Ash steps forward, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, his expression neutral now, unreadable. “You ready?”
I inhale deeply, forcing my mask of professionalism into place. “Always.”
But as we step out, our bodies carefully not touching, I know the moment we’re alone again, the moment the act drops, we’ll be making up for every second of restraint.
Even through the cockpit,the crowd’s deafening roar cannot distract me from my squad as we execute the last maneuver.
“Tighten formation,” my voice crackles over the radio, and I ease into position, my hands steady on the controls as we carve through the sky in perfect sync.
Ash is right where he should be, his jet sliding smoothly into formation beside me. It’s his first exhibition, but you’d never know it. His flying is precise and controlled—like he was born to do this.
We finish the routine with a perfect high-speed pass over the crowd, breaking away in flawless timing before circling back to land. The second our wheels hit the tarmac, the roar of applause reaches us, even through the canopy.
As soon as I step onto the runway, the rush of adrenaline still buzzing in my veins, I turn just in time to see Ash climbing out of his jet. He pulls off his helmet, shaking out his dark hair, his flight suit clinging to him just right.
Damn.
He turns toward me, his expression unreadable, but his eyes flicker with something beneath the surface—something only I’d recognize.
The rest of the team swarms around him, clapping his back and congratulating him on his first flawless show. He takes it in his stride, flashing that cocky smirk, but when his gaze finds mine across the tarmac, there’s something more.
Something just for me.
I keep my expression neutral, falling into step with the others, keeping up the act. But I already know—when this day is over, and when we’re alone—there won’t be any distance between us.
Because Ash Carr just proved himself in the sky, and the way my heart is still racing?
I can’t wait to help him celebrate.
The buzz of the crowd still clings to the air—laughter, shuffling feet, pages flipping as we sign autographs. I twist the cap off a marker, my name scrawling in quick, practiced loops across posters and event programs. Amelia stands just beside me, her energy as effortless as ever, and every smile she gives the spectators feels genuine and warm.
“Thanks for coming out,” I say to a kid clutching a signed cap before glancing up—and freezing.
There they are.
Mom and Dad.
Standing just beyond the crowd, Mom craning her neck, her face alight with a smile that nearly knocks the wind out of me. Dad has that same steady look he always does—like I’ve somehow done something bigger than I realize.
I barely have time to process it before Amelia’s hand brushes mine. Soft. Deliberate. Her fingertips just graze the side of my hand, a silent, grounding nudge. My chest tightens.
She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. I catch the faintest curve of her smile before she steps away.
“Phoenix!”
A little girl’s voice rings out, high and excited, slicing through the noise. Amelia’s call sign.
She pivots toward it, all grace and warmth, crouching slightly as the girl runs to her, a worn event badge swinging from her neck. Amelia tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and gives the girl her full focus, her smile soft but bright.
And then—arms around me.
Mom.
“Baby, you were incredible!” she says, pulling me into a hug so tight I barely get air before Dad claps me on the back, his grin wide.
“Proud of you, son. Hell of a show out there.”
I try to be in it—really feel the moment—but my gaze keeps slipping past them, back to Amelia. To the way she crouches to the little girl’s level, laughing at something the kid says, her hand resting gently on the girl’s shoulder.
