
“Done,” he exhaled, his forehead pressing against hers. His grip on her tightened like he could keep her here through sheer will alone. “You will never regret this.”
“I know,” she breathed, her voice trembling, not with fear, but with something far more powerful—trust. “I believe you. I trust you. I just need time to get my messy life situated back home.”
“Take all the time you need,” he vowed, his hands framing her face, thumbs stroking the soft skin of her cheeks. “I’ll get the apartment, handle everything on my end, and when you’re ready—I’ll fly out, and we’ll come home together.”
Her laugh was soft and tearful, her fingers brushing over his lips as if she could seal this moment between them forever. “That sounds so good.”
“It will be,” he swore, the promise heavy with certainty. “I swear it.”
He kissed her then, slow and deep, pouring everything into it—his love, his soul, his devotion. He needed her to feel it, to remember it, to miss it when they were apart. Because no matter the distance, no matter the time, he would be waiting.
He would always be waiting for her.
When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling in the space between them, he cupped her cheek, memorizing the way her skin felt beneath his touch.
“Get some rest and text me tomorrow.”
“I promise.”
His thumb brushed over her lower lip, reluctant to let her go. “Be safe, and don’t forget me.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips, though her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I couldn’t…”
His throat tightened, the words catching in his chest before he finally let them free.
“Lila—I love you.”
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, everything else faded—the apartment, the looming goodbye, the uncertainty of the days ahead. Only this moment mattered. He wasn’t waiting for a response because he knew she wasn’t ready, but then her lips parted as she looked up at him.
“I’m falling for you, too,” she whispered tearfully. “I’m scared, but I care so much at the same time. Please don’t ever hurt me.”
“Never,” he breathed and kissed her again, offering up a prayer of gratitude for being lucky enough to find someone who completed him.
It had been almost ten days.
Ten agonizing, empty days, and Louis hated every second of it. The hollow ache inside him gnawed relentlessly, an unbearable craving for Lila’s touch, for the simple warmth of her hand in his. It felt like withdrawal, like a deep-seated addiction, and nothing—not even the rush of high-speed maneuvers before they pulled back into Mayport—could dull the void.
The rhythmic hum of the carrier deck beneath him, the constant controlled chaos of launching and landing jets, should have been enough to distract him. But his mind was miles away, stuck in that space where longing and frustration twisted like a vice around his chest.
He was in his jet, strapped in, waiting for his turn. His fingers flexed restlessly over the controls, muscles coiled with the familiar anticipation of takeoff. Tic-Tak was next in line, preparing to launch, while Ohio was coming in for a landing.
Louis watched as Tic-Tak give the signal as his jet powered up and shot forward, racing off the edge of the ship with a staggering amount of power. The moment the wheels left the ship, it was up to you. The plane would sag slightly, bank left, and then they were on their own. Typical Tic-Tak—never one to follow protocol. Louis huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he waited for his own turn, listening to the chatter from the tower.
He watched the sky captain taxi him forward to where the shooters were and would give him the signal when he was ready. The lines were across the deck, and he listened, hearing the tower relaying information to him. They were in a holding pattern, and he knew Ohio was coming.
Everything was routine.
Until it wasn’t.
The third wire—the safest catch, the one theyalwaysaimed for...Ohio missed, and the fourth cable on the deck, the fourth arresting cable to stop the plane and slow it, snapped.
It snapped .
The thick metal wire lashed backward with terrifying force, slicing through the air like a whip. The sound was deafening—a high-pitched, metallic shriek that cut through the hum of engines. Louis barely had time to react before it slammed against his jet with a violentcrack, shattering his landing gear strut.
His planelurched forward, the nose dipping as his stomach twisted with dread. His hands flew to the controls, instincts kicking in, fingers moving in a blur to shut everything down. But his attention wasjerked away—because Ohio’s jet was in trouble.
Ohio should have been able topull up. He should have been able to gun the throttle andgo around again. But his jet—hisentire darn jet—was veeringsideways, completely out of control.
Straight off the edge of the carrier.
And then it wasgone.
Louis’s breath lodged in his throat, a strangled sound of purehorrorescaping his lips before he could stop it.
“ NOOOOO !”His scream tore from his chest, raw and panicked, as his bodyfought againstthe restraints. He fumbled desperately with his buckles, hands shaking, mind spiraling as adrenaline dumped into his system. His canopy was still sealed—he needed to get out—he needed to get out now .
Shouts erupted all around him. Deck crew rushed into action. Fire suppression teams scrambled, medical personnel were already on standby, and afrenzy of movementovertook the flight deck.
