Lila
Hampton, Virginia
The second I walk back into Logan’s house, the silence hits me like a physical weight. It feels too big, too empty, like all the air has been sucked out now that he’s gone. His scent still lingers faintly in the air—a mix of his soap and his sandalwood deodorant—and it makes my chest ache.
I stand in the entryway, clutching the spare key he gave me in my trembling hand. It feels heavier than it should, like holding it has consequences I can’t comprehend yet.
I set it down on the table by the door and stare at it, willing myself to breathe.
What happened to Lincoln won’t happen to Logan. He has better technology, better stealth, better odds. I know these things are true. I know the Air Force has made major advancements with the F-22, that it’s capable of things the F-16 never will be.
Taking a breath, I try to slow my galloping heart. Logic doesn’t stand a chance against fear, not when I know how quickly everything can change.
Not when I’ve already lived through the worst-case scenario. The panic clawing at my chest is almost suffocating. I don’t know what to do with myself.
Stay here, surrounded by him or leave and be consumed by the void he’s left behind.
Logan’s flight jacket catches my eye the second I walk back into his dining room.
It’s draped over the back of one of the black shaker-inspired wooden chairs, the smooth brown leather catching the faint evening light of the setting sun filtering through the windows.
I move closer, almost without realizing it, my fingers trailing along the worn edge of the sleeve.
The leather is soft under my touch, broken in from years of use, but sturdy. It smells faintly of him, too.
The patches on the front draw my eye, and I trace the stitching of his squadron insignia with my fingertips.
The 142nd Phantom Lancers. The raptor looks fierce, its talons extended mid-attack, surrounded by the bold letters of the motto I know means so much to him: “First to Fight, Last to Fall.” Right beneath it, his nameplate is stitched in clean black letters: Capt. Logan James. “Viking.”
I glance to the other side of the jacket, at the patch of his pilot wings, and something twists in my chest. He worked so hard for those wings, pushed himself to the limits to get where he is, and now he’s risking everything by flying straight into danger.
My hand lingers there, as if touching it will somehow bring him closer.
I’ve never felt like this before.
Like I have something to lose.
On the back of the jacket, I notice the subtle embossed design of an F-22 cutting through storm clouds.
It’s beautiful, understated, just like him.
I can almost see him in it, the way it hugs his shoulders and molds to his strong frame.
Logan looks like he was born to wear it, like it’s an extension of who he is.
But now it’s here, and he’s gone.
I drape it carefully over my arm, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of it—not just the leather, but everything it represents.
I hug it to my chest, the smell of him making my throat tighten.
I sit down in the chair where it was left, gripping the jacket like it’s the only piece of him I have left to hold onto.
Our story is just beginning.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, pulling me from the spiral. I glance at the screen.
Alinna.
I don’t even hesitate. I swipe to answer and press the phone to my ear, my voice already trembling. “Hey.”
“Lila?” Alinna’s voice is warm, concerned. “Are you okay? You sound…”
“He’s gone,” I blurt, the words catching in my throat as I grip the jacket harder. “Logan’s gone. He just left for a deployment, and I—” My voice breaks, and I press my hand to my mouth, biting down hard on my finger to try and hold back the sobs that threaten to take over.
“Oh, Lila,” Alinna says softly. Her tone is a balm, but it’s not enough to stop the tears. “I’m so sorry. Do you want me to come over?”
I glance around Logan’s home. Everything here screams him. His boots neatly placed on the shelf by the front door. His laptop, forgotten, left on the coffee table for later. It’ll be dead when he gets home. That feels like a bad omen. I walk over and pick it up, heading in search of the charger.
“I’m at his house,” I manage.
“Then stay there,” Alinna says firmly. “I’ll grab Ivy, and we’ll come to you. Don’t move, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
***
When the knock comes at the door, I nearly jump out of my skin.
It’s been an hour since I talked to Alinna and all I’ve managed to do is clean up the mess we made in Logan’s kitchen.
I rush to open the door, and the moment I do, Alinna pulls me into a hug so tight it feels like she’s holding me together.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs into my hair, rubbing my back in soothing circles.
Behind her, Ivy steps in, carrying a bag of takeout in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. “We brought reinforcements,” she says with a small, tentative smile.
It’s such an Ivy thing to say that I let out a weak laugh, even as tears continue to streak my face. “Thanks, guys.”
We settle on Logan’s large light gray sectional, the takeout containers spread across the coffee table. Alinna sits cross-legged at one end of the couch while Ivy pours wine into the glasses she found in Logan’s kitchen. I sit in the middle, clutching the glass they hand me like it’s a lifeline.
“What did he tell you?” Alinna asks gently.
“Not much,” I admit, picking at the edge of a napkin. “Just that the base they’re going to is under siege and that they need air support. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be gone. It could be months.”
Ivy frowns, her dark eyes full of sad understanding. “Under siege? So, it’s extra dangerous.” It isn’t a question.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, staring into my wineglass. “And he said he probably won’t be able to contact me for a few days until they’re there and have cell reception.”
She nods again. A far-off look in her eyes. I know she’s been through this but at the moment it doesn’t comfort me.
“Do you want to stay here?” Alinna asks after a moment. “Or maybe come to my place? I don’t think you should be alone right now.”
I shake my head. “I think I want to stay. He gave me his spare key and said I could come here whenever I want.”
Alinna nods, her expression soft with understanding. “Then we’ll stay with you tonight. We brought clothes and toiletries in case you wanted us to be with you.”
Ivy reaches out and squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to do this alone, Lila.”
“What about Hadley?” I say to Ivy.
“My mom has her, she’s fine. I’ll call in a little and fill them in.”