Lila
Hampton, Virginia
The FaceTime ringtone chimes through Logan’s dimly lit family room and my heart jumps.
Finally.
I scramble off the couch to pause the Hallmark movie I’m watching and nearly trip over one of Logan’s running shoes that I haven’t let myself put away. My thumb fumbles over the screen before I manage to answer, breathless.
“Hey, stranger,” I say, trying to keep the nervous energy out of my voice.
Logan’s handsome face appears, and the tight knot in my chest loosens instantly. He’s in his flight suit, the top unzipped enough to see that his gray undershirt is slightly rumpled. His dark hair is a little messier than usual, and his grin is tired but still reaches his gray-blue eyes.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, his voice low and rough from what I assume is exhaustion. “Miss me?”
“You know I do,” I reply softly. “It’s been over a week, Logan. I was starting to think you forgot about me.”
“Not a chance,” he says, leaning closer to the screen. “They’ve just been keeping us busy. You’d think I signed up for hard work or something.” He smirks, but there’s a heaviness behind it that he can’t hide from me.
I can’t help but smile at his sarcasm. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good,” he says, his tone reassuring, but I notice the shadows under his eyes. “It’s just…a lot. But it comes with the job.”
“Tell me about it,” I press gently. “What’s been going on? Or can you not tell me?”
He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Most of it, even if I could tell you, you wouldn’t want to know. But I can say we’ve been busy flying and not training flights. We’ve had some…close calls.”
I swallow hard, my chest tightening again. “Close calls?”
“Everyone's fine. I’m fine,” he emphasizes quickly, his grin returning. “Come on, Lila, you know Odin’s not going to let some primitive fighter get the best of us.”
Something tells me the enemy aircraft is anything but primitive.
I exhale loudly. I remember him telling me how he struggles to sleep on deployments. He hasn’t told me why, but I don’t have to use my imagination to take a guess.
I’ve seen his jet.
I’ve seen him fly it.
The two together are a lethal harmony of natural instinct and unparalleled technology.
Despite his attempt to lighten the mood, I can’t help the worry that creeps into my voice. “Are you sleeping?”
He softens, his eyes locking with mine through the screen. “I’m okay, Lila. I promise.” He pauses, then says, “I like seeing you in my house. Feels like you’re closer, even when I’m halfway across the world.”
I glance around his family room, the exposed brick fireplace, the dark wood mantel, the ridiculously large TV mounted above. The familiarity is both comforting and bittersweet.
His expression softens, his slate-colored eyes growing serious. “I mean it, Lila. I like knowing you’re there. I hate that we didn’t get more time before I left.”
I’ve been back and forth from my house to his.
Every time I go home, I intend on staying.
But I just end up grabbing more of my things and heading back to his place.
It’s adding time to my commute to work, but it’s worth it to feel him around me.
On Friday, Alinna and Ivy are going to come over for our first book club meeting, that isn’t on FaceTime, in months.
So I’ll have to go home for that. I keep telling myself if it’s too hard, I can come back here after they leave.
“Me too,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
“How’s Bravo doing? You think Saber is good enough to replace me?” he asks, a crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. There’s a challenge in his voice, light and teasing, but beneath it, I hear something else.
I roll my eyes, exaggerated, letting out a dramatic sigh. “No, silly. He’s a great pilot, but no one can replace you.”
Logan chuckles, the sound scratchy through the speaker but still warm enough to tighten something in my chest. “You’re just saying that because you’re biased.”
“Well, yes, I most certainly am.” I lean back against the couch, tucking my legs under me, the phone propped up on a pillow.
“But seriously, Asher’s good. Sharp, focused.
He doesn’t talk much, though.” I tilt my head, considering.
“Kind of has the ‘is he an arrogant jerk or just shy’ thing going on.”
Logan arches an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Should I be worried?”
I snort. “Maybe. I do have a thing for that black flight suit.”
His laughter fills the space again, the tension I didn’t realize I’d been holding easing just a little. I close my eyes, taking a long blink before focusing back on him.
We sit in silence for a minute, the distance between us stretching out like a rubber band about to snap. My heart aches with the need to reach through the screen, to close the thousands of miles between us and feel him, solid and real. I pull my legs to my chest, clutching my phone tightly.
Finally, I clear my throat, trying to break the heaviness. “So, what’s the food like over there? I hope you’re not surviving on MREs.”
Logan smirks, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip like he’s testing my restraint. He leans back against the wall behind his bunk. “Oh, you know, five-star dining all the way. Gourmet powdered eggs, freeze-dried meat, and coffee so strong it might actually be jet fuel. You’d love it.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Sounds appetizing.”
“It’s not, but don’t worry,” he says, shifting so he’s closer to the screen. His voice drops and slides over me like silk. “When I get back, I’ll finally make that pasta I owe you.”
My stomach flips, not because of the food, but because of him. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat an Italian dish and not remember his hands on me, his mouth, the way he’d whispered promises against my skin, promises we didn’t have time to keep before he deployed.
“That’s not all you owe me,” I say, tilting my head and biting my lip, my voice dipping into something just shy of innocent.
His eyes darken, heat blooming behind them. That spark— that look—flares to life, and he leans in like he’s trying to close the ocean between us. “I know exactly what I owe you and I plan on paying up. Slowly. Thoroughly. Until you forget your own name and only remember mine.”
I swallow, my pulse hammering. “Is that a promise, Captain?”
His smirk turns lethal. “You can bet your life on it.”
