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JAMESON
I climb out of my plane, the sweat basically dripping from my forehead. The adrenaline still pumping quickly through my veins.
My friend Asher Cudrow, aka Cuddy, jumps out of his cockpit, skipping half the stairs on the ladder. His boots hitting the pavement with a thud, "Jamo! Man, that maneuver was insane. I thought you and Dojo were toast."
I let out a cheeky laugh, "Fucking practice, and maybe you'll get there."
I still feel a little lightheaded as the blood flow is finally starting to return to my brain. No matter how many times you fly, you still feel the shock of the G forces. You never get used to the feeling— the tunnel vision, the pressure against your body. It's a new experience every single time. Every maneuver.
"Not all of us are naturals like you, asshole. Some of us can't fly in our sleep."
After a four-hour debriefing, I am ready for a break. As an airman, I get weekends off but can be called in at any time, so I don't get too comfortable with my off days.
I've lived the past five years in Colorado and jumped pretty quick at the chance to move to a squadron back home. My best friend Dojo moved with me, along with a couple other guys from our old group. We've been together since training in T-38s, barely knowing how to take off and land. Now we fly F-35s, our babies.
I loved Colorado, but I also love Georgia, and I want my nephew JC to know who the fuck I am, even if I haven't made an effort to go home in five years.
A fighter pilot's life doesn't really leave time for that, and hell, most of us would rather spend our free time learning more about flying. Those planes are like pieces of our souls, and we would stop at nothing to be able to fly them to the best of our ability. So if that means extra time spent studying them, then so be it.
There's no rest for the wicked.
"Are you gonna be around tomorrow?" Dojo asks, placing his gear in his overly sized locker.
"Nah, man, I've been here a few weeks. I need to go see my brother. It's my nephew's birthday party tomorrow. You can tag along if you want?"
"As tempting as a birthday party sounds, T-Dawg and Cuddy want me to help them pick up ladies at the beach."
A beach day?Fuck, I couldn't tell you the last time I went to the beach.
"Alright, man. Have fun with that. Maybe hide the White Claw from Cuddy."
He laughs out loud, stripping out of his flight suit, "He says that they attract the women."
I shake my head, "He's an idiot."
We both laugh and pull my phone out to call Judson for the first time in a long time.
"Jay?" His voice on the other end of the phone sounds oddly soothing.
"Yeah, bro, it's me. Sorry I didn't call you back last time. It's been a crazy few months."
He lets out an irritated huff, "It's been a crazy five years, Jameson."
I know he's mad, or upset, or whatever. He has that right. I left.
I just packed up my life and walked away. It was hard, but I had to go. I had to.
"They moved my assignment. I'm home."
"Home?"
"Yeah, so I'll be able to make it to JC's birthday party tomorrow," I inform him, remembering all the repeat text invitations from Blake.
His end of the line goes uncomfortably silent, and I try to think back to the last time I saw him. I think maybe a few awkward Christmases ago, I was in for a day and a half. Judson and I felt like estranged relatives, and Blakely kept beating around the bush, afraid of an actual conversation.
"Are you there?"
"Yeah," He quips, "sorry, I just… I wasn't expecting that, I guess."
