Logan
Langley AFB
Major Townsend made the decision yesterday afternoon that we weren’t flying home until morning. He said between practices and performances, Ryan and I had logged more than enough flight hours and needed to get some sleep before logging any more.
It’s one of the rare moments where I actually agree with him.
As much as I would have loved to go over to Lila’s last night, I would’ve fallen asleep before I got to spend any real time with her.
The last few weeks have been a blur of briefing rooms, airspace coordination, and hours in the cockpit.
My body’s been running on muscle memory, and my brain feels like it’s two clicks behind.
Sleep barely took the edge off, but it’s something.
The squadron building smells faintly of coffee and jet fuel when I walk in to change.
The locker room’s mostly empty this early, just the soft patter of showers running and the occasional clank of metal doors shutting.
I peel off my flight suit, grab the gym bag I keep in one of the lockers, and swap into a gray athletic shirt and black PT shorts.
By the time I lace up my running shoes and fill up my water bottle, Ryan’s already waiting for me in the hallway near the ops desk, leaning against the wall like he’s been there all morning.
“About fucking time,” he says, pushing off the frame. “Thought you were going to put on makeup or something.”
“Funny.” I give him a dry look. “I figured you were trying to find an excuse to skip PT altogether.”
“Me?” Ryan puts a hand to his chest like I’ve hurt him. “You wound me, brother. I’m ready to smoke your ass on that track.”
I snort. “We’ll see.”
Ryan falls in step beside me as we head out, passing a few officers already gathered in the briefing room, their voices low as they prep for a day of simulator time.
The usual mix of pilots and maintenance crews cross the halls, busy with morning checks and their own tasks.
The base feels alive and steady—like a well-oiled machine.
“So what’s on the docket after PT?” Ryan asks as we step outside, squinting against the sunlight.
“Briefing on the weekend’s flights,” I say.
“Then Ghost and I have some mission planning with the ops team. There’s talk of a TDY for Alpha and Charlie.
High volume of insurgent activity, and I guess they’re thinking of calling us in for reinforcements.
But it’s just a rumor, so until it’s not, I think you’re stuck in academics with Townsend.
” Bravo and Echo—the two flights from our squadron that are currently overseas—are due for redeployment soon. Which means we’ll be up.
“Great,” Ryan groans, dragging a hand through his sandy-blond hair. “Can’t wait to spend two hours listening to him talk about sortie reports.”
I grin. “Maybe you’ll learn something.”
“Yeah, like how to take a nap with my eyes open.”
The banter is easy as we make our way to the track near the gym. There’s no escaping PT—it’s built into the schedule, one of the pillars of the job. Keeping our bodies in shape is as critical as keeping our heads sharp.
We hit the track in an easy stride, loosening up.
The air feels clean this morning, a light breeze cutting through the heat rising off the pavement.
Jets rumble in the distance, probably the first group of Raptors launching for the day.
I glance toward the flight line as the shadow of an F-22 passes overhead.
Ryan’s the first to break the silence. “So,” he starts casually, a little too casually, “how’re things with Lila now that you’re working together?”
The question throws me off just enough to trip up my breathing for a step. I recover quickly, keeping my eyes forward. “What?”
He smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “You heard me.”
I focus on the pavement, jaw tightening just a little. “They’re good.”
“Good?” he presses, voice laced with amusement. “You’ve been walking around here with a stupid look on your face for the last few weeks, and you’re telling me ‘good’?”
“I don’t have a stupid look.”
Ryan whistles. “Oh, you do. I mean, I get it—Lila’s…” He pauses, clearly trying to come up with the right word. “Your Valhalla. But shit, man, you’re not exactly subtle about it.”
“She’s not…” I start, then stop myself, rubbing the back of my neck as we approach the edge of the track. It’s quiet over here—just a few other airmen doing early-morning laps and workouts, a couple of sergeants with clipboards pacing back and forth.
Ryan glances at me, eyebrows raised, like he’s waiting. I let out a breath.
“She’s not like anyone I’ve met before,” I admit finally, the words coming slower than I’d like. “It’s different with her.”
Ryan’s smile fades into something quieter, more serious. He nods, his usual teasing edge replaced with something astute. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I stare out at the track, watching the airmen jog past, then look back at him. “I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s not just that she’s—” I search for the right word. “—you know, beautiful, smart. It’s more than that. It’s like she’s in my head, and I don’t even think she knows it.”
Ryan stops walking and leans his forearms on the fence railing, watching me closely. “You tell her that?”
I scoff. “What, that she’s got me wrapped around her finger? Yeah, right.”
“She doesn’t have to know you’re wrapped, but man, if she’s in your head like that, it’s worth saying something.
” Ryan shrugs. “Look, I know it’s complicated with her working with us now, and you don’t have to tell her about your…
baggage.” He doesn’t need to say more since that baggage feels as heavy as it did when it was new.
“At least not yet. But do you really want to chance a deployment without telling her how you feel?”
I don’t immediately answer. The thought of telling Lila that I’m one step away from figuring out how to write her name in the clouds is equal parts terrifying and right. I turn my water bottle over in my hands, thinking.
“It’s been a long time since I felt this way about anyone,” I say finally. “I didn’t think I’d meet someone like her.”
Ryan studies me for a second, then grins. “So you’re serious about her.”
I nod. “Yeah. I am.”
Ryan straightens, pulling himself up to his full height. “Well, look at that. The big bad Viking’s gone soft.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the smile that sneaks onto my face. “You’re a dick.”
He laughs, clapping me on the back as we start stretching. “C’mon, let’s get this workout in before you start writing poetry or some shit.”