The ache in my chest deepens, edged with longing and something dangerously close to love. Or maybe that’s exactly what it is. He’s branded into me and the absence of him is a hollow I can’t fill.
“Logan,” I breathe, my body tense with the weight of everything I want and can’t have.
He groans, tipping his head back like he’s barely hanging on. “Lila, we have to stop. I’ve got a briefing in ten and showing up hard as hell probably violates half a dozen regs.”
I press my lips together, half a laugh, half a whimper. “Maybe I want you to.”
His eyes flutter closed for a second, like he’s praying for patience. “Why are you trying to kill me?”
“You started it.”
He huffs a breath, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, but when his gaze finds mine again, it’s different, needier. “I keep imagining you in my bed,” he murmurs, his voice thicker now. “Wearing my shirt. Nothing else. Just you, soft and warm and mine.”
I bite back a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a whimper, my skin flushed and burning. “I miss you.” It slips out before I can stop it.
His face softens immediately, like I just said something sacred.
“I miss you, too,” he says, lingering on the words like he’s savoring them.
Then, softer still, “I’d give anything to fall asleep beside you tonight.
” Something in his voice shifts. There’s less heat now.
“Not for anything physical,” he adds, his thumb brushing his lower lip like he’s imagining me there.
“Just to have you in my arms, to know you’re safe. ”
Emotion swells in my chest, hot and sudden. I press a hand to my heart, like that might hold it together.
His eyes close for a second, and when they open again, they’re shining with something raw. “I don’t know what’s ahead,” he murmurs. “But I know I don’t want it without you.”
“I…” My voice breaks, a fragile thing in the space between us, thick with everything we can’t say yet.
Words caught behind ribs, beating loud in the quiet.
He’s halfway around the world, and still, he’s the only person I want to tell things to.
But how do I say that to someone who counts down the days until he can fly back into danger, whose entire world is built around duty and sacrifice?
Someone who wakes up every day willing to put his life on the line without hesitation because he loves it, because it’s in his blood, because flying isn’t just what he does, it’s who he is?
How do you tell a man like that that you’re falling for him, when you know he’d walk into fire without looking back if it meant protecting the people he cares about? When you know he’d choose the mission, the team, the greater good—every single time?
You don’t.
You let him carry that weight without adding your own. You smile through the ache in your chest and pretend it’s just harmless flirtation, not the beginning of something that could hollow you out if you’re not careful.
So I swallow the words. Bury them deep and pray they don’t splinter through the cracks in my voice. Because the last thing he needs right now is my heart in his hands—not when he’s already carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Before I can say anything more, the door behind him swings open fast. Logan’s expression shifts from charming to murderous in half a second.
“Hey, James, you going to hog the Wi-Fi all night, or can I call my mom?” Ryan’s voice cuts through the quiet, laced with teasing warmth.
Logan groans, dragging a hand over his face. “Carter, get the fuck out.”
Ryan steps into view, leaning into the frame with an obnoxiously wide grin. His hair is slightly damp. His flight suit is unzipped to his waist and he’s wearing a T-shirt that says Fly Like You Stole It.
I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle my laugh as Logan looks moments away from strangling him.
“Hey, Lila,” Ryan says, waggling his fingers at the screen. “What’d I interrupt? Logan looks like he’s ready to fight someone.”
“Nothing,” I squeak, my face flaming, slightly grateful I wasn’t able to finish my sentence.
“Nothing,” Logan deadpans, glaring daggers at him. “Get out, Carter.”
Ryan snorts, leaning into the frame with his signature cocky grin. "Miss me?"
I laugh. "Always, Ryan!"
Logan grumbles. "Please don’t encourage him."
Ryan’s grin widens, ignoring Logan entirely. "Well, I’m here to make sure you know the truth about this idiot." He jerks a thumb at Logan. "You wouldn’t believe how hopeless he was trying to find you before you joined the team. Guy had all the subtlety of a brick through a window."
Logan scowls. "Carter."
Ryan ignores the warning, leaning closer like he’s sharing classified information. "It’s a good thing he’s an exceptional pilot because he’d never make it in intel. His ‘research’ skills are tragic."
I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh, while Logan groans and scrubs a hand over his face. "I swear, one of these days—"
"Yeah, yeah. Threats, threats." Ryan waves him off like an annoying little brother. "Anyway, Lila, don’t let this guy fool you. He snores."
"Carter!" Logan snaps, shoving him out of the frame.
From somewhere off-screen, Ryan yells, "Loudly!"
I’m laughing so hard I can barely catch my breath. "Bye, Ryan! Stay safe!"
"Always am." He leans back in and flashes one last grin before walking off.
Logan glares after him, then turns back to me with a resigned sigh. "I regret every life choice that led me to being friends with him."
I grin. "You love him."
"Unfortunately," he says shaking his head, but I can see the corner of his lip turning up like he’s fighting a smile.
Logan grabs something off the nightstand and chucks it at him, the door slamming shut a second later.
“I like knowing you’ve got someone watching your back.” The knot in my chest releasing a little bit more.
Logan’s expression softens again. “Always. Listen, I should go,” he says reluctantly. “Got a briefing and if I’m late, Townsend will have my ass.”
“Don’t let me get you in trouble,” I say, forcing a smile.
“You could never,” he says, his voice light. “I’ll call again as soon as I can, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper, my fingers brushing the screen like I can somehow reach him.
“Bye, sweetheart.” And he’s gone.
I allow myself a couple of minutes to sit there, staring at the empty screen.