I wasn’t sure I was cut out to teach. An hour in, I was asking myself how Monroe stood up every day in a classroom and taught. The students before me were counting on me to teach them about the F-15, a fighter jet of which I knew every detail and could explain in my sleep.
But there was something about the responsibility of it all. What if they got in the cockpit and screwed up because of my explanation? It was bad enough that I had crashed a very expensive piece of machinery and almost killed my WSO and myself.
I closed my eyes briefly, thinking of Monroe, who’d been on my mind and in my dreams for the last two days since our steamy night together. While I would give anything to havemany more nights like that, I was finding just the thought of her kept me calm and less anxious.
I tapped the schematic of the twin engines up on screen. “An Eagle doesn’t forgive arrogance. She’ll give you everything you ask for until she doesn’t. Then you better hope your training kicks in. Because older models of the F-15s don’t have an automatic fail-safe system designed to prevent G-LOC. Not yet anyway.”
An airman with big brown eyes raised his hand. “Captain Callahan, how come your training didn’t kick in to prevent the G-LOC?”
Million-dollar fucking question.
The weight of the stares from the eight males and three females occupying the seats was enough to make me bolt. But I had orders to assist Major Braun’s class while I was grounded. Still, I would rather be pulling Gs than explaining my accident.
I circled the desk to stand in front of it, scanning the anxious students waiting to hear how I fucked up.
Good times.
“First, let’s talk about the Anti-G Straining Maneuver—or AGSM, for short.” Major Braun had informed me this class was up to speed on the AGSM. “Who can explain this maneuver?”
A female student with blond hair and green eyes, reminding me too damn much of Monroe, raised her hand.
I nodded at her, reading her name on her uniform. “Teague.”
“Sir, if you feel a G-LOC about to happen, you should contract your muscles in your thighs, legs, and stomach, pushing air out of your lungs.”
“And perform rapid breathing techniques every three seconds to maintain pressure,” another student added.
“But the G-suits should help, right?” a dark-haired airman asked.
“Sure,” I said, “but there are other factors outside of all the training that can still cause you to blackout, and that is your physical conditioning. And a gravity-induced loss of consciousness sneaks up fast and doesn’t care how tough you are.” My voice came out rough and ragged as I began pacing along the front of the room, the sound of my boots clicking against the tile. I thought of Tate, my WSO, still in a hospital bed, a stark reminder of how I had screwed up. “You feel that tunnel closing in, you fight like hell to stay awake.”
The door creaked open, and Major Braun stepped in, the gold oak leaves on his uniform catching the overhead light. “A word, Captain.”
I met him at the door, tucking my hands into the pockets of my flight suit. “Yes, sir.”
“When you’re finished, Lieutenant Colonel Pierce wants to see you in his office.”
The air in my lungs stuttered. “Is the verdict in on my case?” I asked, wanting to know what I was walking into.
“Couldn’t say. Just relaying the message,” Major Braun said then left as sweat coated my body.
Glancing at my watch, I spun around and cleared my throat. “All right, that’s it for today.” Class was over in five minutes anyway, and I had to compose myself before seeing Pierce.
Chairs scraped the floor, voices rose, and the room emptied until the only sound was my pulse in my ears. Grabbing the flight binder, I opened the cabinet and placed it inside, ignoring the tight pull in my shoulder, which was a reminder that even if the medical review board gave me the thumbs-up to fly again, I had to wait until the flight surgeon cleared me from my shoulder injury.
Fifteen minutes later, after a trek across the base to the medical building, I hung around outside the double doors and texted Monroe. At nine in the morning, she was probablyexplaining an algebra problem. I would give anything to see her right now. To feel her lips on mine. To inhale her lilac scent.
Me:I’m thinking about you. Any time to sneak in a visit before Friday’s football game?
My finger hovered over the send button while I debated whether I sounded desperate. After a beat, I hit Send, not caring either way. When I wanted something, I went after it, and I wanted Monroe in my life, in my bed, in my soul.
Part of me was questioning my sanity about why I was falling for her. But love didn’t have a timeline. My mom had drilled that into me. “Love at first sight exists, Jace,” she’d said. “That’s what happened with your father and me.”
But I couldn’t drag Monroe into a life that wasn’t stable. Or ask her to follow me from one duty station to the next. She had a life in Pine Valley. A son in high school.
That’s not for you to decide, dude, my inner voice supplied.
Voices coming out of the building snapped me out of my thoughts. Pocketing my phone, I walked in and took the stairs to the second floor where Pierce’s office was located.
