“Yeah. It’s been a couple of years, but she’s always had that strength. She carries everyone around her, including me some days.” My chest tightened, and my fingers tried to rebel, but I scrawled her name for the primary next of kin. She was my life, everything about me began and ended with her. When…if something happened to me, she needed to be first to know. I put Mom in second, with the express wishes that she not be alone when they told her.
I closed my eyes, trying to breathe away the images assaulting my overactive imagination. Ember collapsing in the doorway of our house, holding a folded flag at another military funeral, bringing flowers to a cold grave while she cursed the choices I’d made that brought us here.
“What about you, Carter?” Jagger asked.
He didn’t answer, just stared at the paper. It dawned on me—for all our time in flight school, I didn’t know anything about his family. He’d always been the self-righteous asshole Jagger had gone toe-to-toe with over Paisley. But then Carter had given his Apache slot to Jagger, all in the name of what was on the right side of his moral code, and I couldn’t help but put a few more points on his side. When he’d stepped up and helped me during the Blackhawk course because I’d spent way too much time traveling to be with Ember and not enough time studying, I started to genuinely like the ring-knocker.
I glanced down and saw that for all his writing, he’d left that slot blank. “Will?”
He startled, probably because I’d never used his first name before, and shook his head like he was clearing it. “Yeah, I don’t know. My parents…well, let’s just say there was a reason I needed a school that didn’t charge tuition. They’re not exactly going to know what to do, if they can pull themselves out of their respective bottles long enough to do it.”
Jagger and I threw side-eyes at each other, and he gave a nearly imperceptible shrug. “Grayson would know what to say,” Jagger whispered.
“He’s not here, smartass.”
“Chill the fuck out, we’re not having a moment,” Carter growled, scrawling a name quickly into the blank.
“Noted, West Point.”
“This thing is thicker than the 160th packet,” he muttered.
“You thinking of flying for SOAR?” I asked. Part of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment was based here out of Fort Campbell, but it had never occurred to me to put in a packet for an assessment straight out of flight school.
“Yeah,” he answered. “They need the best, right?” He shot me a cocky grin and stood to turn in his SRP packet. “But they’re not even going to look at me until I have some deployment hours under my belt, so I’ll wait until we’re back. You should think about it.”
“I thought you said they needed the best,” Jagger joked.
“Yeah, well I’ve seen Walker fly.” He looked back at me. “You have that edge.”
“No, thank you,” I said, turning back to my papers. Even though flying for SOAR would be badass, it wasn’t the kind of life Ember would sign on for.
I sent up a quick prayer that the army would never have to so much as look at these forms again and gave my packet to the clerk.
One step closer to zero day.
Chapter Three
EMBER
Josh’s hand on my lower back steadied my nerves as we walked into the hangar Saturday morning. It was the task force deployment kickoff 5K, and since Josh was expected to be there, I figured I may as well go, run, and meet some of the wives in the Family Readiness Group. I’d seen enough deployments with Mom to know I’d need their support.
The floor was open—the aircraft had already been sent to Afghanistan with Josh’s unit. I ignored the tightening in my chest that came along with that thought every single time I had it. They were already gone, and he’d be joining them soon.
Too soon.
Today the hangar was filled with family instead of soldiers. I paused at the threshold, ignoring the way the heat of the crockpot handles seeped through the hotpot holders, and simply took in the sight. Children in bright T-shirts raced around a maze of strollers and moms, while a bounce house sat empty to mark the “finish line” near the hangar doors. Tables lined the back wall, buffet-style, where spouses were setting up their dishes in preparation for the potluck breakfast after the run.
It felt like the first day at a new school, except I didn’t even have the luxury of an assigned seat.
You have a crockpot, too. You fit in.
“Of course you fit in,” Josh said with a little laugh. Guess I’d spoken that thought aloud. He held out his hands to take the crockpot from me.
“No.” I clutched the dish tighter.
“It’s not going to protect you,” he joked, walking with me toward the table.
“You have Kevlar. I have a crockpot.”