Dona Morte,
não venho pedir clemência nem aviso.
Só me pergunto, se já está aqui,
por que não me leva?
Por que me deixa vagando nesse corpo cansado,
como uma sombra esquecida?
Porque este corpo já não é lar,
este nome já não me pertence,
e esta vida... ah, esta vida
me deixou há muito tempo.
6.6k || Bradley lets himself get roped into another stupid idea, pays for his decisions, and loves every second of it. [stinger & rooster playlist]
===
Genre: coming of age hijinks
CW: injury, spiraling, grief - normal top gun trauma type beat
Author’s note: is it obvious i have time blindness?? And that i bend the rules of the military and every universe i write in to suit my selfish pursuits?? i've also never broken a bone or rode a motorcycle,,, so if that's wrong,,, uhhhh oh well?? || cross-posted on ao3
prologue chapter one chapter one point five chapter two
===
===
Consequences. A result or effect of an action or condition.
Bradley’s mother loved to throw that word around when Bradley was growing up. “You really need to think about the consequences of your actions,” she would say. Usually in a huffy, aggravated voice while dabbing away at the scraped knee bleeding out because Bradley didn’t think about running when his shoes were untied.
A little road rash was worth the exhilaration of speed in the mind of a three-year-old. As the lectures went on the older Bradley got, he realized the full weight of what his mother meant when she told him to stop and think before he did something. Not watching yourself when you were younger bled into the actions of who you would become when you aged.
You rank high, you get cocky. You let the numbers go to your head, you do anything to stay ahead. You block an opening, you set off a chain of events.
You fly too close, you get caught in jet wash. You don’t anticipate what’s coming, you lose control of your jet.
You go down, you eject. You don’t wait for the canopy to clear, you hit your head upon ejection. You hit at the wrong angle, you break your neck. You break your neck, you die.
What his mother instilled in Bradley most of all about consequences was the feeling that burrowed deep into your chest after everything was said and done. Guilt.
If only those 20 seconds weren’t spent jockeying for position and Iceman had just moved out of the way when asked. If only Maverick had anticipated the jet wash and been better prepared to get him and Goose out of a mess. If only his dad had ejected the canopy during the flatspin before ejecting their seats and not ejected into a canopy without any forward movement. If only Bradley had noticed the slow withdrawal of his mother into herself before it was too late and the cancer came back.
“We could totally steal Mav’s motorcycle,” Bee said, hands on her hips. Somehow every stupid idea that entered her head left her lips with some unfettered confidence. “And still make the cookout by seven.”
Somehow, none of these lessons had been passed along to Bee Masters. She acted without thinking. Consequences did not matter to her. Kick her out of every school, ground her for months on end, or send her to a shrink when the options run out.
According to Mr. Metcalf, nothing worked.
“This sounds like a horrible idea.”
She grinned at Bradley. Her brown eyes sparked with mischief fully lit up behind those coke-bottle glasses of hers, and that’s when he knew he was suckered into whatever she had planned. “I’ve got it all figured out.”
“Okay,” he sighed, “what do we have to do?”
Rooster disagreed with Mr. Metcalf in some regards. They had found one school she would attend most days out of the week and, so long as Bradley spent the free hours of their days with her, Bee would more or less fit into the role of a model child.
Well, as model as a child dumped without a second thought could manage to turn out. When Bradley thought too long about her lack of foresight with her actions, sadness would seep in where guilt usually rested. If Bee had felt love earlier in her life than these past few years, would she still be reckless?
She grabbed him by the wrist, and Bradley let himself be dragged wherever the gears in her head told them both to go. “Do you know where Mav keeps his keys?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “He’s busy all afternoon. I overheard some higher ups talking about an important briefing. Must be big ‘cause they called Iceman back too, and he’s basically on the fast track to admiral now. If you need the nation’s best pilots running through logistics we are so totally in over our heads somewhere we aren’t supposed to be. Not that we are ever where we’re supposed to be. I’m serious, Bradshaw, when we get into the Navy we have to get high enough up like Iceman is so we can make a real difference-”
The mention of Iceman stopped him in his tracks. Bee, not expecting the sudden halt, jerked forward. “What’s wrong?” She turned quickly to search his face. “You don’t want to borrow Mav’s bike?”
