“I was the same way—until I met Juliet.”

Another plane passes overhead.

I look up at it. “Good flying conditions today.”

Henry follows my gaze. “Yes, they are.” A pause follows. “Gray left a couple of weeks ago.”

“Yeah, I know. Uh, Noah mentioned it.”

He nods, eyes still on the few fluffy clouds drifting by, covering the white trail left by the engines.

“Have you—have you talked to him?”

“No.” Henry shakes his head. “No. I—to be honest, I wouldn’t even know how to go about it. He barely answers the phone when he’s on leave. I have no idea how to reach him while he’s deployed.”

Honestly, I don’t either. He always calls me.

When I look at Henry’s expression—holding a hint of stoicism and a lot of sadness—there is a long list of things I’d like to say. Condemnation, for letting his relationship with Gray deteriorate to the point it has. Admiration of who Gray is. I want to tell his dad everything—how he feels about storms and how he lost Sam and what it’s like to be up in a plane with him.

“Maybe you should try to find out,” I suggest softly.

It takes a minute for him to reply. “Maybe.” He stands, straightening his white coat. “Have a good rest of your day, Evie.”

“Yeah, you too,” I reply.

Henry disappears, and I raise my gaze back to the sky.

CHAPTER TWELVE

When I walk outside at the end of my shift a week and a half later, a familiar figure is leaning against one of the planters that lines the entrance to the hospital. I freeze, take a step, and then freeze again. It’s been a typical Friday. I’m not expecting anything out of the ordinary.

Gray watches my stilted approach. A slow smile unfurls on his face, and if I was managing to play it cool at all, I abandon it entirely. I don’t let myself think; I react, flinging my body at his. He’s either expecting it or he has really good reflexes because he doesn’t even stumble as we collide.

I tighten my arms and legs around him, breathing deeply. He smells like soap and leather and something uniquely Gray I couldn’t put a name to. He feels solid and firm and alive.

Something brushes my hair as I cling to him. His hand, or maybe his lips.

We stand still for a minute. Me clutching him and Gray tolerating it. He’s holding me loosely, but I’m the one pressing us together. Finally, I relax my grip enough that I can tilt my head back and look up at his face. His expression is smooth, but emotions are dancing in his eyes.

I do the most embarrassing thing possible. I burst into tears.

That takes care of the indifference he was sporting.