for what it’s worth
pairing: bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem!reader summary: you’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, so nobody expects you to move back home to north island. what you’re not ready for is your childhood friend bradley, who slips back into your life so easily it makes you wonder why you ever left. tags: mitchell/maverick’s daughter!reader, opposites attract, free spirit x straight-laced, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining warning(s): avoidant attachment style (ish?), reader tucks hair behind ear, wears a bikini, drinks alcohol, and is four years younger than bradley, suggestive content word count: 11.9k note: did i write this instead of doing my mountain of grad school readings? why yes i did. anyway, this has been such a long time coming and i’m so excited to get my first rooster fic out!! also there are no mentions of your mother/you being maverick’s biological child for inclusivity xx
masterlist
You reached the coast just before sunset, the kind of golden hour that made everything look idyllic. The air blowing through the open window tasted faintly of salt and home.
You turned up the radio, letting the familiar guitar riff of a Fleetwood Mac song cut clean through the noise. You were prone to drowning things out with music; it was a great way to avoid your own thoughts.
The car wasn’t new. You couldn’t afford new. But she had personality—a red 1970s convertible you’d found through a guy in Venice who insisted she “ran like a dream,” which was only true if that dream involved the occasional stutter uphill. You named her Cherry because subtlety was overrated.
Your whole life fit neatly inside Cherry: two suitcases in the trunk, a stack of half-filled notebooks on the passenger seat, and a battered guitar case in the back seat.
You’d spent the last few years chasing inspiration across cities like it was a full-time job with no benefits. You’d written songs in shared kitchens, poems on bar napkins, and once had an Oscar-worthy breakdown in a Portland laundromat when someone stole your clothes and left you with nothing but the denim shorts and old Top Gun sweatshirt you were wearing.
Life experience, you called it. Character development, if you were feeling generous. But after your last roommate tried to start a kombucha brewery in the bathtub, you decided it was time to come home.
Once you passed San Diego, the road curved inland toward the base. You slowed down, mostly because you always did here. The air had that sharp metallic tang of jet fuel that never quite left your memory.
You didn’t mean to look up. But then you did, and that was your first mistake.
Four jets cut across the sky in formation, sunlight bouncing off their wings. The sound reached you a few seconds later, deep and thunderous, vibrating straight through your chest. Your breath caught before your brain could even register why.
It always made you think of Bradley.
You wondered if one of those pilots was him. Seeing those jets reminded you that he’d stayed while you’d run.
You forced your eyes back to the road, heart doing that inconvenient nostalgia thing you pretended not to notice. You told yourself you were older now, grounded, emotionally evolved.
By the time you pulled into The Hard Deck’s parking lot, the sky was washed in peach and gold. The sign out front was still a little crooked, still sun-faded, and the gravel crunched under your tyres exactly the same way it had last summer. You turned off the engine and let the quiet sink in.
Your reflection in the rear-view mirror looked tired, but you could pass it off as intentional—messy eyeliner, bitten lips, wind-swept hair.
You got out and stretched, legs stiff from the drive, and reached into the back seat for your patchwork shoulder bag. The strap was a little frayed where it rubbed against your shoulder, but you liked it that way. It was the one thing you took with you to every city you’d called home.
Inside, the bar hummed with life in that low, comforting way you’d missed. The clink of glasses, laughter, the faint buzz of a jukebox humming in the corner. You could have closed your eyes and known exactly where you were.
The Hard Deck hadn’t changed since you’d visited your dad last summer. The same scuffed floorboards. The same pool tables that leaned slightly to the left. The same smell of salt and spilt beer baked into the walls.
Penny’s touch was everywhere. The neon sign over the bar gleamed a little brighter. The old jukebox, once half-broken and temperamental, now glowed in the corner like it had been restored within an inch of its life.
Eight years ago, it had been different. Louder, rougher around the edges. A full-on Navy haunt when Bradley was just another new aviator at Top Gun, eager to show you his favourite spots.
Bradley had taken you straight to the piano.
You could still see him there, sleeves rolled, hair too long, grin wide enough to make you forget how to speak. The room had been packed, people shouting, drinks sloshing, but he’d been completely lost in the song. You’d tried to keep up, but your hands knew guitar strings, not piano keys.
Bradley had only laughed, covered your hand with his, and pressed your fingers into the right chord. His touch had been light, sure, and entirely unfair.
“See?” he’d said, still grinning. “You’re getting it.”
You hadn’t been. You’d been too busy trying to remember how lungs worked.
Now, the jukebox played something jaunty, and you blinked as the memory desolved. The Hard Deck had changed since your first visit, and so had you.
“Well, look who it is!”
You turned toward the voice, already smiling. “Penny!”
Penny Benjamin was making her way around the bar, sun-kissed and grinning, all warmth and disbelief. She pulled you into a hug that smelled faintly of citrus and salt air.
“Pete wasn’t kidding,” she said, holding you at arm’s length. “He told me you were moving back for real this time. I didn’t believe him. He’s been saying that for, what, two summers now?”