A consequence of losing someone was an overabundance of confusing emotions, and no set place to store them. Bradley tangled with his grief at the most inconvenient times. He was supposed to forgive Maverick and Iceman and everyone else up in the air that day for the moments that robbed him of a father, and he did. Deep down - on the surface things looked hazy. He could still drown in a few inches of water.
What a mess that the mere mention of a name seized up his heart in his chest. All for a man he had blurry memories of to begin with. Flashes of images he wasn’t even sure belonged to him. For all Bradley knew these could be fabricated as a rationalization of things everyone else constantly told him. Your dad loved you very much.
Did he? All the spots a father should have been in his mind were blank. He didn’t remember the sound of his voice, the closeness of his hugs, or the way his laughter filled a room. Nick Bradshaw only existed to Bradley in the vaguest of ways. With a song his mom or Mav would replay because of Goose’s attachment to it or the faintest whiff of the cologne he used to wear. That was all. And somewhere in his consciousness grief mixed up who was to blame for that.
Bradley shook the thoughts from his mind. Losing his father had been an accident. If he sat down with the facts - his mother would be so proud of him - the realization that the world was cruel, above all else, usually won out.
“Nothing.” Bradley shot what he hoped was a convincing smile Master’s way. “We’re using the word ‘borrow’ now?”
Bee squinted at him. “We’re returning it,” she said slowly, giving Bradley plenty of time to break down and spill whatever caused him to freeze up in the first place.
He liked being the center of her attention. When Bee truly looked at something, she saw everything. Some weird, freaky part of her brain clung to information, analyzed it, and cataloged it to bring up later. Way later in some cases. The other day she brought up how he picked his nose the first day he met, which he didn’t remember at all but Bee’s memory hadn’t been proven faulty yet. So he stewed in embarrassment all night, totally unable to fall asleep.
“Since when did you care about semantics?”
“Since the first time you dragged me up into a jet and I had to start crafting excuses for the both of us,” he teased. “Are we going to borrow this motorcycle or what?”
Suspicion lingered momentarily. The pair knew how to read each other exceptionally well. To Bradley’s relief Bee could read his ‘don’t ask me about shit’ poker face best of all, and she resumed her tugging towards Maverick’s temporary lodgings.
They didn’t exchange many words on the way there. No one they passed spared them a second glance either. Mr. Metcalf had been bringing them to TOPGUN for years now. Whenever Mav was back in town, or was called back to train on a new jet, he brought them along too.
For a while Rooster wondered if being back was too hard on his caretaker. There were plenty of times he’d wander into the locker room to the sounds of Maverick sobbing only to slowly back out and tell Bee he couldn’t find Mav and they’d have to sneak into the hangars to get a good look at the newest jets.
The only other option for the two of them would be to sell the house Carol left Bradley and live the true military way. Base hopping and avoiding TOPGUN at all costs. Something Maverick might have done, Bradley felt, had Bee not dropped into their lives. Separating the two of them felt too cruel on top of everything life already dealt. So Maverick put on a brave face, exercised some questionable parenting by leaving Bradley home alone for weeks at a time at 13, and Bradley pretended not to notice how difficult walking down the halls without Nick Bradshaw’s presence was for both of them.
Bee walked into Maverick’s room and started rooting around like everything was hers. He followed her in. Why she had to go so far in when the keys were on the first ring next to the door was beyond him.
“What are you doing?” Bradley asked, leaning against the doorframe. His gaze followed her as she tossed one of Mav’s duffle bags to the side so she could root through another. “Shopping?”
She piled clothes up on the unmade bed. Maverick’s discipline slipped at TOPGUN. Whether to manage expectations or because his focus slipped from the memories in the hall, Bradley couldn’t tell. Half the time it seemed like Mav exhibited the same self-sabotaging behavior as Bee. He’d taken to parking his motorcycle in a GO’s reserved spot.
“He’s not even here today,” Bradley’s guardian would say. “Why leave the prime spot open for someone who’s not using it?” Whether or not that Maverick told the truth didn’t seem to matter. The spot had quickly become his. All higher powers protected the motorcycle from ever being towed.
“Mav has an extra leather jacket in here somewhere.” Bee turned to give him a once over. “And jeans.”
