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I was ashamed of myself for walking away like that. But seeing Indy again was like getting whacked in the gut with a metal bar. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Still wasn’t able to.

Gonzo reached his hand out to me, and I let him lug me up as he groaned. “Jazz, a little effort, man.”

“I’m done,” I said bending over, gasping for breath. “Cash can step in for me.”

“Cash can’t aim for shit. I don’t know why the Air Force lets him fly a multimillion-dollar jet,” Gonzo complained, but he was already waving at Cash who’d been sitting on the sidelines. I had hoped that participating in our monthly football match with the troops stationed at the garrison in Vincenza would take my mind off things, but nope. All I could see were Indy’s dark eyes, full of shock and hurt.

Like the last Thanksgiving I’d spent with the Russos. I’d hurt her then too.

Before that, when we were kids, she’d always looked at me with admiration. I’d liked the way her eyes would track me in a room. I used to imagine she looked up to me like she did Josh, that I was like him—good, courageous, always looking out for everyone—instead of who I actually was—sad, broken, born under a bad star. Last night, though, it was like she saw who I really was for the first time and she was . . . horrified.

I reached for the towel sticking out of my gym bag and wiped the sweat from my forehead. With my back against the metal fence, I watched as the guys tried to make up for my shitty plays. There was no denying the obvious: The dark days were upon me. I was surrounded by destructive energy like a fucking black hole.

And that’s exactly why I did not need Indy back in my life right now.

I’d tried to explain it to her back then, after Josh’s accident. At first, I’d tried to pretend I could be around the Russos. That I wasn’t caving in on the inside because I was there and not him. I couldn’t do it though. I couldn’t sit there at Thanksgiving dinner with them and pretend that everything wasn’t my fault.

Ashleigh had been right to leave me that summer. She didn’t know about my curse—no one did—but maybe she’d sensed that I was bad luck.

Indy sure hadn’t. She’d clung to my side all through dinner, kept wanting to talk, and I got annoyed. No amount of talking would bring him back. I’d learned that before with my mom. I’d tried to explain to her that she shouldn’t be around me, that she was better off without me. But I’d never been good with words, and I don’t think I fully understood everything back then to even articulate it. So, I’d snapped at her. “Indy, you need to stay away from me!”

Then I’d stormed out. I got shipped out the following week. A blessing. The only way I could process what had happened was to keep flying. She’d sent me letters at first, and I just couldn’t open them. I stashed them away, and then eventually they stopped coming. I made sure to send Christmas cards to the Russos every year, giving them vague updates, and I included Indy in those, but I never wrote just to her. Was I a real shit for doing that? Yeah. But it was for her own good, dammit. The farther she stayed away from me the better.

“Hey, man.” Ahlstrom sat down next to me. He passed me a bottle of Gatorade. “Heard anything about when you’ll be flying next?”

I shrugged. He didn’t know about my suspension. “Nah, still waiting.”

Some of the army guys came jogging over, gloating at their win. The smug expression on Frankie’s face made me want to cram my fist down his throat. As we left the field, he threw an arm around me, like we were buddies, and pulled me in like he wanted to share a secret. “So, listen, man. That was crazy last night. I had no idea about Diana. That you’re a family friend.”

I stiffened. “Was.”

“Was? What happened there?” I wasn’t about to elaborate, and my silence was enough for Frankie to continue, awkwardly, “All right, man, I get it. You don’t want to talk about it. Anyway, from what I understand you’re like a big brother—” He stopped as I did a double take. “—lookin’ out for her. And I just want to assure you, I have the utmost respect . . .”

“Yeah, that was obvious from the way you were talking about her ass,” I quipped and stepped away. “And I’m not her brother.”

“Then you don’t mind if I ask her out again?” He grinned at me.

“You can ask, but I doubt she’ll accept.” I let my gaze rove over him, from his squeaky-clean sneakers to his perfectly coiffed hair. How was he not even sweating after that game? I was still wiping perspiration from my forehead, and I’d sat out the last five minutes. “You’re not exactly her type.”

“Oh yeah, and what type would that be?” He smirked, knowing full well he was most women’s type.

“I don’t know, Frankie, someone who thinks with the head on his shoulders and not the one between his legs.”

He laughed. “Then I guess you’re not her type either.”

“Fuck off.” I shoved at his shoulder, pretending this was all lighthearted banter when really I was seething inside imagining him anywhere near Indy. But there was nothing to worry about since she’d never be into a fuckboy like Frankie.

“Well, turns out I must be her type, because we’re going out again.”

My head jerked up and I narrowed my eyes at him, certain he was fucking around with me. He merely smiled in return. “That’s right, Jazz Hands. Just wanted to give you the heads-up since she seemed a little worried you might get wind of it. Figured you must be fillin’ in for the big brother since he’s not here. But maybe I read that wrong.” He leaned in closer and winked. “You wouldn’t have a thing for your friend’s little sister, would ya? I’d understand, she is a fine piece . . .”

I fisted his shirt on my hand. “Go on, Frankie . . . remind me how much you respect her.”

“Okay, well, guess I just got my answer.” He shoved my hands away and ran his fingers through his curly dark hair.

“The hell you did.” I glared at him as some of the other guys rushed over.

“Everything all right?” Gonzo asked, glaring at Frankie.