You laughed. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure I believed me either. But I think I’m ready to stay in one place for a while. Maybe even put down some roots.”
Penny’s smile softened. “Music to my ears. And if you need something to do while those roots take hold, I could always use another pair of hands behind the bar.”
You blinked, pleasantly surprised. “You’re offering me a job?”
“Only if you’re not too good for us locals now,” she teased. “Pete says you’ve been living the free spirited artistic dream. But I remember those drinks you made at the barbecue last summer. You’ve got some serious skills.”
You grinned, warmth blooming in your cheeks. “I could start once I’ve unpacked, assuming you’re serious.”
“Dead serious.” Penny ducked behind the counter, filled a glass with Coke, and added a wedge of lime. The ice clinked as she slid it toward you. “On the house. For my favourite Mitchell.”
You picked up the glass, hiding your smile behind the rim. “Don’t let my dad hear you say that.”
“Oh, please,” she said, smirking. “He already knows.”
You took a sip and let the comfort of being home settle in your chest. For the first time in years, you weren’t just passing through.
You were people-watching, entertained by the group of pilots playing darts and arguing about whose landing had been cleaner that day, when someone slid onto the stool beside you.
He was broad, blond, and cocky. The kind of man who probably practised his smirk on reflective surfaces. The service khakis gave him away instantly; neat, pressed, and impossible to mistake for anything but Navy. You knew more about pins than the average tourist, and the ones over his pocket told you everything you needed to know.
This man wasn’t just Navy. He was an aviator. Judging by the overconfident lean and movie-star grin, you’d bet good money this was the infamous Hangman you’d heard about from your dad.
“Well, hello there,” he drawled, flashing a grin that you could tell had a high success rate. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around before. You visiting?”
You tilted your head, giving him your best imitation of a curious outsider. “Something like that.”
Hangman leaned closer, elbows on the bar, radiating charm. “Let me guess. You’re a tourist. Beach trip, maybe? Or did you come to watch the planes?”
You widened your eyes just enough to sell it. “Planes? You mean the Navy ones?”
Penny briefly caught your eye from behind the counter, her mouth twitching like she was desperately holding in a laugh.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” Hangman said, grinning wider. “The Navy ones. You ever been on base before?”
You shook your head, sipping through your straw with deliberate innocence. “No, can’t say I have. But I’ve always heard the pilots around here are impressive.”
He straightened a little, grin turning self-satisfied. “That’s one word for us. I could show you around sometime, give you the full experience.”
You leaned in, mirroring his posture, voice just soft enough to make him listen closer. “The full experience?”
“Strictly professional,” Hangman said, not even pretending to mean it. “Though, fair warning—once you’ve flown with a pilot, nothing else really compares.”
You blinked up at him innocently, hiding your grin behind your straw. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely.” Hangman rested a hand casually against the back of your stool, confidence oozing from every pore. You were about to give in a little and see how far he’d go when a familiar voice cut in.
“Hangman, step away from my daughter.”
You’d never seen a man pale so fast. Hangman froze, his grin disintegrating as he turned toward the source. “Sir?”
You spun on your stool, already smiling. “Dad!” You jumped up to hug your dad, laughing against his shoulder while Hangman looked like he was praying for a time machine.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Maverick looked entirely too pleased with himself when you parted. Calm, casual, just enough smugness in his voice to let you know he’d seen the whole thing. “You two know each other?”
“Not officially,” Hangman said tightly, posture stiffening like he’d just remembered how to stand at attention. “I was just, uh, welcoming her to town.”
“Sure you were,” Penny said, sliding Maverick a beer down the counter without missing a beat. “Very hospitable of you, Hangman.”
You grinned, unable to resist chiming in. “Such a gentleman. It’s generous of you to offer to show me around my hometown, but I think I’ll manage just fine.”
A loud laugh burst from the pool table. Payback, naturally. “Hangman, you hitting on the boss’s daughter?”
The reaction was instant. Phoenix nearly dropped her cue, doubled over with laughter until Bob caught her arm to keep her from tipping forward. Coyote choked on his beer.
Fanboy muttered something that sounded like “Oh, dead man walking.”
Hangman went very still. “I don’t know that I would call it ‘hitting on’ her,” he said faintly, but the damage was done.
You turned toward the group, the picture of composure despite the glee bubbling under your ribs. “Nice to meet you all,” you said sweetly. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Bet you have,” Phoenix said, still giggling. “Didn’t think I’d ever see someone wipe the smug off Bagman’s face, but damn, I owe you a drink.”
Bob smiled shyly from where he stood beside her. “It’s nice to meet you,” he offered.
“Same here,” you said warmly. “You must be Bob. Dad’s mentioned you. All of you, actually,” you added, motioning to the group. “I’m really excited to finally meet you.”
“Damn, Hangman,” Coyote said, laughing as he clapped Hangman on the shoulder. “At least you went down swinging.”