Bradley looked down at his shorts and oversized Hawaiian shirt. It had been his dads. “What’s wrong with what I’ve got on?” He asked. If anyone but Bee were questioning his clothing choices, he might have been a bit insecure but she, more often than not, had a good reason for commenting. Even if her judgemental gaze lacked tact. “It’s 100 degrees outside, Bee. I do not want to be wearing all those clothes.”
She stood up, jeans and leather jacket in hand. “Then you don’t get to bitch if you fall off and get road rash.”
“I won’t fall off.”
“Every time Mav teaches you how to come to a stop you fall over,” Bee said. She pushed past out of the room. Bradley could only trail behind, caught somewhere between lost puppy and guardian angel.
Each step raised the tension between them. It pissed him off how blunt Bee could be. She left him no room to cover embarrassment and then got mad if she received the same treatment in return. Worse yet, she felt the need to pile on the hundreds of mistakes he’d been making each time Maverick took them out riding.
At a certain point Bradley couldn’t take the nitpicking anymore. Bee went to push through the door but he caught her by the arm before she could. “Did you memorize the damn manual for his bike, too? Or do you like puffing your chest so you seem better than someone for once?”
Hurt flashed in her eyes. He knew as soon as he said ‘for once’ the wrong words had left his lips. Bradley’s knack for thinking before he spoke abandoned him whenever Bee showed up by his elbow.
“Shit. Bee…” She flinched away from his hand, which had released her to reach for her face instead. “That came out wrong.”
In her usual fashion, Masters squared her shoulders, set her mouth in a thin line, and shrugged. “It’s fine. Shouldn’t have pushed you to that point.”
They stared. Could she see the regret in his eyes? Bradley studied her face for any ounce of emotion but she had already shut down. Later tonight he could ask her about it, really find a chance to apologize for exploiting a weakness. A stolen beer or two would smooth over any awkwardness.
“Can you stop overthinking my apology?”
“I don’t remember you saying ‘sorry,’” he teased. There were a few girls in his class who would play into this vague flirting. If they were the ones squished between Bradley and a door, they would lean into his touch. Some might even find a way to bring some pink to his cheeks. None were Bee, who rolled her eyes and pushed out into the warm summer afternoon.
Why did he even bother trying?
Maverick’s red Kawasaki Ninja came into view. At the same time they both said: “I’ll drive.”
Bradley brandished the keys with a cheeky grin. Bee frowned, her brow furrowed into a series of wrinkles. The pouting tugged on him for a second until the desire to impress won out. He wanted what his parents had - high school sweethearts and a loving family - for however short a time. Senior years loomed around the corner. Bradley had no high school sweetheart and, despite every bone he threw her way, Bee never seemed to bite.
Maybe if he kept them close to his chest she would finally see what she was missing.
“You can ride on the back,” Bradley instructed as he swung a leg over the bike. Subtly changing the posture to fit the lecture from Bee earlier.
If she noticed, which she surely had to because that girl missed nothing, she didn’t say anything. Instead, Bee crossed her arms. “You should really be wearing a helmet.”
“Maverick doesn’t wear one when he’s riding.”
“Maverick doesn’t risk serious brain damage every time he goes for a ride. He knows what he’s doing.”
Bradley rolled his eyes and slipped on his aviators. A man rode like Maverick, or he didn’t ride at all. That’s what he’d been telling himself lately, that is. “You wear the helmet,” he told her.
Bee had the arrogant confidence Pete Mitchell did. Bradley needed to simultaneously humble her while bringing up his reckless behavior. Something to bring them to an even playing field. He might have a year or so on her but Bee always brought out an insecure side of Bradley.
This gaping feeling of usefulness hung over him like a blade. The second Bee’s dependency on him subsided, the executioner would release his hold, and Bradley would lose his head.
She slipped on behind him. Arms coming to wrap around his middle, helmet on only because holding it would be too awkward. He felt like he composed himself rather well. Bradley’s breath only caught for a second. The fierce beating of his heart only thundered in apprehension of riding a motorcycle with a passenger for the first time. Who that passenger held no influence.
If he didn’t find some way to sever this hold on his own, he was screwed.
