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“Yeah, I know. I just . . .” I trailed off. Liv knew better than anyone the reason why I’d been dragging my feet filling out this damn application. I didn’t want to say it out loud and I didn’t need to with her. NASA had been our dream—mine and Josh’s—and it didn’t feel right that I was the only one here to realize it. And after what I’d done, I sure as hell didn’t deserve it.

“Levi.” Her voice softened, and my throat tightened like it did whenever I thought about Josh. “ I know you never want to talk about it . . . but I’m here for you.”

“Yeah, I know. But you have enough to worry about.”

“You should let people worry about you, Levi. We love you.” She added in a determined voice, “I’ll come out there and fill in the paperwork for you.”

“Really, Liv. It’s fine.” That was a goddamn lie and we both knew it. The Date was nearly upon us. Some people had unlucky numbers, I had an unlucky date: October 21. I was superstitious as hell about it and didn’t want to be anywhere near someone I cared about that day. “Don’t even think about coming out here.”

“Levi . . .”

“Look, I gotta go. Talk to you soon, okay?” We hung up and I slid my phone back in my pocket.

My eyes fell on the snow-capped mountains in the distance. They always reminded me of Colorado, and a wave of nostalgia swept through me. If only I could go back there, seize that hopefulness inside me and hold on tight.

Faces flashed before me—Mr. and Mrs. Russo, Nonna Gina. Indy. A sharp pain hit me under my solar plexus like it always did when I thought of them. Which, admittedly, I tried not to do too often, or it would wreck me.

If I could go back before it all happened, there’s so much I would change. I drained my beer and crushed the can in my hand and tossed it into the rusty oil barrel near the fence of the airstrip.

Yeah, maybe all I wanted wasn’t to fly. I’d give it all up for one more minute with my best friend.

I stared down again at the application. Then I folded it into a paper plane and aimed it at the trash can.

***

On Wednesday night we usually hit up one of the bars not far from the base. Tonight the guys had decided to go to Lino’s, an old school discoteca only a stone’s throw away from Venice because, as Ahlstrom put it “the pickins’ were gettin’ slim” in Sacile. I’d begged off tonight’s excursion, but my buddy Gonzo, the only person in my squadron who knew about my suspension, was determined to take my mind off my current situation and I’d reluctantly agreed to come out.

But as I stood outside the door, listening to the ’80s Italian pop songs and waves of raucous laughter, I glanced back at my car, a dark shadow against the backdrop of the purple twilight of the Venetian lagoon. For half a second, I was tempted to sprint back to her and take off into the night.

Then a large hand slapped me on the back, fingers gripping my shoulder and holding me in place. I turned around to Gonzo’s smiling face. “Hey, man, glad you decided to join us.”

Though he was smiling, I could still see the gleam of uncertainty in his eyes. He steered me into Lino’s, his hand firmly on my shoulder as we crossed the front room of the bar with its fluorescent lights, zigzagging through the old men playing cards and younger kids who came for the retro pinball machines.

“Some of the guys from Vincenza are here. Fiero invited some chicks he met last week. Thank fuck.” Gonzo nodded toward the door that led to the bar out back. “I haven’t been laid in like two weeks, man. I’ve got a permanent boner.”

“Too much information, Gonzo.” I tried to laugh, but the words came out angry. My earlier beer buzz had worn off and now I just felt pissed off at the world. No amount of alcohol or pretty girls would drive it away. And yet here I was.

I opened the door into the dark interior of the bar, illuminated by blue and pink neon lights. The peeling leather booths spilling over with military men—Italian and American, from the nearby bases. And wherever there are military men, you can be sure there are local women on the prowl. Call it one of the benefits of the uniform. And one I was normally all too happy to take advantage of, as long as the women understood I didn’t want anything long term.

I didn’t do relationships anymore. I’d learned my lesson with Ashleigh, the only girl I’d ever let myself fall for. Or at least, thought I’d fallen for. I’d proposed to her after all, but hell, that was mostly I couldn’t wait anymore. I was a hot-blooded kid with sex on the brain back then. But I’d agreed to wait for her because I worshipped her. What a fucking idiot. Little did I know she was already sleeping with someone else.

“Dude, here, have a beer. You look like you wanna murder someone.” Gonzo laughed, leaning over the bar to slide a pint my way. I took a long swallow of bitter beer and tried to loosen my jaw muscles. “Thanks, man.” I slapped ten euros on the counter to pay for both of us and turned around to check out the crowd. More men than women tonight.

Beers in hand, Gonzo and I made our way to the table where Fiero and Ahlstrom were waiting. They were army guys, stationed at the base in Vincenza. Had I known Frankie Fiero was coming I would have stayed home. The guy was always super competitive with me, which, normally I liked. I was competitive too, but tonight I just wasn’t in the mood for his constant digs.

“Jazz Hands, you made it,” Fiero joked, and I tried not to cringe at his nickname for me. Ever since the guys had discovered that I used to dance competitively as a kid, they hadn’t stopped riding me about it. My call sign was “Jazz,” so I suppose I was asking for it. “Thought you were done with this place since the Chiara incident.”

“She’s not here, is she?” I shot a quick glance around the room, relieved to see Chiara was nowhere in sight. I’d made the unforgivable error of hooking up with her more than once, and she was convinced we were now a couple.

“She still stalkin’ you, bro?” asked Ahlstrom.

“No. Haven’t heard from her in a while.” Just a month ago she was sending me dozens of texts every day. I hadn’t responded, and, thankfully, she seemed to have gotten the picture. I slid into the booth and put my arm around Ahlstrom. He was still a pup, a ball of goofy energy with pale blond hair and a face full of acne.

“You gotta be clear with ’em from the start.” Ahlstrom hiccuped. “I always make sure they know they can play with the joystick, but it’s not here to stay.”

“She knew the deal,” I grumbled, eyes darting over the crowd to make sure she wasn’t there. “So, Frankie, word is you’ve invited someone?”

“That’s right, Jazz Hands.” Fiero winked at me. “Just wait until you see her. Legs for miles. Smallish tits but an ass like a perfectly ripe peach.” He brought his fingers to his mouth and kissed them.