Ivy
En route to Nellis AFB
I never thought I’d be grateful for ear protection this bulky.
We flew out with the maintenance crew and support staff.
Lila coordinated it, of course. There wasn’t a safer way to get us on base without creating red tape.
The demo team took off yesterday in their jets and we boarded this beast just after dawn.
Hadley thought it was like a field trip. I told her it kind of was.
“Better than economy on American Airlines,” Lila says, grinning at me from across the aisle of netted jump seats. Her long hair’s pinned into a low twist, and even though we have been on this plane for hours she still looks perfectly put together, perfectly fresh. “Still sucks, though.”
I nod weakly. My eyes sting from the dry air. The cargo bay smells like fuel and metal and something vaguely chemical, and I haven’t stopped sweating since we took off.
I have no idea where we are now, somewhere over dusty nowhere, hours since we left Langley and still at least an hour to go.
I press my shoulder into the netted seatback and close my eyes.
The straps dig in, stiff and unfamiliar.
My body aches for movement, my joints hate this stillness.
My mind hates it more. Before I would have been at the barre studio teaching, dancing between classes, then picking Hadley up from school.
Before I would have seen my mom several times this week, had her over for dinner and a glass of wine.
At this point before feels like another life.
And this one has military jump seats and fuel stops in states I won’t even see out the window.
I remind myself this is safer. Traveling with the team, staying on base, vanishing into crowds of people who belong. It’s the smartest thing I could’ve done.
And that’s worth a little nausea.
We finally taxi and the back ramp lowers with a metallic groan, letting the Nevada heat rush in like it’s personally offended we exist. Hadley cheers like she’s on a ride at Disney.
We step off the C-130 and into a wall of dry air like we’ve just been smacked in the face by a blow-dryer set to hell.
Hadley throws her arms out like she’s flying, yelling something I can’t hear over the ramp hydraulics, but her grin is blinding.
I’m immediately hit by a wall of sound, screaming jets overhead, radios crackling, gear clanking on asphalt.
Everything is motion and noise. Black uniforms, flight suits, crew shirts.
Sunglasses and walkie-talkies and lanyards and that constant, kinetic energy I’ve only ever seen around people who live their lives on adrenaline and structure—like Kyler.
I do not belong here.
Lila, of course, fits right in. She’s already waving to a few maintainers and pointing toward the pickup area where a base vehicle is waiting to transport the team’s stuff.
“Welcome back to Vegas,” she says brightly, adjusting her badge.
My bachelorette party flashes in my mind.
It was six years ago, but it feels like another lifetime.
It wasn’t even four months after what happened.
After Kyler put bullets in those responsible and kicked down every door that separated us.
I remember being in that Vegas club, jumping at every clink of a glass and trying to drown the fear in champagne.
I remember almost pulling Lila aside, finally telling her everything, but then she met Logan.
I’d never seen her look at someone the way she looked at him, so I stuffed it back down.
Again. And buried it with the other things too painful to tell anyone.
Kyler doesn’t even know it all and he was there.
He doesn’t know what they planned to do with me.
Maybe he has an idea. But he doesn’t know.
He probably asked me a hundred times but every time I opened my mouth to try to tell him, I locked up and my words failed me.
Instead, I’d just curl into his strong arms and cry.
Chills break out across my skin. A feeling so contradictory to the insane heat that has welded my sports bra to my ribs. My skin feels gritty from recycled aircraft air, my scalp itchy under my baseball cap. I haven’t even seen a mirror since we left Dalton’s before sunrise.
And somehow Lila looks like she just stepped off a tarmac-themed Vogue shoot.
She pulls her long hair from the knot at the base of her neck as she steps out into the sun, re-fluffing it with a flick of her hand. “God bless humidity-free air, even if it’s hotter than hot,” she says with a smirk, pressing her aviators over her green eyes.
A slow smile spreads across her face as she spots someone.
I follow her gaze.
Parked about a hundred yards from us are four F-22 Raptors. And in front of them, their respective pilots mid conversation and not paying any attention to us.
“Come with me,” she throws over her shoulder, running a hand through her hair again. She picks up her pace until she’s practically running. Like it’s been weeks or months since she’s seen Logan, not a matter of hours.
I pick up Hadley and hurry after her. I tighten my grip on her back when the wind kicks up, lifting dust from the concrete. She’s still chattering about the airplane and the “big green straps” on her seat, but my eyes stay on Lila.
The moment Lila reaches Logan, his whole body shifts.
It’s subtle, just this softening, like tension draining out of his spine.
She says something. He grins. And then his hand cups her jaw as he kisses her.
Right there, like no one else exists. It’s not gross or showy. It’s barely even long. But it’s real.
Unexpected jealousy flashes through me. Not because I want Logan.
But because I don’t have what they do. Because Dalton’s standing not fifteen feet away, and I don’t get to walk into his arms like I belong there.
I don’t even get to look at him for more than a second without feeling like I’ve stepped over a line.
He’s always been gorgeous. I was very aware of that fact the day Lila introduced us at Logan’s house. There was this instant awareness between us the moment our eyes met—something quiet and electric that made the room feel a little smaller.
The handful of heated exchanges since Hadley and I moved in have only sharpened that feeling.
Every look lingers a beat too long. Every conversation edges a little closer to something neither of us is willing to name.
Sometimes it feels like we’re standing on opposite sides of a line drawn in the sand, both of us pretending not to see it.
Pretending we’re not constantly tempted to step over it.
I shift Hadley to my other hip, and glance away, jaw clenched. Lila and Logan break apart, smiling, completely unbothered by the crew around them. I drag my eyes away from them before the jealousy sitting in my chest has time to grow roots.
But the movement draws Dalton’s attention.
I force my gaze to the ground, and when I glance back, he’s looking at me.
Not casually. Not the way someone scans a crowd. His gaze catches mine and holds there for a second too long. Long enough that something tight and uncertain flickers across his expression—something that looks a lot like restraint.
And something that looks an awful lot like longing.
My stomach drops. Because suddenly I’m not the only one standing on this side of that invisible line.
Then his full lips curl into a soft, real smile, no hesitation, no holding back. That quiet, low-burning warmth flares through his whole expression, like relief and maybe joy all rolled together.
He steps forward just a little, like he’s ready to catch us if we stumble.
Hadley starts waving like a lunatic and he walks over. “DAWWWLTIN!”
His smile deepens, amber eyes lighting up. “Hey, Hadley.” It’s the kind of look that makes me want to believe maybe, just maybe, I’m not so out of place here after all. Then his eyes find mine again. “Hey, Ivy.”
I swallow and rub my thumb over Hadley’s back, reminding myself why we’re here. Not for kisses. Not for flirting. Not for the way he looks at me like I’m not a broken, half-hiding version of someone else.
We’re here to disappear in plain sight.
And I can’t afford to forget that.