—
Pete Mitchell taught two kids without any clearance to learn to ride on an abandoned runway at the far end of base. Long forgotten to fliers in the name of expansion. Bradley didn’t know what TOPGUN used it for now, but today this would be his stage.
For a few hours he and Bee switched off riding around the tarmac. Bradley attempted to focus on technique while Bee tore around like a bat out of hell. Every time she gave up the bike she’d tease him about letting her get to him.
“Just ride.”
When he turned the bike over to her that next time, she had a newfound respect in her smile. Bradley would always meet her where she needed him to. Same as she wouldn’t ask something of him he couldn’t deliver.
“I’m gonna do a wheelie,” he announced.
Bradley surveyed the world around him through his aviators with his hands on his hips. Maverick stood this way sometimes when manning the grill or assessing why Bradley’s car had broken down for the tenth time. He thought of it as Mav’s confidence pose. Tainted only by a dash of ‘I don’t know what’s going on, but I can figure shit out.’
Bee leaned back on her elbows, head tilted up towards the sun, and laughed. Out here, with her face illuminated and her eyes on the sky, Bradley reminded himself why this stupid affection for Bee even existed. Her eyes would widen ever so slightly when a plane passed by overhead. She would spew out obscure facts like common knowledge.
Sometimes the mere sight of an open sky made her comfortable enough to tell Bradley anything he wanted to know. About the jets or her. Down at the other end of the runway, tucked away by the fence, Bee broke down about some kid at school kicking her down a flight of stairs.
He had to remind himself that day being let in wasn’t always a good thing. Bradley would forever be cursed with the knowledge of his best friend wandering the same halls as him in Hell. All while he sat in class, head in the clouds, daydreaming about her delighted shriek at the two of them presenting cosmic brownies just hours before at lunch. Both eager to surprise the other. Just for the memory of the day to be tainted.
When her laughter subsided, Bee managed to glance in Bradley’s direction. “Talk me through the movements then, Mr. Know-It-All.”
“I’ll just show you.”
Roaring to life, Bradley pushed off and circled so he had the entire tarmac at his disposal. Maverick chose his bike for speed, eager to be the fastest on Earth and in the sky. Bradley knew the importance of balance. The sweet spot of speed and weight distribution to show off. If Mav caught them in the middle of this trick, he’d have no choice but to be proud.
“You forgot the helmet!” Bee yelled out to him.
He revved the engine just enough to have a credible excuse about not hearing her later. Any more focus on Bee right now would pull him away from the budding confidence.
Beneath him, Maverick’s motorcycle rumbled. Nothing between him and the world around him. Bradley could feel the vibrations leaking from the seat and pegs through his legs and hands. Very real danger lurked just five inches or so below his feet. When he started going, truly going, the sense of presence had every opportunity to overwhelm him.
So he went before he could overthink it. Moving like Mav, like Bee.
Wind whipped Bradley’s clothes and hair around. Loud rumbling drowned out every sound beside the racing of his blood through his head. His second best class - after English where he got to debate - was physics. Every action having an equal opposite reaction made sense.
Carole Bradshaw had been preparing him for that lesson since the very beginning. The fabric of Bradley’s mind wove a tapestry of Fate. Depictions of each action and the consequences branching out from a single moment.
He slid his ass back in the seat. The world raced past him. Bradley moved off intuition, not bothering to check his RPM. This woven pattern in his mind told him when, and he lifted the front wheel with ease.
For a moment everything confusion about every action ever taken in Bradley’s life made sense. Leading up to this moment of utter exhilaration and freedom. He wanted nothing more than to experience this speed at a super sonic level. Fly into unknown horizons forever.
Unfortunately, actions have consequences. Every action had that equal, opposite reaction. Deciding to pop a wheelie before learning how to stop efficiently certainly does.
Lost in the moment of euphoria, Bradley leaned forward and brought the bike back down. Maverick’s voice in the back of his head told him something, but the command was usually muffled by the thrill of being on a motorcycle and, now, the rush of having effectively done a wheelie with nothing more than intuition guiding him in front of the girl he may or may not have an increasingly complex feelings for essentially silenced them completely. All he could remember was that the brake meant stop. So that’s what he pulled. Hard.
The front wheel slammed to the pavement. Right in a dip. Skidding and swearing, he hit the pavement with barely enough time to bring an arm up to catch himself.
