There was something in his voice, something off, and it took me a second to pinpoint it. “You’re nervous.”
Panther looked away from me. “I wouldn’t say nervous.”
“Scared, nervous, fucking terrified, same thing.”
He sighed, still not meeting my eyes. “I’m fine. I just need to get back up there.”
“You can tell me if you’re not fine.”
“You can’t tell your competition you’re not fine. You tell them you’ve got this. And I do.” Panther looked at me then and placed his hand on my shoulder. “I’m fine.”
Before I could protest that I knew damn well he wasn’t, he walked off, heading toward the locker room to get suited up. I followed after him, knowing I needed to do the same, but I couldn’t help feeling like I was watching a train wreck about to happen.
19Panther
I SUCKED IN a deep breath, held it in my lungs until it burned, and then blew it out slowly. I’d never felt anxious in the cockpit before, and I wasn’t going to start now. I’d gone through pre-check three times, I knew the hop details, and I was in line and ready to go. This would be just like any of the other hundreds of times I’d flown, bar the last one. So why was it that final hop had my head fucked and my pulse racing so fast I was surprised I hadn’t blacked out?
“You’ve got this,” I said, because saying the words out loud meant they were true. I didn’t need to fear a repeat of last time. That wouldn’t be happening again, and even if it did, I’d come through it fine once, and I’d come through it fine again.
So why the hell was I in such a state of panic? I didn’t have a clue, and I didn’t have time to think about it either, because the all-clear came through, and it was time to rev up and go.
With my hands shaking, I navigated the jet toward the runway, trying to keep my breaths steady as I focused on the mission ahead.
“You’ve got this,” I told myself again, and then I began to accelerate. Faster and faster I pushed, the familiar vibrations of the jet racing down the runway doing nothing to calm my nerves. If anything, I felt my pulse racing faster than ever, my hands sweating and my vision blurring.
Shit. I can’t do this. I can’t fly like this and put everyone else and myself at risk. Shit, shit.
As quickly as I’d barreled down the runway, I brought the jet to a screeching halt. Paralyzed, I sat there at the edge of the strip and struggled for breath. It was all I could do to lift my arm enough to rip the mask off, and then there it was—air, sweet air.
“Panther?” came a voice over the comm.
“I can’t.” The sound that came out of me sounded nothing at all like me. It was shaky and breathless and full of anxiety, all things that weren’t me. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
There was a pause, and then the voice said, “Bring it back in.”
Without the mission hanging over me like a sack of bricks, I was able to get back in control of myself enough to turn the jet around and head back. Once I parked, I just sat there, the full reality of what had happened hitting me.
I’d failed. I’d failed by not having the guts to go up there and try. I wasn’t a guy who said, “I can’t,” but I’d said it, and not just once.
“Fuck.” I pulled off my helmet and scrubbed my hands over my face. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just suck it up and do what needed to be done? Now I’d have to face not only my instructors, but also the other trainees. I’d have to face Solo. My father would hear about it. And I’d look weak.
Nausea swirled in my gut, and I quickly made my way out of the cockpit and across the field. I barely made it to the bathroom in the bay before it all came out, all the tension and fear—and breakfast. Thank God everyone else was already on the mission and couldn’t see the way I wasn’t handling my shit. When I was sure I was done, I collapsed onto the floor, leaning my head back against the door and giving myself a few minutes to make sure nothing else would be making a surprise appearance.
Who are you?
The bathroom door squealed on its hinges as it opened, and then I heard Commander Levy say, “Lieutenant Hughes?”
Oh for fuck’s sake. Really?
I pushed up to my feet and stepped out of the stall feeling like a dead man walking. I must’ve looked it too, because a flash of compassion crossed Levy’s face before he schooled it back into his usual nonchalance.
“Sir?” I said.
“Wash up. Get out of your gear. Then come see me in my office.”
As he let the door swing shut behind him, the urge to be sick again hit me; the problem was that there was nothing left in my stomach that needed to come out. So I washed my hands and splashed some water on my face, not bothering to look in the mirror. I didn’t know if I could face looking at myself when I felt like I was crawling out of my skin.
Ten minutes later, I knocked on Commander Levy’s office door.