“Yeah, straight into the ground,” Payback said, grinning. “Classic Bagman.”
Hangman groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “You all done, or should I start digging my own grave?”
“Don’t worry,” Maverick cut in, clearly enjoying himself. He clapped Hangman on the back with mock sympathy. “You’ll have plenty of chances to rebuild that ego in training tomorrow.”
That sent another round of laughter through the group, and you couldn’t help it. You reached up to hug your dad again, squeezing him tightly. “I miss you.”
No matter how far you’d run from his career, his shadow, or the kind of roots that terrified you, you always came back to this. Your dad had been the one steady presence in every stage of your life, the compass that never stopped pointing you home.
“Missed you too, kid,” Maverick said quietly, squeezing back before leaning away with a proud smile.
When you turned again, the rest of the squad had gathered around, curiosity replacing their laughter. Phoenix leaned her hip against the bar, Coyote nursing a beer beside her.
“So,” Phoenix said, studying you with a spark of amusement, “you’re Maverick’s daughter. Explains the confidence.”
You smiled. “Confidence or trouble?”
“Both,” Coyote said immediately, and everyone laughed again.
Phoenix tipped her bottle toward you, still smiling. “So what brings you back? Visiting, or…?”
“Actually,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “I’m moving back home. Figured it was time. I’m crashing with Dad until I find my own place.”
“That’s brave,” Payback said. “Living with your old man again? You must really love him.”
Maverick just smirked. “She’s always had excellent taste.”
That drew another round of laughter and groans, and you rolled your eyes affectionately. “He’s already trying to recruit me as his new copilot.”
“Don’t tempt him,” Phoenix said, grinning. “You’d probably be better than half the guys in this room.”
You laughed, then nodded toward her. “I’ve been dying to meet you! How’s life in an elite squadron treating you?”
Phoenix lit up, leaning one elbow on the bar. “Aside from putting up with these idiots, it’s been great.” She broke off mid-sentence, gaze darting past you. “Bradshaw!” Phoenix waved him over with unfiltered enthusiasm. “About time.”
Your pulse stumbled.
Bradley paused in the doorway, tall and sun-browned, the golden bulbs casting a warm glow across his shoulders. The bar’s hum seemed to fade, or maybe it only did for you.
Phoenix glanced between you, her grin softening into curiosity. “You two must know each other, right?”
You tried to keep your tone light, though your smile wavered at the corners. “Yeah. We know each other.”
When you finally turned to face Bradley, his eyes were already on you—warm, surprised, a little disbelieving. Eight years apart, and it still hit like free fall.
You’d kept in touch for a while, after things between him and Maverick had soured. But life stretched the distance until texts faded to yearly birthday wishes, and visits stopped altogether. Maverick had moved off North Island, Bradley had been deployed more often than not, and you’d convinced yourself that growing apart was just the natural order of things.
Now, standing here, it didn’t feel so natural at all.
Bradley’s mouth curved, soft with disbelief. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”
“Guess I’m full of surprises,” you said softly.
The corner of his jaw ticked, just the smallest flicker of something you couldn’t read.
Phoenix glanced between you again, realising she’d just stumbled into something layered. “Okay,” she stretched the word out, raising her hands.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Bradley smiled, small and genuine and a little dazed, and closed the distance.
“Come here,” he said, and you were already stepping forward.
Bradley pulled you in without hesitation, his hand warm and solid against your back. The scent hit first: soap, sun, and that clean cotton smell that always clung to him. His shirt was rough with salt and sweat, the kind of texture that reminded you he lived half his life on tarmacs and flight decks.
His breath was close in your ear, even and steady, until you realised yours wasn’t.
“I didn’t believe Maverick when he said you were moving back,” Bradley murmured.
You smiled against his chest, trying not to inhale like someone deprived of oxygen. “Surprise again.”
When you stepped back, the air felt thinner. His hands lingered a beat too long, brushing your arms before he dropped them like he’d only just remembered how intimate it was. His gaze flicked briefly to your mouth, then away, and you pretended not to notice.
You both pretended a lot of things.
“Still playing?” Bradley asked, his voice a little rougher than before.
“Guitar? Yeah. You still ignoring my playlists?”
He laughed, and the sound made your heart tighten. “Only the ones labeled ‘for when you’re feeling emotionally constipated.’”
You tilted your head. “So, all of them.”
That earned you a real grin. You hated how quickly it short-circuited your brain. He looked good—too good.
“You look…” Bradley trailed off, as if the word was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to go. “Different.”
You raised a brow. “Good different, or ‘emotional crisis’ different?”
“Definitely good.” His voice dipped lower, softer. “You were always beautiful, but you’re glowing now.”
And there it was again: the pull. The quiet, magnetic thing that never really went away, no matter how much time or distance tried. You found yourself leaning closer without thinking, caught between instinct and caution, until your hand brushed his where it rested on the bar.
