Logan
Stuart, Florida
The restaurant is loud, the kind of place meant for big groups, cold beers, and greasy food that’ll equal a few extra miles on tomorrow’s run. Exactly what I need after this morning. I sink into the booth next to Lila, letting the familiar chatter of conversation settle over me.
It’s been a long damn time since I felt at ease like this. Not weighed down by everyone I’ve lost. Not drowning in guilt, even if it still lingers at the edges. Today was my first demo without Ryan. I take a deep breath, the words from his letter hitting a little differently than they used to.
Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.
I don’t know if I’ll ever fully believe him, but I’m trying.
You’ve been my wingman in every way that matters.
Lila’s knee brushes against mine as she leans forward, laughing at something Townsend just said.
The sound tugs at something deep in my chest. She changed into a sundress after the show, her denim jacket discarded beside her in our booth.
Sun-kissed from being outside all morning, she looks beautiful and happy.
You’ve got too much life ahead of you to get lost in the dark.
I drag my knuckles lazily along the inside of her thigh under the table, just enough to make her breath hitch, but not enough for anyone else to notice.
Not that I plan on stopping there.
“Alright, Viking,” Wells drawls, leaning back in his seat with an easy smirk. “How does it feel to officially be back in the air show circuit?”
“Better than I expected,” I admit, lifting my beer.
Townsend reaches forward, clinking his beer to mine. “You looked good out there, man. Like you never left.”
I nod, rolling the cold glass between my fingers. “Felt good, too.” It’s true. For the first time in nearly a decade, flying felt right again. Not like I was chasing old ghosts and trying to outrun new ones.
“Look,” Wells says, dropping the fry he’s holding onto his plate and wiping his hands on his napkin.
“I didn’t know Carter, so maybe it’s not my place to say this.
” His usual teasing edge fades, replaced by something much more sincere.
“But getting back in that jet today? After everything? You made him proud, James.”
The table goes quiet for a beat.
Lila’s hand finds my thigh beneath the table, a subtle, grounding touch.
I clear my throat, giving Wells a small nod. “Thanks, Bennett.”
I glance down at my beer, watching the bubbles rise to the surface.
“Ryan used to say the Raptor was the only place he ever felt like he could breathe. Said it gave him perspective.” I pause, swallowing hard.
“He always made me want to be better. Sharper. Smarter. Funnier, even. Which honestly pissed me off because he always had the best damn one-liners.”
Wells lets out a quiet, respectful chuckle. Townsend lifts his glass again, a silent toast. Dalton nods in agreement, glancing up for a second.
“I think part of me was scared to fly without him,” I admit. “Like if I did, it meant I was leaving him behind. But today, it didn’t feel like that. It felt like he was still up there with me. Just…not in the jet next to mine.”
No one speaks for a second. No one has to.
“Hell of a way to honor him,” Dalton says finally.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding once, my voice low but steady. “I hope so.”
A beat passes. Then Dalton clears his throat and lifts his beer. “Well, now that we’ve established James still has a soul,” he says with mock seriousness, “who’s getting dessert?”
Wells grins and slaps the table. “Lila, you should pick something. I feel like you’ve got good taste.”
“I…” She turns toward me, just slightly—but it’s enough. The shift in her expression, the glint in her eye. It’s subtle but causes everything else—the noise, the laughter, the banter—to blur for a second. She tries again. “Let’s order…”
My fingers drift back to her thigh, a slow graze that’s definitely pushing the boundary between playful and intentional.
Her eyes flutter closed before she forces them back open, trying to act unphased.
A wicked smile tugs at my mouth.
She shoots me a warning look, lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile. She’s losing that battle fast. “A brownie sundae,” she finally chokes out.
I lean in, murmuring low so only she can hear, “It’s very hard to care about team bonding right now.”
She bites her lip, pretending to be unaffected, but the way her thighs press together tells me otherwise.
Dalton groans. “Goodness, you two.”
Lila laughs, nudging me with her elbow and turning her focus to Wells. “You walked into that one.”
Townsend shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “Remind me why we invited them?”
Dalton grins. “Entertainment value?”
Wells points his fork at me. “Man’s been back on the demo team for one day and already has girls fawning all over him.”
“Hardly.” Lila mockingly rolls her eyes trying to play it cool, but she leans closer anyway, her shoulder brushing mine.
Dalton grins. “Ouch. Careful, Lila. Viking’s ego is a fragile thing.”
I shake my head, taking a sip of my beer while they keep running their mouths. The jokes, the jabs, the effortless back-and-forth—it’s normal, it’s familiar, and it feels damn good to be back.