Lila
Fargo, North Dakota
The sun hangs high over Fargo, the late summer air warm and steamy.
The roar of jet engines echoes over the base, rattling in my chest as I stand near the flight line, my radio in hand.
The demonstration has just begun and the crowd is eating it up.
It’s been weird adjusting to a new demo team.
Bravo has transitioned into the role seamlessly, but for me it hasn’t been as smooth.
I miss Logan. I miss Ryan. I miss them all.
Their close-knit camaraderie made me feel more like I found a family than joined a team.
I roll my shoulders and look down at my clipboard.
Everything on my list is checked off. I have these air shows down to a science. It’s all meticulous, controlled.
Unlike me.
I plant one ballerina flat in front of the other as I weave through the vendors selling wooden replicas of fighter jets and sweatshirts with the demo team’s logo on it.
Kids laughing as they chase each other pretending to be pilots themselves.
Adults sipping on cold drinks, eyes focused skyward, the glint of the golden canopy stealing their attention.
Outside, I’m calm, composed, the picture of professionalism in my cream cap-sleeved blouse tucked into navy-blue paperbag pants.
My hair is swept into a sleek low bun, my makeup subtle but polished.
Outside, there’s not a single crack in my armor.
Inside, I’m crumbling.
I pull in a deep breath and remind myself why I’m here—to ensure the event runs smoothly, not to think about Logan, or to wonder if he’s safe, or to hear his broken voice replaying over and over in my head.
I don’t love you.
Captain Porter “Riot” Fitz’s voice booms over the loudspeakers, his smooth, practiced cadence carrying across the field.
I glance his way, he’s standing at attention, filling out his flight suit nicely with his large, muscular frame.
His eyes are skyward, protective earmuffs over his ears.
“Ladies and gentlemen, feast your eyes on the world’s most advanced air superiority fighter—the F-22 Raptor!
Flown by Major Asher ‘Saber’ Camden and Lieutenant Clark ‘Elixir’ Addison of your United States Air Force’s fighter squadron, the 142nd Phantom Lancers. ”
A shiver runs through me as I scan the sky, watching Asher’s jet streak upward in a perfect vertical climb.
He holds it there for what feels like an impossible moment before cutting power, letting the jet drift downward like a falling leaf before catching it again in a seamless maneuver.
The crowd gasps, and I smile, knowing this part always gets them.
I adjust my noise-reducing safety earmuffs.
I hated these things at first but I learned quickly that they’re a necessary evil.
Uncomfy and hot but needed if I’d like to continue to have decent hearing.
It’s almost weird how normal spending time in this world and around this predatory machine has become.
Five months into my job and it feels like I’ve just kind of always been here.
The pilots, the plane, it all never ceases to amaze me—the excitement never fades—but this is my life now. Lincoln’s jet has become mine.
Clark follows close behind, rolling his Raptor with a level of precision that makes it look effortless. It’s not. I’ve spent enough time around these pilots to understand the years of training and countless hours in the cockpit that make stunts like these possible.
“Now watch as Saber executes a high-g turn, demonstrating the unmatched maneuverability of the F-22,” Porter announces.
I make my way to the demo team’s tent, checking in on the rest of Bravo.
Captain Owen “Titan” Carson leans against one of the tables, arms crossed over his muscular chest, watching the sky like a proud older brother.
He flicks his earmuffs off of the ear closest to me, so I do the same.
Owen catches my eye with a smirk, his light green eyes dancing. “Hell of a show, huh?”
I nod. “It always is. They make it look easy.” I turn my gaze back to the sky.
He chuckles. “That’s the job. How’d Alpha compare? I hear James isn’t as good as they say.”
The whole team knows I’m dating Logan or was dating him. I’m pretty sure Dalton told them so they wouldn’t get any ideas and send Logan spinning deeper into his downward spiral. I roll my eyes. “You and I both know no one says that.”
He shoves my arm gently causing his earmuffs to fall off his head completely, ruffling his dark blond hair.
He catches them before they hit the ground, flashing me a lopsided smile.
“You’re right. He’s damn good. I’ve seen him fly.
I keep hoping they’ll deploy Alpha and Bravo together, but it’s yet to happen. ”
My radio crackles, pulling me back to work.
One of the ground crew members calls in a request for me to check on a VIP guest. I respond quickly, my attention never fully leaving the sky.
There’s something mesmerizing about watching them fly, the way they push the jets to the limit, defying gravity like it’s nothing.
For a moment I allow my mind to drift to Logan.
He should be here. In that cockpit, up there in the sky where he belongs.
But he’s not. It’s only been six weeks since he left, which means he’s not flying at all and hasn’t been since the attack.
My heart aches for him. For what he’s grieving.
Not just the brothers he’s lost, but his jet, his home.
He’s thousands of miles away, grounded, recovering, and drowning in pain he refuses to face.
I exhale sharply and shake the thought away.
Asher and Clark bring their jets in for a final low pass before circling back to land.
Porter’s voice booms over the speakers, rich with enthusiasm.
“And there you have it, folks—the F-22 Raptor! The pinnacle of air dominance, unmatched in speed, agility, and stealth. A true masterpiece of modern aviation! Give it up for Saber and Elixir as they bring these incredible jets in for a smooth landing.”
The crowd erupts in cheers, and a swell of sorrow grips me before I can push it down. I’m surrounded by activity, but I feel utterly alone.