The contact was brief but enough to send a quick jolt through your body before you both instinctively pulled back, hiding behind awkward smiles.
“So,” you said lightly, thumb swiping at the condensation on your glass. “How’ve you been, Rooster?”
He smirked, eyes glinting. “It’s so weird to hear you say my call sign.”
You gasped theatrically. “Rude!”
“You can call me whatever you want,” Bradley said, quieter now. “But you’re the only one who still calls me by my name.” Something flickered behind his eyes, unguarded and dangerous. “I guess I missed the sound of it in your voice.”
Before either of you could say something you couldn’t take back, a voice cut through the moment.
“Hey, nerds!” Fanboy was waving from across the room, grinning like a man who had just spotted a plot twist. “Come join us! We know you’re childhood friends, but we want a chance to get to know Maverick’s daughter.”
You smiled, eyebrows arched at your so-called childhood friend. “What do you say, Bradley?”
Hearing you say his name brought another wide grin to his face. “I wouldn’t want to deprive your adoring fans,” he teased.
When Bradley gestured toward the booth, you followed. His hand brushed the small of your back as you passed; light enough to seem accidental, but enough to make your heart trip over itself.
When your dad invited you to a beach day with Penny and the squadron, you’d said yes before he could finish the sentence. An afternoon of dog-fight football, popsicles, and sand in your sunglasses felt like the kind of chaos you used to live for in childhood summers with Maverick and Iceman.
The afternoon sun brushed the waves with golden glitter. When Maverick called everyone over, you knew exactly what he was about to do. After the usual warm-up theatrics and fake groaning, teams were picked, and everyone persuaded your dad to join in.
Phoenix hooked your arm, already grinning. “Come on, you’ve got to see this circus up close. Hangman’s in peak insufferable form.”
You laughed, brushing sand from your shorts, and followed her. Bradley was already leaning back, shoulders flexed under the sun, tossing the ball to himself with that effortless control that made your stomach flip.
He looked like he belonged in a recruitment ad for hot, emotionally unavailable Navy pilots.
Bradley caught your eye, winked, and sent the ball your way like a dare you weren’t ready for. You jumped, barely keeping it from hitting your chest, and stumbled back laughing.
“Careful,” he called, jogging closer. “Wouldn’t want you spraining anything important.”
“Does my pride count?” you shot back.
“Absolutely,” Bradley said, grinning, and you had to fight the urge to glance at his hands. Lately, they had developed a suspicious habit of finding you. “I’m very thorough.”
Phoenix snorted, but gave no other commentary on his double entendre. You decided to ignore the very specific flutter that word sent through your chest. Thorough. Great. Fantastic. You were doomed.
You joined the team opposite Maverick and gave him the universal two-finger I’m watching you warning. The squadron hollered happily, and you could hear Fritz and Omaha exchanging bets on which Mitchell would be victorious.
Phoenix filled you in on the unspoken rules: always dive like it’s life or death, and never—under any circumstances—let Hangman get a free pass. It was easy enough to remember, especially with the Texan cackling at you from the other side of the beach.
The game started officially, Penny refereeing from the sidelines with exaggerated seriousness. You fell into a rhythm quickly, laughing harder than you had in years. Sand flew everywhere, the sun warmed your shoulders, and Bradley kept finding reasons to brush past you as you ran. He always seemed to be exactly close enough for your brain to short-circuit.
Every accidental touch made your heart skip.
“Hey, Mitchell,” Hangman called, standing close enough that you could smell his sunscreen. “You think you can take me down?”
“Cute,” you said flatly, flicking sand in his direction. “I may not be in the Navy, but don’t forget who raised me. I don’t do anything halfway, and I don’t lose.”
He raised both hands in mock surrender. “You’re scary. I’ll admire you from a safe distance.”
Phoenix groaned. “Emphasis on ‘distance,’ Bagman. She’s busy kicking your ass, not dodging your pickup lines.”
“Well said,” you declared, grinning and offering Phoenix a high-five.
“It’s nice to have you around,” she said earnestly. “Everyone’s already decided you’re one of us. Rooster’s obviously obsessed with you, but that goes without saying.”
Your eyes flicked to Bradley, who was laughing at something Bob had done. You told yourself you weren’t constantly glancing his way and dragged your eyes back to the game. You weret, of course, but denial was your favourite coping mechanism.
Hours passed in a blur, and you managed to avoid breaking anything. Hangman teased relentlessly, but with Phoenix and Bob around to back you up, you felt like you belonged. Bradley stayed close, subtly protective, saving you from catastrophic falls.
Eventually, Penny called out, “Snack and water break. You’ve earned it!”
Everyone collapsed onto towels in the setting sun. Bob handed you a towel, and Hangman leaned back, sunglasses low, pretending to evaluate your performance.
“Not bad,” Hangman said, pointing. “I’m impressed.”
“Thanks,” you said dryly, wiping sweat off your forehead. “Your compliment is noted.”
