Dalton
Hampton, Virginia
Logan’s house smells like whatever dessert Lila made that’s cooling on the counter.
The lights are warm, not too bright, and there’s music playing low through the speakers flanking the large mounted TV—some bluesy guitar track that fits the easy buzz in the air.
Lila and Alinna are admiring Lila’s engagement ring in the light by the window.
Wells is laughing at something Logan said in the kitchen. Then beer bottles clink.
I linger near the edge of the room, a barely touched beer in one hand, my back half-resting against the archway that separates the dining area from the living room. This is the kind of night that should feel loud and chaotic to me, but it doesn’t. It’s good noise. Familiar.
Home-adjacent.
I watch Logan for a beat as he walks toward the girls with a bottle of champagne.
He refills Lila’s glass without her asking.
She’s mid-sentence with Alinna, talking with her hands, but she notices and offers him this soft smile that you don’t give just anyone.
Logan leans in and murmurs something low enough for only her.
She rolls her eyes but kisses his cheek anyway.
It’s not showy or performative. It’s just them.
Logan’s never been the loudest guy in the room.
He lets his Raptor speak for him, but watching him with her, I can see it instantly.
He’s all in. Every second. Every look. Like he’s holding the most precious thing he’s ever touched.
His eyes linger on her for another second before he refills Alinna’s glass.
It does something to my chest.
“Do you always hover this much?” a voice teases at my right.
I glance sideways.
Ivy.
She has her hair up in one of those effortless ballerina knots that probably took twenty seconds but looks like art. A few blonde strands frame her beautiful face. She’s in a light blue dress. It’s long, simple, and soft. One of the thin straps has fallen off her toned shoulder.
She looks like the kind of woman who could walk through a battlefield untouched.
Except I’ve seen her bloodied before.
I shove the memory down. Deep.
I offer her a small smile now. “Not hovering. Just...observing.”
Ivy lifts her wine glass to her lips, eyes narrowed in amusement over the rim. “And you always observe from shadows like some rogue spy?” She adjusts the fallen strap and I allow myself a few seconds to stare at her tanned, toned shoulder.
I chuckle, my eyes finding hers. “No shadows, just needed a minute. Wells talks a hell of a lot more than I do.”
She laughs, and it’s soft and real. “I’ve spent most of my adult life around men who use growling as a primary form of communication. You’re practically a poet.”
I turn away from the party and face her completely. “Poet? That might be a first.”
“You should take it as a compliment.” She swirls her wine to avoid eye contact.
“I am.” I pause. “But I need to make sure you didn’t confuse me with someone else.”
“I didn’t.” Her eyes fly to mine. “You’re not easy to mistake.”
There’s something in the way she says it. A flicker of curiosity, maybe interest, maybe more. It shifts the air between us.
She mirrors me, squaring her shoulders with mine and setting her wine glass on the window sill. “You’re also not bad with kids. Hadley adored you at your squadron’s BBQ.”
I blink. “She barely said two words to me.”
“She drew you. With a cape,” Ivy says, lips twitching like she’s trying to fight whatever emotions are surfacing. “We hung it on the fridge for a week before she replaced you with a unicorn.”
I huff a laugh, surprised at the way that settles something in me. I slap a fist to my chest like I’ve been struck. “Brutal.”
She smirks. “She’s three. Loyalty’s fleeting.”
Ivy’s more relaxed tonight than I’ve ever seen her. Still holding something close to her chest, but maybe not as tightly as she normally does. She leans slightly toward me when she speaks, not like she’s trying, but like her body forgets not to.
“You’re kind of a mystery yourself,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow playfully. “Me?”
“Yeah.” I take a sip of my beer, keeping my eyes on hers. “You walk into a room and light it up. But the whole time, I get the feeling part of you is somewhere else entirely.”
She stills, her amber eyes dancing with surprise. Or guilt. Or maybe both. Then she looks away, not out of avoidance, but like she’s weighing how much to give me. How much she’s willing to let me see.
“Maybe I am,” she says finally. “Maybe my mind is playing catch up with my body.”
That hits harder than I expect.
Because I get it. I’ve felt that before, after Ryan, after combat, after the kind of silence that echoes louder than gunfire. Like part of you didn’t make it out. Like you’re always chasing a version of yourself that doesn’t exist anymore.
“Ever wish you could go back?” I ask. “Before the things that changed you?”
She exhales slowly. “I want to say yes, but I wouldn’t have Hadley.” And there it is, the truth, raw and unguarded. When Ivy meets my eyes, I don’t see the polished, composed woman she’s learned to be.
I see her seven years ago. Covered in sweat and trauma and bandages. Searching for something steady. Something familiar.
Even now, all these years later, she still looks like she’s searching.
I want to ask her what happened between then and now. I want to ask who left her in pieces. “Ivy,” I start to, but before I can finish, there’s a knock at the door.
Logan straightens from where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, still laughing at something Lila whispered in his ear. He presses a kiss to her mouth and gently moves around her. “That’d be our flight commander.”
Logan opens the door. Completely unaware of the storm about to come through it. His voice changes and the response doesn’t sound like Townsend.
I glance back at Ivy.
She’s gone still.