His sunglasses were sprawled a few feet away. One of the lenses popped out. The only thing that could make this moment worse would be a motorcycle smashed to smithereens. Oh shit, thought the second unluckiest kid in the world.
Bradley shot to his feet. “Is the bike okay!?”
If he and Bee were not attached at the hip, embarrassment for the desperation in his exclamation might have time to creep in. Fear took up any spare room in his body. Stretching around the pain steadily mounting in his wrist.
Something broken could be explained away - Bee alone could likely come up with thousands of, more than likely stupid, ways for Bradley to have snapped a bone - a scratch couldn’t be. Maverick took pride in pointing out each dent, ding, and mark. They served as an excuse to talk about the dumb stunts he survived.
The man would know. He wasn’t exactly built to be a father, but Mav had that weird sixth sense all parents possessed to know when their kid touched something they shouldn’t have. Booze, weed, and cigarettes. Maverick had called Rooster out on all of them. Never maliciously, they both knew he would forever be the last person to throw stones about delinquent behavior. Each conversation fit the fatherly role he’d come to fill since his father’s passing, but Bradley knew Maverick would be far less comforting to vehicular destruction. It didn’t matter how small.
“Lucky for you,” Bee groaned, straining against the weight of the bike in comparison to her small frame, “you weren’t going that fast. So, I doubt there’s any real damage.”
He moved around to help her lift. “Shut up-”
The slightest ounce of pressure to his right wrist had Rooster howling. Red hot pain radiated up his arm. “Oh fuck.” The words pressed out through clenched teeth and he pushed the bike up just enough to secure the kickstand.
Bee waved him off to hop around the tarmac. “I got it,” she said. “I got it.”
“Fuck,” he repeated once more with vehemence. “I think it’s broken. It’s gotta be broken. I’ve never broken anything before. Oh god, is the bike scratched? If the bike is scratched and my shit’s broken Mav is going to kill me. Bee? Bee? Is the bike broken?”
Rambling kept the bile from rising in the back of his throat. Bradley couldn’t attribute his looming lunch to shock or sheer anxiety at being grounded for the rest of his natural life. Everything sounded muddled still. Bee had cut the engine, but he felt like he was still on the bike.
Her eyes widened behind her glasses, and Rooster realized how much he would miss the funny way those thick-lenses magnified her expressions. Mrs. Metcalf promised to take Bee to get contacts next week in preparation for flight school.
Granted, they would only be taking ground lessons for the time being - Mr. Metcalf had been extremely specific over the guidelines of two hooligans being granted such a fine opportunity - Bee confided that she didn’t want kids giving her shit for a myriad of reasons. Being a teenage girl was hard enough. Being a teenage girl with a shitty personal life, nerdy glasses, and a not so great track record had to be even harder.
Not that Bradley would know. Chances were being a teenage boy with a shitty personal life, unbelievably bad acne, and a somewhat damaged track record, thanks to his present company, could be pretty bad, too. Like right now, where he stood on this old, abandoned runway cradling his yet-to-be-determined wrist. Bee, and those bug eyes of hers, stared at a single spot on his arm. Bradley followed, then immediately looked away.
“How’s it looking?” Bradley’s voice strained upwards as he tilted his head back.
He was pretty sure that one of his bones was trying to push out of his arm. Skin wasn’t broken. Rocks and gravel were lodged pretty deep in his arm, and maybe he had a scrape or too, but nothing that would suggest a compound fracture.
“Dude.”
The tone of her voice pulled Bradley from his thoughts. He faced her once again.
“Your shit’s fucked,” Bee said. She snapped her gaze from the lump at the base of his wrist to his face. He burst out laughing.
Bradley couldn’t help it. The shock on her face and the very not-Bee sentence that just fell from her lips, paired with the dull pain that almost made him believe his wrist was merely sprained, sent Bradley right over the edge. What the hell had they gotten themselves into?
—
Walking the stolen - correction: borrowed (they were returning it, after all) bike back to Maverick’s semi-questionable parking spot felt like the appropriate punishment. The nausea from any movement jostling his arm kept a constant taste of bile in his mouth. Bee wasn’t helpful either. Possibly another consequence from his stupid actions.
“I bet you wish you wore the leather jacket.”