But Louis didn’t care about the protocols, didn’t care about anything but the horrifying truthburningin his mind—Ohio was in the water.
His body moved on pure instinct. He was out of the cockpit, wavingwildlyfor the ladder, but he wasn’t waiting—his bootshit the metal hardas he jumped down, his only thought torun.
Orion was already ahead of him, sprinting toward the edge of the ship, and Louis pushed himself harder, his pulse hammering so loudly he could barely hear the frantic voices shouting orders.
Sailors and pilots were being restrained, held back fromdoing exactly what Louis wanted to do—jump in after Ohio. Orion and Shellac were fighting against the hands gripping them, their faces twisted in anguish.
And then—Moonbeam jumped.
Jumping from the flight deck was prohibited, so even if Moonbeam was okay – he was going to be in big trouble. A collectivegasprippled across the deck as his body plummeted thirty to forty feet to the water below. The impact alone couldshatter bones, couldknock him unconscious, couldkill him—but none of that had stopped him.
It should have.
It should have stoppedall of them—but it didn’t.
Louis skidded to a halt at the very edge, his breath ragged, his hands gripping the railingso hard his knuckles turned white. His eyesscanned desperately, darting across the vast, churning ocean.
No wreckage.
No parachute.
No sign of Ohio.
Voices roared around him, but they were justnoise, meaningless, hollow.
“Where’s the dye?”someone yelled.
“Did we get a chute?”
“No, you dipwad—he was taking off!”
“He should have pulled up and taken off again…”
“He went over the edge sideways…”
“Did anyone see the canopy blow?”
“The canopy was in place…”
Louis’s heartpounded painfullyas realityslammed into him—Ohio had gone overwith his canopy still intact.
His jet had sunk like astone.
A hand clamped on Louis’s shoulder, but he barely felt it. His mind was moving a mile a minute,desperation clawing at his insides.
He could hear officersbarking orders, hear the deep, rumbling whir of the search-and-rescue helicopters lifting off. This wasn’t a drill. This wasn’t a simulation. They weren’t pulling into port tonight.
They weren’t going home.
“Trophy,” Louis gasped suddenly, his throat dry, his mind catching up with the implications. His hands curled into fists as he turned, his stomach churning. “You gotta call Laura.”
Trophy’s expression twisted, a mix of denial and terror flashing across his face. He jerked back as though Louis had slapped him.
“He’s not dead,”Trophy spat, shaking his head violently.“Why would I call my sister?”
Louis grabbed him, gripping his arm hard.“Trophy, make the call.”
“I’m not calling my sister…”Trophy’s voice wavered, breaking under the weight of what was happening.
“They’re gonna put us on lockdown, and it’s gonna be all over the news?—”
Trophy’s jaw clenched. “Then I’ll call my wife.Not my sister.”
Louis exhaled sharply, his chestaching.“Ohio would be lucky to have Laura in his life…”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
“If he’s alive,” someone muttered nearby.
Trophy snapped.
A raw, wordless roar tore from his throat, the single four-letter expletive reverberating through the heavy air. His body surged forward, fists slamming against the metal railing as his frantic gaze scoured the churning waves. But there was nothing—only the merciless, endless sea swallowing the last traces of Ohio. Two sailors lunged, gripping Trophy’s arms and hauling him back before he could throw himself overboard.
Louis didn’t move.
He couldn’t. His limbs felt like dead weight, his pulse a deafening roar in his ears. Orders were being shouted, boots pounded against the deck, but the world was closing in, narrowing to the gaping void in front of him—the place where Ohio should be, where he needed to be.
A terrible, slithering thought curled in his chest, coiling tighter with every second that passed.
Ohio was gone.
Louis dropped to his knees, his hands pressing against the unforgiving deck as if grounding himself could keep him from shattering. His breath came in ragged gasps, his throat burning with the force of unshed tears. He couldn’t look away from the water, couldn’t stop the helpless prayers tumbling from his lips.
Please, God. Please.
Don’t let him be dead.
Divers had already plunged into the dark abyss below, their bodies slicing through the water like knives. The search was fully underway, but Louis barely heard the shouted commands or the thunderous whir of helicopters lifting off to scour the sea.
Because this wasn’t just a search anymore.
It was a recovery.
A salvage operation.
His stomach churned violently as the unthinkable settled in. They weren’t just looking for Ohio. They were looking for his body . The government wouldn’t leave a billion-dollar jet at the bottom of the ocean, and they sure as heck wouldn’t leave one of their own down there, either.
Louis swallowed hard, bile rising as his mind conjured memories of Ohio—grinning recklessly in the cockpit, cracking jokes at ungodly hours, his presence a constant, electric force that filled every room he walked into.
