He thinks about it. Really thinks. His shoulders ease, posture relaxing, like what he’s about to say isn’t something he offers often. His hand shifts, almost lifting toward me before he catches himself and brushes it down his thigh instead.
“It’s not always that simple,” he says quietly.
“Then you make it look convincing,” I say, smiling faintly, trying to keep things light.
“It’s not for everyone,” he replies, leaning back against the wall beside me. His gaze drops to my shoes, then slowly travels up, unhurried, thoughtful. It makes my heart pick up its pace anyway. “There are trade-offs. It’s not just direction or orders. It’s about building something inside yourself—and letting it be tested.”
“Tested how?” I ask. “Being away from home? Living by rules? Titles and expectations?” I pause. “Or resisting the urge to walk away when something easier looks tempting?”
“At first,” he says simply.
I nod, absorbing that. “You chose this path,” I say. “So… how do you know if someone’s right for it?”
“No one really does, Hailey. Not until a moment that can break them comes along. Some people are fit for the air force and only for taking care of the planes. Some find their place and still struggle anyway. Keeping a schedule and maintaining dedication is just the start, but that’s a lot like life in general.”
“Yeah. I know life is a balance between finding things that make life worth living alongside surviving. Sustainability and passion.”
“Not everyone gets … passion.” His eyes meet mine at the word and I see that slight darkening, see his jaw clench as he exhales through his nose.
I’d kill to be your passion. You’d get me every night, maybe in the morning too,I think before chiding on myself.We’re having a real conversation FFS!
“They choose a path because they decide what matters most. Does having reliable income, a comfortable life, and awork life that’s tolerable, but not passion-based mean more than enjoying every second of your life other than the stress of bills and living? It’s a personal decision,” he says.
“Ah, the worst kind. All gray area answers, no definitive right and wrong.”
“The military helps make that clearer,” he says with a slight smile.
“Or hazier. Because then it wouldn’t feel like a personal decision. It would feel like upholding a legacy – for me anyway. I don’t think I’d be fit for battle. I don’t think I could handle a lot of what’s out there. Those decisions …”
“Are life and death,” he says, that wistful note in his voice back. The kind that makes me want to comfort him. I shift closer to him. “And it would be easier if it was just a decision for you and not others.”
“Unforgiving and heavy stakes,” I agree, my fingers brushing his.
He meets my eyes and brushes his fingers across mine almost like an invitation to hold his hand. “I’m sure you’ve heard plenty of stories while working the bar.”
“Yeah. Men watching their friends fall and not being able to save anything to give their loved ones. Others that didn’t realize something was happening until they were in agony. I’ve also heard miracles happening. Is that perspective or chaos or …”
“That’s just life. One person’s miracle is another’s horror story,” he murmurs. “Even if battles end, the consequences and memories don’t.”
“Sounds like personal experience is speaking,” I whisper.
He nods and touches an extra set of dog tags on the chain that hold his. He clears his throat. “My best friend and Ijoined together. We went overseas together. He loved learning languages, thought it could bring people together. Really believed in diplomacy. He wanted to see the best in people … trusted me to protect him from the worst.”
“Wes,” I say, sliding my fingers along his. Our shoulders brush.
“He wanted me to trust his perspective after he gave me shit about assuming the worst and being surprised when I got it. I didn’t trust my gut because I wanted to trust him. One second.Onemoment where I should have put logic over emotion. That’s all it took.”
He goes quiet for a beat, then continues, voice lower.
“After that came the doubt,” he says. “It creeps in. Makes you question every call. If you let it lead, you stop choosing what you want and start choosing what feels safest. That kind of thinking gets people hurt. At best, it leaves you stuck somewhere you never meant to be.”
The noise of the base fades into the background, leaving only his voice and the weight of what he’s said.
I don’t interrupt. I don’t try to frame it or fix it.
Instead, I squeeze his fingers gently. “Thank you for trusting me with that when it’s not easy,” I say.
He shuts the door behind us. “You’re an easy person to trust and be honest with. Difficult topics or otherwise.”