Leave it to Mr. Metcalf’s kid to say ‘I told you so.’ Bradley stopped in his tracks. After one big, calming breath to keep himself from using his good arm to suckerpunch her, he said, “The jacket wouldn’t have stopped me from breaking my wrist, Masters.”
She studied him. Her head tilted from side to side before she pushed the bike along past him. “No, but you wouldn’t be taking half the runway home with you.” Then, when he hurried to catch up, she added, “If you stopped jerking your arm around like that it wouldn’t hurt so much.”
“If you stopped micromanaging me, you might survive long enough to make it to the beach tonight.”
Bee grinned at him. “If you listened to me, we’d be on time.”
Instead, they had to make a pitstop. Somehow Bee had managed to make friends with the medic on duty. When and how someone as unruly as her stopped to make friends with anyone - present company excluded - Bradley had no clue. As far as he knew, she talked to no one else.
Bee Masters was known at school for three things. Being bad at being good, being freaky smart despite all that, and being alone when not attached to Bradley. When he was at school for baseball practice, she sat in the stands alone. When he was meeting with one of the clubs she couldn’t sneak into, she would wander around town until he finished. She had no one but him.
Until now.
“You’re a lifesaver!” Bee threw her arms around one of the Hospital Corpsmen, who laughed and hugged her back.
He patted her head. “I don’t know if fixing a broken wrist counts as lifesaving.”
“Viper would lose his marbles if he found out about this,” Bee laughed. “Believe me, you’re saving two lives today.”
“Your old man’s all bark and no bite.” The HM waved Rooster into the back.
Clearly he didn’t know much about Mr. Metcalf. The old man barked and bit. Bradley still refused to do anything with less than military precision around the man.
“We’ll get an X-ray, clean up some of those scrapes, and get you in a cast. How’s that sound?”
Bradley couldn’t help himself. “Why aren’t you calling my da- Maverick?”
The slip-up brought welling tears, which served as a devilish respite to the welling need to vomit that had plagued him the past hour or so. He needed to get a hold of himself.
“I’ve got a deal with Bee. Her old man helped me out during a tough time.”
He fought the urge to correct him. Bee’s ‘old man’ was off somewhere thousands of miles away without a clue or care what his daughter was doing right now.
The HM led him to a room. “Figured I could pay it forward and help out the young lady during a tough time, too. I’ll be right back.”
Bradley was left with his thoughts. Enough time passed for him to spin wild tales on how Bee knew anyone in the medical wing. How had she spent enough time here to befriend someone? Especially someone old enough to be her father, which skeeved him out as much as it made him jealous.
Not that she had done anything more than ask for a favor and smile. A favor on Bradley’s behalf.
He could blame the shock for these far-reaching conclusions. Maybe later, when the fish-eye effect of the surrounding world wore off, Bradley would lay in bed turning over the way the medic’s eyes widened as he said, “You’re cashing in your only ‘Viper doesn’t hear about this incident card’ right now?” and think about how quickly Bee agreed to use her one get out of jail free moment on Bradley. Zero hesitation behind the action. No thought for the consequences.
She thought of him, and only him. His safety.
As it turns out, later wasn’t much later at all. Thinking about Bee brought far more positive fluttering to the mess of Rooster’s nervous system. He would rather stew in the implications of Bee’s sacrifice than wonder what this X-ray showed. Neither conclusions were great.
Bee more than likely wanted to save her own ass. Mr. Metcalf would yank the promise of ground lessons right out from under her for pulling such a stunt.
Bradley’s wrist, more accurately, his arm had snapped in the fall. Distal radius fracture. Bee’s medic could fix it easy, or so he said.
I want my mom.
The thought surprised him. Bee sat out in the waiting room at his request. Bradley expected himself to be wishing for her hand to hold while he sat in a state of agitation. Then again, doctor’s had always made Bradley nervous. His mother would hold him in her lip, hands clasped together, and remind him that waiting was the worst part.
“Your mind fills in the blanks, and sometimes your mind forgets to be nice to yourself.” He could hear her whispering in his ear. Her vanilla perfume wafting over him. “That’s why I’m here. Everything is okay. Mom’s here to fill in the blanks.”
Only she wasn’t.