And now, just like that, he was gone ?
No. No, he was a swimmer. Better than me. If he got free of the canopy, if he kept his wits, if he could just ? —
A commotion near the railing jerked him out of his thoughts.
Shouts. A sudden, frantic scramble of movement.
Louis’s breath hitched as he saw them.
The divers.
And between them—Ohio.
A limp, lifeless body floating against the rolling waves.
Louis surged forward, his fingers digging into the railing so hard they ached. Ohio’s flight gear was still intact, the dark fabric soaked and clinging to his frame, but his helmet was gone, revealing a face far too pale, too still.
His chest didn’t rise.
Didn’t fall.
Didn’t move.
Louis’s heart slammed against his ribs as someone screamed, “Everyone get back! Get back now!”
The divers secured the line, hauling Ohio’s unmoving form from the water. His body swayed, dripping, lifeless. A hollow, ice-cold horror wrapped itself around Louis’s spine, squeezing until he could barely breathe.
Then—
A cough.
A sharp, ragged gasp.
Ohio’s body jerked.
Louis’s knees nearly buckled as relief crashed into him, vicious and all-consuming. He clamped a hand over his mouth, choking back a sob as the impossible became real. He was overwhelmed with emotion, terror, fear for himself, fear for Lila. If she heard about it on the news would she think it was him? He was so scared, so full of emotion right now, and so darn grateful that they weren’t dragging Ohio’s body from the water.
Ohio was alive.
Louis sat stiffly on the edge of a metal bench. His fingers clenched together so tightly his knuckles were white. The air in the ready room was thick, suffocating. It smelled of sweat, jet fuel, and the lingering traces of saltwater still clinging to his flight suit. Around him, murmurs of low voices blended with the distant hum of the ship’s operations, but none of it mattered. His eyes were locked on the row of computers, each one occupied, their screens casting a cold, sterile glow over the tense faces of men trying to reach their own people—wives, girlfriends, parents—anyone who needed to know they were alive.
His phone was useless out here. The open ocean swallowed every bar of service, leaving him stranded in silence. He had tried to text her—just two simple words. I’m okay. But the message hadn’t gone through. Instead, a red bubble had popped up, mocking him. No Service.
His chest felt tight like a vise was squeezing around his ribs. Every second that passed was another second Lila spent not knowing. She’d be worried sick. Terrified. He knew the way her mind worked—the way panic took root and refused to let go.
The crash had been bad. So darn bad. The sight of the jet landing played on an endless loop in his mind—the sharp pop of the arresting wire, seeing the backlash a split second later, and honestly, it could have killed him, seeing that jet flung sideways, careening wildly before the ocean swallowed it whole. For minutes, they hadn’t known if Ohio had survived. Agonizing minutes that had felt like an eternity.
Now, Ohio was in medical, surrounded by doctors, counselors, and commanding officers. There would be reports, debriefings, psychological evaluations, and discussions upon discussions to make sure this never happened again as if that changed anything.
Louis exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his damp hair. If it had been him in that cockpit, if it had been his jet that had slid off the deck, if he had been the one sinking into that cold, endless abyss— would he be able to fly again? To land on this floating strip of metal after almost drowning beneath it?
His stomach twisted.
No.
No one walked away from something like that unscathed. It changed you, broke something deep inside that could never be put back the same way again.
And Lila knew that pain too well.
She had spent years piecing herself back together, learning how to breathe again after tragedy had ripped the air from her lungs. And now, because he couldn’t reach her, she was out there somewhere—helpless, afraid, trapped in the same cycle of fear that had nearly consumed her once before.
Louis swallowed the lump in his throat. He needed to get to a computer. He needed to tell her he was okay, that he was alive. But as another pilot slid into a seat before he could, his patience cracked.
He slammed his fist down on his thigh, biting back a curse.
He had never felt so powerless.
Maman,
I’m okay – if you see something on the news. I’m okay. Reach out to Laura – Trophy’s sister.
Je-t’aime,
Louis
Lila,
Sweetheart, I hope you hear from Stephanie quickly because I’ve been waiting for my turn on a computer for two hours now. My phone doesn’t get service out here, and I know this is gonna be on the news – but I’m okay.
It wasn’t me.
I’m all right, I promise you – but I will be late returning. I can’t say much more or this won’t go through. I will call when I get to base.
I love you,
Louis
Laura – it was Ohio.
He’s alive and in medical right now. I don’t have any updates yet, but I will share them when I hear them. Say a prayer for him – and your brother. Trophy’s a wreck right now.
Pasteur