You headed toward the coolers, only to realise the tie on your bikini top had loosened in the chaos. You made your way over to Bradley, your arm contorted behind you to keep the strings from coming undone.
He was sitting on a towel near the coolers, arms resting on his knees, watching Yale and Harvard fight over the last rocket-shaped popsicle.
“Bradley?”
He looked up, eyebrows lifting like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Yeah?”
You shuffled a fraction, smiling unsurely. “The tie on my bikini came undone, and I can’t quite reach it. Could you fix it for me?”
Bradley’s eyes went wide. You caught the faint hitch of a breath before he tried to mask it. You sat in front of him with your back turned, showing him how you held the strings together.
He froze for a beat. Then another. His shoulders tensed, fingers twitching, too aware of the bare expanse of your back. Bradley shifted forward carefully.
You felt him before he touched you. His hands hovered near the strings, uncertain, cautious, as if he could break something with a wrong move. Your shoulders tensed when his fingertips brushed the skin of your back.
“Okay,” Bradley murmured. His voice was quiet, not commanding or joking. You caught the slight hitch in his breathing. Not fear, exactly; more like anticipation.
He looped the strings slowly, once, twice, adjusting. Gentle. So slow it felt like he was measuring time against your pulse. You were hyper-aware of the way his fingers pressed, the careful tilt of his wrists, how his arms flexed slightly with the tiniest tension.
You tried to keep your breathing quiet, but his shallow inhales gave him away. It felt like Bradley was holding everything back, keeping his distance in every movement, even while he was behind you.
His thumbs brushed the dimples at your lower back and a shiver zipped up your spine.
“There,” Bradley said quietly. His knuckles grazed your back again, lingering just long enough for heat to bloom where he touched you.
You felt every shift of his weight, every slow exhale that brushed your neck. The rest of the squad and your dad were chatting nearby, but you weren’t thinking about them. You were thinking about Bradley’s hands; how careful they were, how he couldn’t quite seem to stop touching you.
You glanced over your shoulder, meeting his eyes. He swallowed, his pupils dark, wide, and attentive. He was mesmerised by the shape of your shoulders, the tilt of your head, and the way you were biting your bottom lip subconsciously.
You wanted to say something clever. Something that wouldn’t make your knees fold. What came out was a whisper-soft, “Thanks,” which was neither clever nor steady.
Bradley didn’t move. He let his hands hover, thumbs tracing slow, deliberate lines into your skin. For a long moment, all you felt was the light drag of his fingertips.
You let yourself shift, just enough to meet him, just enough to let your bodies acknowledge what neither of you was saying. Not with words. Words would make this interaction real, and you weren’t ready to face that reality yet.
Bradley started to say something, but Phoenix’s voice cut through the air. “Who wants chips?”
You cleared your throat and stood, brushing sand off your legs. “Me,” you said, pretending your voice didn’t wobble.
You had been in town for a month, long enough to get sand permanently stuck in your shoes and afford a deposit on a nearby apartment. You had Penny’s generous customers to thank for that one; they tipped better than any bartending job you had in bigger cities.
The new apartment wasn’t much, just one bedroom, a minuscule kitchen, and the world’s most dramatic plumbing—but it was yours. And you loved it, even if the previous tenant had painted the bedroom a colour best described as the dark blue of an existential crisis.
You wanted sage green; something calm that didn’t make you feel like you were sleeping inside a sad thought.
The squad had all promised to help paint, because apparently manual labour was their version of team bonding. You’d stocked the fridge with drinks and ordered enough pizza to feed your notoriously hungry friends. Then the texts started. Bob had “a thing.” Phoenix’s “errand” mysteriously lasted four hours. Hangman sent a single thumbs-down emoji, which you assumed meant “no chance in hell.”
So when you opened the door and found only Bradley standing there, you weren’t surprised. He stood holding up a six-pack like a peace offering. His shirt was faded and soft-looking, hanging loose over his jeans in a way that made your brain short-circuit for a second.
He raised the beers. “Looks like it’s just us.”
You pretended to find that funny instead of vaguely panic-inducing. “Lucky you.”
Bradley’s eyes flicked past you into the apartment. “You sure about that? That’s a lot of wall.”
You stepped aside to let him in. “Well, your cowardly pilot friends backed out at the last minute. I’m filing a formal complaint with their superior officer in the morning.”
“Getting Mav involved,” Bradley said, brushing past you. “Bold choice.”
“Desperate times,” you muttered.
You’d already tried to scrub the old navy-blue paint off the walls, but the result looked like an avant-garde crime scene.
Bradley took it all in with an amused glance. “You started without supervision.”
“I’m an independent woman,” you said, reaching for a can of paint with exaggerated confidence. “I don’t need supervision.”
“You’re holding the can upside down.”
You looked down. “…That feels like an opinion.”
Bradley laughed under his breath, low and warm, and picked up a roller. “Come on, Picasso. Let’s paint ourselves a masterpiece.”