No one held his hand when the shot of local anesthesia entered his arm. No one calmed him down when the panic set in about physical therapy and playing baseball his senior year and the vague memories of Maverick and his uncle’s complaining about the Navy’s medics. No one saw him cry, which was a blessing. No one filled in the blanks.
Bradley ended up with a blue cast and a bottle of painkillers.
“Matches your eyes.” Bee smiled at him, eyes searching his face in a way that broke his heart. She was trying her best to figure out a way to comfort Bradley. Something Bee was not, and probably never would be, good at. “You doing okay?”
He fished the keys to his junker out of his pocket. Fumbling because he had to use his left hand, he threw them her way. “You’re driving. We’re late.”
—
Bradley stared out the passenger window of his car. The last time Bee drove his car, they got pulled over. Her lead foot and lack of license proved to be a nail-biting combo during the waiting game of wondering if the officer would be dealing out a ticket or bestowing them a warning. Luckily Bradley’s people skills pulled through, and he pulled away from the curb ticket free.
He used looking for cops as his excuse to stare out the window. Bee sensed the lie. Her tone of voice told Bradley everything he needed to know about how well he lied. Eventually they stopped talking all together.
His radio crapped out on him last week. Maverick promised to look at it. He hadn’t yet, so Bee and Rooster drove around Fightertown in silence. Neither seemed particularly ready to face their guardians just yet.
“What did you mean earlier?” Bradley’s voice stuck in his throat, and he cleared it a few times before continuing. “That I wasn’t going fast?”
The weight of Bee’s gaze fell on him. He hated that he knew when she was looking at him. He hated that he could picture the way her brown eyes squinted in a weird blend of worry and puzzlement. He hated that she wasn’t Carole.
“Eyes on the road.”
“I’d say you maxed out at about like 25 miles per hour.”
Bradley’s head swiveled towards her.
“No way,” he said, incredulous. Nothing in the way Bee spoke gave him any reason to doubt her. The words came out steadfast, the same way she drove straight. Steadily gaining on the stopped cars in front of them.
“Brake! Bee!” He pressed his right foot against the imaginary break in front of him. “Hit the brake already!”
She slammed on the brakes and they both rocked violently with the car. If he had to guess, Bradley would put mere centimeters at the distance between his front bumper and the car in front of them. They both ignored the middle finger directed their way.
“Bradley, why would I lie to you?”
A hundred answers filled the blank in his mind. He went with the one that wouldn’t lead to an argument, awkward confession, or moment of vulnerability: “It felt like I was going way faster.”
“Probably because you never go more than, like, 10 when Maverick is coaching you.”
The light changed. She rode the ass of the bird waver for two whole blocks, then turned without signaling. It wasn’t that Bee didn’t know the rules of the road, she just didn’t care to follow them. Bradley saw the car as a way to get from Point A to Point B. She saw the 140mph on the dashboard and let anger at not being able to ever reach that speed reflect in every second she spent in the driver’s seat.
“At least I don’t book it down the tarmac just to wobble the whole way.”
“The wind messes with my glasses.” She let the sounds of cars passing play for a few moments before adding, “Plus, I don’t know if we can constitute this as a wheelie, anyway. You barely got a few inches off the ground.”
Bradley glared daggers at her. He silently vowed to himself to master every trick on the bike - should Mav decide they were still allowed lessons - as well as in the air when flight school started. And he wouldn’t just perform the tricks. Bradley would wait to do them at the right moment, so they were perfect the very first time he attempted them. Wipe the smug look right off his best friend’s face.
Before he could go back to his safe place, looking out the window in pensive thought, Bee grabbed his hand. “What’s really bothering you?”
He gently placed her other hand back on the steering wheel. “Turn signal.”
“Bradley, I know breaking your wrist and your semi-impressive first wheelie would not get you this in your head.” The turn signal dinged. “What is it?”
“I miss my mom.” The broken words came out in a whisper.
Bee reached over to squeeze his good hand for just a second. “Worst feeling ever.”
“Yeah.” Rooster nodded. “I haven’t missed her in a while. It feels…”
“Wrong?” Bee filled in while taking a turn a little too fast. Bradley braced himself with his bad arm, hissing dramatically so she had to utter a small “sorry.”
