But today I was ready.

Today nothing was happening.

“Is it the slowest day in existence?” I mumbled, tossing a tennis ball against the wall, my boots propped up on the desk.

“Don’t curse us. No work is a good day,” Captain Trivette said as she took the seat next to me and caught the ball on return. I liked her. She was level-headed, quick, and damn good on the stick. She also didn’t take shit as a pilot-in-command.

“Good point,” I acquiesced. It wasn’t that I was itching for action as much as I was ready to give back, to start paying the debt I owed.

An hour later, I got my chance.

“We’ve got a call!” Captain Trivette shouted into the bathroom. “One Bravo, one Charlie. Let’s go.” Bravo, urgent. Charlie, priority. Of course my first call would come while I was taking a leak. I shook it out and tucked it in and then ran for the door, squirting hand-sanitizer on the way out.

I grabbed my gear and sprinted, thankful that I’d kept up on PT since getting here. Seven minutes call-to-air—that was our average. Fastening my vest over my flight suit and moving my weapon from my thigh holster to the vest, I was ready to roll.

A strange mix of anxiety and excitement coursed through me in a way I’d forgotten and yet instantly remembered all too well. Helmet bag in hand, I met Captain Trivette on our way to the aircraft. Sergeant Rizzo climbed into the back as our medic, sliding the door shut after Specialist Frank got in.

I strapped on my helmet and kneeboard, and then we finished the run-up that had already been started. “We get the full nine-line yet?” I asked through the coms, knowing we needed the complete details before we could launch the aircraft.

“No,” Captain Trivette answered with a shake of her head. “I’m pretty sure the LZ isn’t secure.”

Not secure. They’re still taking fire, and you’re stuck at the fucking FOB. “This is bullshit.”

“Roger,” she said through gritted teeth.

Every second that passed grated each of my nerves, scraping them raw until I was ready to claw out of my skin to fly. I knew how it felt to be pinned down, under fire, with wounded…or to be the one wounded, praying for medevac. Those soldiers were out there waiting on us, depending on us, and we were still sitting here waiting on the fucking nine-line medevac request.

Just when I thought I was about to lose my shit, the details came in, and we launched. Two definite wounded. One walking. One litter. Unsecured landing zone. The ground fell away as I took us to the sky, heading toward the coordinates we’d been given. The Apaches would meet us there to provide security.

If those pilots were anything like Jagger, we were in good hands, but he was up at TK. We kept missing each other on the small opportunities we had to meet up.

Thirteen minutes in the air, and we approached the LZ.

“Gunman one-three, this is Dustoff one-two. Three minutes out,” I radioed the Apaches.

“Dustoff one-two, this is Gun one-three. LZ is not secure,” one of the Apache pilots called over the radio.

“Roger that. Two minutes out, pop smoke,” Captain Trivette answered.

Streams of white trailed from the ground, marking the LZ. From the air, I made out several soldiers taking cover behind a small wall, returning fire. This wasn’t unsecured, this was still a damn firefight.

“Ma’am?”

“Gunman one-three, how hot are we talking about?” Her head swiveled as she took in every detail of the ground that she could make out.

“Cherry red,” came the reply.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

She arched an eyebrow at me and took the controls. “Are we all in?”

“Fuck yes!” Rizzo called over coms.

“All in,” Frank added in.

I brushed my thumb over the picture of Ember I kept taped to my kneeboard. “I’m in.”

Adrenaline rushed into my system, flooding my veins. This feeling…this terrifying rush was only found in one place, and as much as I hated combat, I also craved it with a part of me that was surprisingly outspoken. Hell, it was screaming, let’s do this.

For a millisecond, my memory flashed to the building we’d cleared when I’d been shot, the wry smile Sgt. Green had given me, and his words flew from my mouth.

“Seems like a good day to die.”

Time to pay back what I’d been given.

“Mail the application,” I told Ember on Skype a few days later.

“Hello to you, too.” She laughed, tucking her auburn hair behind her ears as she sat back on our bed at home, unfolding the Hershey’s Kiss I’d left for her in the back of my T-shirt drawer. I missed that hair, the way it ran through my fingers like silk, the contrast of its fire against the pale skin of her naked breasts, the way it smelled. Everything. “How many of these did you hide for me, anyway?” She popped the Kiss into her mouth.

“Enough to send you searching on every bad day you could have while I’m gone. Now, I’m serious, December. Spring break is next week, which means the applications are due. Turn it in.”

She grimaced, wrinkling her nose in a way that was cuter than she intended. “I haven’t decided. You’re gone, and Paisley’s pregnant, and the timing is just all sorts of off.”

“Paisley has a mom and Morgan. This is something you need to do.” I unzipped my top and didn’t miss the way her eyes widened when my shirt came untucked just enough for her to see my abs. Good to know the extra gym time hadn’t gone unnoticed.