Chapter 2

"What did you just say?"

Reid shot to his feet, jaw tight.

"I said we're done." I looked at him, calm. Nothing in my voice at all.

In my past life, I'd pulled three all-nighters for his checkride. Three. I'd used every bit of my experience as an aviation medical officer—every piece of insider knowledge I had about FAA evaluation standards—to put together study notes no one else could have made for him. The kind you can't find anywhere. The kind that took years to be able to write.

And that was just the checkride. For seven years, I'd managed every one of his medical reviews, every psychological evaluation, every bureaucratic hurdle that stood between him and his license. All of it, quietly, in the background.

He'd gotten so used to it he'd started believing he was actually talented.

"What is your problem now?" Reid's voice was flat, dismissive—the tone of someone doing me a favor by engaging at all. "Ivy made me a drink. Can you not be so pathetic about this?"

Ivy touched his arm, eyes going soft. "Reid, don't get upset—it's my fault. Sloane's just jealous. I'll leave. Don't fight over me."

Her eyes were a little red. Perfectly timed.

"You're not going anywhere." Reid pulled her behind him and turned on me. "Sloane. I'm warning you—enough. My checkride is tomorrow. You're pulling this now because you want leverage over me. It's not going to work."

I didn't bother responding.

I walked into the bedroom, pulled my suitcase from under the bed, and started packing. Clean and quick. My clothes. My laptop. And the thick stack of handwritten study notes sitting on the nightstand.

The second I picked up the notes, Reid moved.

"Put those down." He crossed the room fast, hand out. "Those are for me."

I stepped around him. "Reid. Have some self-respect. I wrote every word of that. Why exactly would I leave it for you?"

"Because you're my girlfriend!"

"Ex-girlfriend," I said. "You think I'm being petty? Fine. From here on out, your problems are your own. Good luck tomorrow."

I wheeled my suitcase out the door without looking back.

Behind me, Reid's voice cracked into a shout. "You'll regret this! When I get my four stripes tomorrow, you could beg on your knees and I still wouldn't look at you!"

Then Ivy, softer: "Forget her, Reid. She's just playing games. You don't need her notes. You've got this."

The elevator doors were almost closed when Troy stepped in—one of Reid's first officer buddies, six-pack of beer under his arm.

He glanced at me. Then at my suitcase. A slow smirk.

"Sloane. Dragging your bags out at this hour?" He let the pause stretch. "Reid's got his checkride tomorrow. Might want to be a little more understanding, don't you think?"

The doors slid shut between us.

I didn't say a word.

Some things don't need an explanation. And after tomorrow, none of them would have anything to say to me anyway.

I stood outside the building and opened my phone. Reid had already posted in the group chat with his crew.

Voice message. I could see the waveform without playing it.

Troy's reply came almost instantly: "Women. Can't let them get too comfortable. Once you've got your four stripes tomorrow you'll have your pick. Don't even sweat it."

Someone else chimed in: "For real. She's a medical officer. Doesn't make her anything special."

I laughed once, quietly, and blocked Reid's number. Then Troy's. Then everyone in that chat.

Playing games.

No. I was watching the clock run down.

The banned compounds in that drink needed at least 48 hours to clear his system.

Reid. Let's see how confident you are at your pre-flight screening tomorrow.