He crouched and opened the can for you, forearms flexing as he stirred the sage green paint and poured it into the paint tray. You tried not to stare and failed miserably.
The first few minutes were quiet except for the squeak of rollers and the hum of classic rock playing from your Bluetooth speaker. The playlist was mostly your doing: Tom Petty, Springsteen, and a few guilty pleasure tracks you hoped Bradley wouldn’t notice. If he did, he didn’t say anything.
Bradley painted like a man on a mission: slow and careful strokes, all precision. You, on the other hand, were a little more abstract. Less plan, more chaos with flair.
That had always been the difference between you. Bradley had his life plotted like a flight path, every box ticked and corner squared. You were impulsive, chasing whatever caught your interest in that moment. That probably explained why he was in the Navy, and you were affectionately known as the “anywhere but here” girl.
“Yours looks better,” you admitted eventually.
Bradley didn’t look over. “Years of repainting Navy housing.”
“Of course,” you said. “All those government-issued beige walls really sharpened your technique.”
He chuckled, rolling another line of paint. “Yes, I’m very well-rounded. Wait till you see me fold laundry.”
You pretended to swoon, voice all old-Hollywood and dramatic. “Oh, Rooster, your talent is simply too much for a girl to bear! Do you also do your own taxes?”
Bradley rolled his eyes but didn’t bother to hide his grin. “Keep your pants on, Grace Kelly.”
You fought a grin and lost. “Actually, I was going for Katharine Hepburn, but thank you!”
It was ridiculous how easy it was, how quickly you fell back into this rhythm; the back-and-forth, the teasing. The kind of ease that made you forget how long it had been since you’d really laughed like this.
You both reached for the paint tray. Bradley’s fingers brushed yours, touch, but it set off a spark in your stomach. Neither of you pulled away. You blamed the beer, the heat—anything but what it actually was.
“You missed a spot,” you said, because your brain was desperate to fill every silence.
Bradley leaned in to look, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. “No, I didn’t,” he said, squinting at the wall.
“You did. There.” You pointed, mostly to distract yourself.
Bradley sighed, mock suffering in his voice. “You’re bossy when you’re right.”
“And yet you love that about me.”
That stopped him for just a second too long. Bradley looked at you, smiled, and nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Something like that.”
You tried for casual, reaching for your beer. “You’re getting sentimental, Bradshaw. Careful.”
He wiped a streak of paint off his arm with a rag, the muscles in his forearm becoming taut. “Don’t tell Hangman. He’ll make it weird.”
“He already makes everything weird. What’s one more?”
Bradley laughed, that low, familiar sound that always seemed to settle somewhere in your chest. You couldn’t tell if the room was warmer now or if it was just you. Probably just you.
The next song that came on made you pause. It was your favourite Otis Redding song, a soulful track that made everything feel too close, too soft around the edges.
Bradley stilled, putting the roller down to admire his painting progress. “I love this song,” he said, smiling faintly. “You really went for the classics.”
He hummed a few notes under his breath, low and rough around the edges. Then he sang along to the chorus, and you stilled like your body had turned to stone. Bradley’s voice fit the song perfectly; unpolished but warm, a little like arriving at home after a long trip.
“Still showing off, I see,” you teased to hide how your heart was doing double backflips.
Bradley shrugged, eyes still on the wall. “Occupational hazard.”
“Yeah, right. I think you just like reminding people you’ve got range.”
He laughed, the sound soft and deep. “Well, I did say I was well-rounded. I’m just living up to expectations.”
“Uh-huh,” you said, even though your voice came out thinner than you meant. Bradley’s singing was doing something to your insides that you didn’t particularly feel like acknowledging.
Bradley must’ve noticed your silence because, without warning, he started singing along louder, like he couldn’t help it. His voice filled the room, easy and lazy and heartbreakingly good.
You rolled your eyes fondly, grinning. “Okay, rockstar, you’re ruining my productivity.”
Bradley dipped his roller, smirking. “You weren’t very productive to begin with.”
“Excuse me,” you said, gesturing to your wall. “I did this one all by myself!”
“Uh-huh,” Bradley said, mimicking your tone. “Meanwhile, I did the other three.”
By the time the playlist ended, the walls were painted a soft sage green. The room looked lighter, like it could finally breathe. Bradley stepped back, hands on his hips, inspecting the walls. A smear of green paint streaked his jaw, and somehow that made him even more endearing.
“Not bad,” Bradley declared. “Could almost pass for professional work.”
You pretended to inspect your section. “Yeah, I feel bad. I’m too broke to pay you.”
“I’ll settle for the pizza that’s definitely cold by now.”
You huffed a laugh. “Big spender.”
He shrugged, grabbing his beer and taking a sip. “It’s the company I’m here for, anyway.”
You blinked at that and were suddenly too aware of how close he was; of how his shoulder brushed yours as he turned to look at the wall again. You caught the faint scent of his cologne—warm, clean, maddeningly familiar.
Just like that, the room fell away, and you were transported back eight years.