“Mav started seeing this woman named Penny or some shit, and he’s trying to keep it a secret but he’s horrible at sneaking around his own house. I’ve just been thinking about how one of these days all these women he sees will turn into one.”
The beach came into view. Bee turned down a street she wasn’t supposed to. Before Bradley could correct her she made another right turn. Circling. Giving him time to finish his story.
“I don’t want that one to replace my mom. I don’t want them to even think they can take her place in my life.” Bradley sighed. “Is that crazy to think? I mean, I haven’t even missed her in a while, would it really be so bad to feel what it felt to have a mom again?”
“Not missing her isn’t a crime, Bradley.” Bee made one more turn and put them on the right street again. “You talk about her all the time. You think about her more than that, I know you do. Moving past that constant aching part of you when you think of someone who died isn’t crazy.”
He tilted his head at her. “When did you get so wise?”
“When did I learn to network for emergency situations?”
“I’m sorry you had to stick your neck out for me.”
Bee shrugged. She turned into the parking lot. Cars jammed into every spot, some spilling onto the grass. They’d have to park further away. A blessing. Mr. Metcalf didn’t like Bradley taking Bee driving without permission. He didn’t want to incur the man’s wrath for something so menial after an afternoon of adrenaline.
“You’d do the same for me,” she said. “You ready?”
Bradley popped the door open and stepped out. The breeze carried sea salt and burgers in their direction. Practically every naval aviator Bradley knew conversed on the beach. Clearly Iceman handled invites. He rallied people together far more effectively than Maverick.
“Do you think they’ll know?”
Bee shut her door behind her. “Nah, and even if they do. Deny, deny, deny.”
Bradley echoed her. Their joint rule of handling trouble worked better the older they got. Bee could duck the law and Mr. Metcalf to impressive degrees.
“Plus, I think we’ve got someone looking out for us up there.” She turned her head towards the red sky. “No damage to the bike, Dr. Feelgood on duty, and I got us here without getting pulled over. We’re solid for the rest of the night.”
Not giving him any room to argue, Bee grabbed him by the hand and dragged him down the beach. Bradley let himself believe his mom was there, filling in the blanks, today. He would face Iceman the way she would want him to. Polite smile and firm handshake. Maybe awkward handshake. He would disappoint her slightly by swiping beers for he and Bee to share on a secluded spot away from prying eyes. He would ease her spirit by not being on painkillers while he drank. She would be proud of him.
She had to be.
“We’re solid,” Bee reminded him when Maverick came into view at the grill. Mr. Metcalf stood close by, eyes scanning the crowd while they talked. “We are so solid.”
“You’re making me feel like we’re not solid,” Bradley said out of the corner of his mouth.
Bee grinned. “Shut up, they’re looking this way.”
Bradley, not wanting to drag the apprehension out any longer than necessary, waved to the group. All their eyes immediately zeroed in on the cast.
“Do I even want to know?” Mav tilted his head at the pair. Bee puffed out her chest. The way she kept her face a neutral mask almost pulled a laugh out of Rooster, but he held strong. At the shake of his head, Mav nodded and said, “Yeah, that’s about what I figured.”
Bee’s laugh, followed closely by a gruff smile on Mr. Metcalf’s face, and Mav rolling his eyes with a grin told Bradley all he needed to know.
Maybe life isn’t all that bad, he thought. Maybe we’ll be okay.
Unos días estamos muy muy arriba, otros días abajo, y otros tantos en el subsuelo, sentimos que nos arropa y arrastra la adversidad.
Inconscientemente nos aferramos al dolor y a la tristeza, mientras otros están tranquilos y felices, nosotros nos sentimos raros por no compartir el mismo sentimiento.
Llorar alivia, pero ¿Que tanto necesito aliviar si lloro cada día, cada que te recuerdo, y cada que me siento sola?
No lo entiendo, pero se que pronto estaré arriba, muy muy arriba. Porque primero tenemos que desconectar para conectar.
que terrible es sentirlo, penetra los huesos y se roba la energia.. da un sentimiento de vacio y luego duele, duele muchisimo.
La confianza se debilita, el amor comienza a no ser suficiente.. el futuro se desvanece, el camino es incierto y no queda nada mas que aceptar la realidad; algunos son el camino pero no el destino.
