Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The curtains of Emerson's open bedroom window swayed in the cool night breeze while their sheerness enabled the moonlight to seep through. Only one-half of the pair was comfortable, however. Bradley's body was pressed firmly against Emerson's, his arm draped around her waist providing comfort and security. He fell asleep to the sweet smell of her rose shampoo. Yet, after the emotional evening Emerson experienced, she had a restless sleep haunted by memories and nightmares.
⎯
The new naval aviators had advanced to the stage of their training where the Navy finally allowed them to fly mission simulations in real fighter jets. It had been Emerson's biggest dream since studying aviators at her mother's work. And now, she was finally living that dream. The Naval Academy placed the aviators into squadrons and had them fly several times a day. The academy appointed Bradley Bradshaw as Emerson Blackwood's wingman.
The two had been practicing for a few weeks now, and Bradshaw was an intolerable wingman. Emerson honestly thought the Navy had paired them together for comedic purposes; their flying styles were completely opposite. Emerson was headstrong; she followed her own rules, and she wasn't afraid of seeing a little action. Bradley Bradshaw, on the other hand, was timid, almost as if he was unsure of his training.
After landing back on base, Emerson climbed out of her plane, dropping to the ground with an annoyed huff. She was grateful that was the last training exercise of the day; she needed a drink after flying with Bradshaw.
"You're reckless! You must not have anyone to mourn you when you come burning in!" Bradshaw snapped at Emerson.
Emerson whipped around to face the pilot, "And you sit on your perch like a rooster, waiting for the right time that never comes! You must have a lot of people counting on your return!"
Bradshaw's chest rose and fell quickly, his jaw clenched. "I don't have anyone. The one person who I thought was in my corner didn't believe in me," he admitted.
"So that's what it is, huh? You're second-guessing yourself. You think up there, and you're dead, Bradshaw!"
Despite Emerson's harsh words, she couldn't help but feel empathy for the pilot. She understood him; she didn't have anyone in her corner either. They were the same person; they just chose to handle it differently.
"Come have a drink with me, Bradshaw."
His expression changed to bewilderment, "What?"
"I said, 'Come have a drink with me, Bradshaw.' I think we could both use it."