After showing you all his favourite Navy spots on North Island, Bradley had driven you home in the same Bronco he’d driven in high school. The radio was tuned to a classic rock station that kept losing signal, and every few minutes, he’d reached out to fix the dial.
At the time, you hadn’t seen him in eight years.
Bradley had cut you out alongside Maverick when you were both teenagers, and it wasn’t until your twentieth birthday that you finally reached out. By then, he’d been twenty-four, two years into his Navy career, and hoping you’d call.
There’d been a lot of phone calls, the occasional letter, the postcards you’d sent him from wherever you happened to be that month. But none of it had felt quite real until you were sitting beside him again, the windows rolled down, the salt air blowing through the cab.
Bradley looked older, of course. Broader through the shoulders, quieter in his movements. The loud boy who used to tease you about your terrible driving had been replaced by someone who carried himself differently—steady, restrained.
You’d tried to hide how much that unsettled you.
“Still got the same car,” you’d said, nodding at the dashboard.
Bradley smiled, eyes still on the road. “She’s reliable. Thought about upgrading, but I couldn’t do it.”
“Too sentimental?”
“Too broke,” he’d corrected, grinning.
You’d laughed, and the sound surprised you. You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed the way Bradley looked at you like he was storing the moment away for later.
He’d finally achieved his dream and been sent to train at Top Gun, and when he told you, you hadn’t hesitated to drive down from Santa Barbara to see him. You’d told yourself you were only catching up, but the truth was impossible to ignore now.
“How’s Mav?” Bradley had asked after a while, voice careful.
You’d inhaled sharply.
You and Bradley had reconnected a few years ago, but you’d never once talked about your dad. It was easier that way. Easier to pretend the distance was because Bradley had devoted his life to following in his father’s footsteps, and you’d devoted yours to getting as far away from your father’s career as possible.
The truth was messier. Maverick had set Bradley back four years, pulled his papers to the Academy, and they hadn’t spoken since.
You’d shrugged. “Still flying. Still impossible to live with.”
Bradley had nodded. “Guess some things don’t change.”
“Guess not,” you’d said. “I’m just lucky Dad was too sentimental to sell the house, so I don’t have to pay for an overpriced hotel whenever I’m home.”
The silence that had followed hadn’t been uncomfortable. It had been the kind of silence you only had with someone who already knew most of your stories.
When Bradley had pulled up in front of your childhood house, the porch light flickered on automatically. You’d forgotten how small it had looked, how the paint had peeled from the railing where you used to sit and talk with Maverick for hours on end.
Bradley’d cut the engine and turned to you.
“Thanks for the ride,” you’d said, because it had felt like the safe thing to say.
He’d nodded. “Anytime.”
You’d unbuckled your seatbelt but didn’t move. Bradley hadn’t either.
“So,” you’d said, “Top Gun.”
Bradley had smiled faintly. “Yeah. Guess I finally made it.”
“You always were the overachiever,” you’d teased.
“One of us had to be,” he’d teased you right back.
You’d rolled your eyes. “Hey, I got into college! I just decided not to go.”
Bradley had chuckled, and for a second, you’d seen the boy who used to sit on that same porch with you every summer. He and Carole used to make their way down from Virginia every year when you were growing up, and the two of you were always thick as thieves.
The memory had tugged at something in your chest. You’d cleared your throat. “You look good, Bradley.”
“Thanks,” Bradley had said quietly. “You too.”
You’d meant to leave it at that, but the way he’d said it had made your pulse jump.
He’d leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on the steering wheel. “You ever think about those summers? The ones before—everything?”
“All the time,” you’d said before you could stop yourself.
Bradley had nodded once, eyes flicking down, then back to yours. “I missed you,” he’d said simply.
The words had hit like a wave. You’d imagined Bradley saying them for years, but now that he had, you hadn’t known where to put the feeling.
“You didn’t have to disappear, you know,” you’d said. “When Dad pulled your papers, he didn’t mean for you to disappear from our lives.”
Bradley had exhaled slowly, leaning back in his seat. “I know. But I couldn’t call you. Not then. I was so angry; at him, at myself, at the universe. I didn’t want you caught in the middle.”
“You didn’t even give me a choice.”
His jaw had tightened. “You were still in high school. I was eighteen and angry at the world. You had your own life to figure out. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
You’d laughed softly, without humour. “You always think you’re doing the right thing.”
Bradley had looked at you then, and for a second, you’d seen every year that had passed between you. He might have looked the same, only broader and tanner, but Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t the naive eighteen-year-old he’d been ten years ago.
“Let me walk you to the door,” Bradley had said, because no matter how much time had passed, Carole had raised him to be a gentleman.
He’d got out of the truck and come around to your side, opening the door for you. It had been such an old-fashioned gesture that it made you laugh, but the sound broke halfway out of your throat. You’d stepped out and headed for the porch together.
The boards had creaked softly beneath you, and Bradley had come to a stop as you’d fished your keys out of your bag.
