Page 47 of Viking

I let her go, even though every instinct in me screams to pull her back.

Lila moves into the kitchen, absently fiddling with a glass of water she doesn’t drink. When she speaks, her back is to me. “I just wish it didn’t feel like I’m always waiting for the next loss.”

I resonate with that more than she could ever know. I’ve lived with it for almost a decade—waiting for grief to find me again, like it’s got my name on a list somewhere.

I step closer, my hands curling into fists at my sides because if I touch her again, I might not be able to let go. “I don’t want to be another loss for you,” I say quietly.

She turns, her eyes meeting mine. “Then don’t be.”

It’s such a simple answer, but it’s not simple at all.

I nod, even though I don’t deserve the comfort of that promise.

She doesn’t smile, but something in her face softens, just a little. Enough to let me breathe again.

I stay. Because it’s all I can give her right now—my presence, even if my soul is still stuck somewhere ten years ago, burning in the wreckage of Reaper’s jet.

We don’t talk much after that. She curls up on the couch, wrapping her arms around me as she snuggles in close, and lays her head on my chest. The TV is playing something neither of us is really watching. I wonder if she can hear my racing heart, feel my pulse galloping as I fight my shameful demons threatening to pull me back to the day he died. To the briefings and the reports where I had to relive the moment that I let my brother-in-arms—her brother in life—take my place. And then when I was promoted to first lieutenant because even though I lost my wingman, even though I didn’t do my literal damn job to have his six—the mission was ultimately deemed a success because the two others in our flight were able to neutralize the target with the drop of a missile. Eliminate the threat to American lives.

What was it my commanding officers spewed to ease their guilt?

The needs of the many…

A necessary sacrifice for the greater good.

The price of duty.

All bullshit used to pretend my squadron didn’t lose a hero to save a coward.

As Lila eventually drifts off, I stare at the ceiling, feeling my secret pressing down on me like gravity.

I’m sorry, Reaper.

But the words are as useless now as they were then.

Hampton, Virginia

June 1, 2024

5:04 p.m.

Lila

We’re walking along the familiar trail by the park, the sun hanging low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the path. The sound of Hadley’s little feet kicking in her stroller adds a rhythmic beat to the conversation. The three of us have walked this six-mile loop countless times. Ivy and Alinna are chatting beside me, but my mind keeps drifting back to the conversation I had with Logan yesterday. It feels like such a relief, honestly. I was terrified to tell him about Lincoln, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t walk away. He didn’t get angry, even though I know I’ve kept a part of me from him.

“I still can’t believe you told him about Lincoln,” Alinna says, breaking my reverie and making me wonder if I spoke out loud. “I thought you were going to keep that buried forever.”

I let out a small sigh, glancing at the ground as my sneakers crunch against the gravel. “I almost did. I wanted to. But I couldn’t keep it in once I heard about his impending deployment.” I’m still a little upset that he didn't tell me about it, but I can see it from his side. I glance down at Hadley, her blue eyes wide and curious as she watches the world around her. Her laugh is a soft melody that fills the space between us. Ivy regrips the stroller’s leather handle.

Alinna nods slowly, her eyes thoughtful. “And he didn’t freak out or anything?”

I smile, feeling a warmth spread in my chest. “No. He listened. He didn’t run. And it’s not like I thought he would, but I don’t know, it still felt huge, telling him.”

As we continue walking, Ivy smiles at me, but there’s a little strain behind her expression as she pushes the stroller. “Good for you, Lila. Honestly. It’s a huge step. I’m proud of you.” I don’t miss the way her tone shifts, and it makes me pause for a second, my brow furrowing in curiosity. But before I can ask, she adds, “So, Alinna…when do you leave for Syria again?”

Alinna sighs, brushing back a strand of glossy dark hair that fell from her loose French braid. “Two weeks. I know, it’s fast. I’m just waiting for a couple final logistics, but I’ll only be gone three months this time.”

I can hear the unspoken tension in her words, the pull of responsibility mixed with the uncertainty that comes with working in a conflict zone. I’ve seen it in her before, in the quiet moments when she doesn’t speak as much, but it’s always followed by her resolve.