Logan
Panama City Beach, Florida
The restaurant is quiet, tucked away from the chaos of the air show crowds, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore a peaceful rhythm in the background.
Twinkling lights stretch above us, strung between palm trees, casting a soft glow over the patio.
The nearly full moon reflects off the ocean, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe.
Lila sits across from me, her legs crossed beneath the table, absently tracing the rim of her water glass as she watches me with those sharp, knowing eyes.
She looks beautiful in the long loose dress she changed into after the show.
Her sun-kissed skin glows under the lights and her long, dark hair falls in waves down her back.
It’s unfair how easy she makes it to get lost in her.
I’m not drinking tonight. We have an early demonstration in the morning and discipline is second nature now, but honestly, I don’t need it.
I didn’t bring her here to drink. I brought her here because I wanted her to myself.
Away from the team. Away from everything that makes it harder to ignore what she’s becoming to me.
“You survived your first air show,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Did it live up to the hype?”
She smiles, tilting her head. “I think so. The pilots were decent.”
I smirk. “Just decent?”
“Well…” She draws out the word, tapping a finger against the edge of her drink menu. “There was one. He was pretty impressive.”
I rest my forearms on the table, meeting her gaze. “Yeah? What was so impressive about him?”
“He didn’t crash.”
I pause, unsure how to take that. “Wow. The bar is set really high.”
Her lips twitch like she’s trying not to smile. “I like to keep my expectations reasonable.”
Lila is teasing, there’s warmth behind it, but what she says and how she says it takes some time for me to process.
Maybe because I know she has experience with pilots crashing.
Maybe because she’s able to be playful now and somehow compartmentalize the past from the present.
Maybe because she’s the only person here who doesn’t treat me like an F-22 pilot first and a person second.
The air thickens around me, pressing down like a weight I hadn’t noticed until now. It’s dense, charged, and humming with something unseen. I roll my shoulders, trying to shake the tension, but it clings stubbornly, a phantom pressure I can’t quite escape.
She lifts a brow. “You okay?”
I nod, reaching for my water. “Mostly.”
She tilts her head to the side, a strand of dark hair falling across her face. She pushes it behind her ear before saying, “What’s on your mind?”
She says it like we’ve been doing this forever instead of just starting to figure it out.
I could lie. I could brush it off with some easy remark, something smooth that would make her laugh and call me an ass. But the truth is pressing heavy on my chest, and the longer I keep it locked away, the harder it gets to carry.
I glance out at the ocean, watching the waves roll in. “You ever feel like you owe something to the people who came before you?”
She leans in closer, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Like who?”
Like Reaper.
Like the man I was supposed to protect, the wingman I failed.
I swallow, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “Guys who didn’t get the chance to be here. Guys who should’ve.”
Something shifts in her expression, something almost unreadable, but then she nods, fingers tightening around her glass. “Yeah,” she says softly. “I do.”
I wonder, not for the first time, if she’s thinking about him.
She doesn’t know that I knew him. That we flew together. That I was there when he died.
That I still hear his voice in my head sometimes, the way he laughed in the cockpit, the way he called me “Viking” long before it was my call sign.
She doesn’t know, and I don’t tell her.
Not yet.