Clothes, Powerade, and a ham sandwich later, I settled in at the kitchen table with my Apache Helicopter 5&9 flashcards, mentally quizzing myself over fuel pressure limitations.
“You know we don’t even start the Apache course until next month, right?” Jagger asked, reaching for a drink from the fridge.
“I heard there’s a test on the first day, and if you fail, you’re out.” I flipped the next card over.
“I’ll say again—a month.”
“Yeah, well, not all of us have a photographic memory to depend on. Some of us actually have to work for it.”
He slapped his hand across his chest. “You wound me. Besides, last time I checked, you were the one who graduated top of our class during Primary.”
“I wasn’t distracted by a girl.” Shit. I closed my eyes and tried to rewind time thirty seconds. My foot lived in my damn mouth today. The problem with always being honest was it bordered on insulting. I was working on it. I counted to three and looked up to see him waiting with a smirk. “Not that Paisley isn’t worth it.”
He laughed. “I’d have failed flight school if it meant keeping Paisley. Come to think about it, you’d better study your ass off. I’m taking you down.” He drew out the last word like a movie villain.
I flipped another card. “Challenge accepted.” I’d take him down in the air. Jagger might beat me academically, but I could outfly a fucking bird. It was a good thing my instincts and reflexes were rock solid, because I had to fight tooth and nail to keep academics up, which was fine with me. Things that came easy were seldom worth it.
Besides, if the army found out why it was so hard for me…well, they wouldn’t let me so much as finger the throttle on an Apache.
The cards flipped by along with the minute hand, then the hour hand. The door opened and shut a few times, but I kept my eyes locked on the cards until the house was empty and my cell phone rang out with Pat Greene. My scheduled four-hour study session was over.
I silenced the alarm, closed up the cards, and slipped them back into the little box I kept in the cabinet above the coffee mugs. My eyes trailed upward to the extra boxes of coffee, and my chest tightened in a heartbeat of panic, envisioning Samantha slipping on the counter. I quickly switched my study box with the coffee, bringing it to her level. Another adjustment.
My phone rang. I checked the caller ID, and my stomach dropped.
“Miranda?” I answered.
“Hey, Gray.” Her soft Outer Banks drawl pulled me into North Carolina like she’d physically tugged.
“Everything okay?”
“Absolutely. I wanted to call you with the baby news. We’re having a girl!”
“That’s great, Miranda. Your family must be thrilled.” Grace would be over the moon for a niece.
“Everyone is pretty excited. Are you going to stop in when you’re home for your birthday?”
I opened my mouth but wouldn’t lie, and didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. An awkward silence fell between us.
“Gray, we still think of you as family.”
I tried to swallow past the knot in my throat. “I know. Same here.” I also knew I didn’t deserve it.
“We’re hoping to bank her cord blood, for the stem cells.”
I scrubbed the surface of the counter, taking out a stain like I could do the same with the last five years. “Yeah, I’ve heard that’s a thing now.”
Call waiting beeped, and my shoulders softened. “Hey, Miranda, that’s Mom. I have to go. Congrats on the girl, and I’ll catch you later, okay?”
“I’ll give Grace your best.”
“Tell her I’ll see her soon.” Two weeks.
I clicked over, hitting “speaker,” and rested the phone on the counter as I took ingredients out for dinner.
“Well, I thought you might stand me up,” Mom answered, her accent drawing out the final word.
“I’m three minutes late, Mom. That’s hardly being stood up. Besides, when have I ever stood you up to cook Sunday dinner?”
“Never. That’s why you’re my favorite son.”
That almost made me smile. “I’m your only son.”
“Well, that secures your position in my heart.”