“Well,” you’d said, “this is where you say goodnight and make me regret every life choice that led to this moment.”
Bradley had smiled that familiar half-smile you’d heard through the phone every few days. “Something like that.”
He’d taken a step closer. The space between you had seemed to shrink without either of you deciding it should. For a second, neither of you had spoken.
When Bradley had reached out, his hand hesitated in midair before finding your face. His thumb had brushed along your cheekbone, the touch feather-light, almost reverent.
Bradley’s voice had dropped, rough at the edges. “For what it’s worth, you are the most amazing person I know.”
You hadn’t answered. You couldn’t. You’d only tilted your chin up, and he’d leaned in at the same time. No hesitation now.
The kiss had been slow, too careful, like you’d both been afraid to break whatever fragile thing had survived all those years apart. Bradley’s hands had found your waist—tentative at first, then sure—and you’d sunk into the warmth of him.
When you’d finally pulled back, your heart was pounding so hard you could barely hear yourself think.
Bradley had looked a little dazed. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
“Two years?” you’d said.
That had been when you’d noticed a shift in your phone calls. You’d been travelling the world, Bradley’d been trying to prove he deserved to be sent to Top Gun, and things didn’t feel so platonic anymore.
He’d grinned, soft and knowing. “Two years.”
You’d smiled back. “Go before I talk you into staying.”
“I’ll bring you coffee and pastries tomorrow morning,” Bradley had promised, still grinning.
Then he’d walked down the path to his truck. You’d watched him go, his figure lit briefly by the headlights as he started the engine. He’d waved once through the open window before pulling away.
The sound of the engine had faded, leaving the street quiet again.
And for a second, you saw another version of him in the same spot—a year later, walking away from the same porch, but with his jaw set and his eyes red from crying.
You’d watched him go then, too. But that time, he didn’t look back.
You blinked, and it was gone. Just Bradley again; older now, standing in your newly sage green room. He was still the person who’d known you when you thought you had the whole world figured out.
“Hey,” he said quietly, tilting his head. “You okay?”
You nodded too fast, trying to play it off. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
Bradley smiled a little. “Dangerous habit.”
“Tell me about it.”
You both stood there, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the wall like it held the answers to things neither of you was brave enough to ask.
You had never been the type to throw a housewarming party, but a ladies’ night felt doable. Low-stakes controlled chaos. You unpacked the last of your boxes that morning and figured it called for celebration.
So you texted Phoenix and Halo. By eight o’clock, there were two bottles of wine open, pizza boxes on the counter, and a shuffling indie playlist in the background.
Halo sat cross-legged on your rug, her hair in a messy bun and her phone halfway across the room because she kept getting work calls. Phoenix had claimed the end of your couch and was already halfway through her second glass of rosé, shoes kicked off, legs tucked under her.
Your little apartment smelled faintly of pizza and garlic bread. You’d lit a candle on the coffee table for ambience, but now the wax had melted into a crooked puddle.
“So,” Phoenix said, pointing her wine glass at you, “how’s it feel being back? You’ve been here what, five months?”
“Six,” you said. “And surprisingly not miserable.”
“‘Surprisingly’?” Halo echoed, grinning.
You leaned back into the cushions. You could feel the wine in your cheeks, warm and loose, making honesty come too easily. “I’ve always wanted to get out of North Island. Like, the second I was old enough to dream about leaving, I was halfway gone in my head.”
Phoenix arched an eyebrow. “That bad?”
“Not bad,” you said quickly. “Just… limiting. My dad’s great, he really is. But his great love has always been the sky, you know? Flying, teaching, all of it. And that comes with a certain lifestyle. Constant motion, waiting on calls, never really belonging to yourself. I spent my whole life watching him break the rules and still have to bend to someone else’s orders, and I swore I’d never do that.”
Halo poured herself another glass and nodded slowly. She shifted closer, her knee brushing your leg. “So you ran.”
You smiled. “Constantly. I was the ‘anywhere but here’ girl. New cities, short leases, jobs I didn’t care about. I convinced myself that if I kept moving, I’d eventually land somewhere that felt right.”
“And now?” Phoenix asked.
You hesitated, swirling your wine like it might spill if you said too much. “Now I don’t want to run. For the first time ever. Which is… weird.”
Halo tilted her head. “Weird how?”
You thought about it for a moment. “It’s kind of a relief, honestly. I like my job, I like my apartment, I even like that I can walk to the beach in under ten minutes. But it’s also a little scary. If I’m not running, what am I doing?”
Phoenix gave you a look that said she’d already guessed the answer. “Maybe you’re staying for a reason.”
You caught her smirk and groaned. “Oh, don’t start.”
“I’m just saying,” Phoenix said, all mock innocence. “Certain people seem to be one of the reasons you want to stick around.”
“‘Certain people’ who go by chicken-related callsigns?” Halo added, and Phoenix snorted.
You groaned. “Not this again.”
Phoenix grinned into her glass. “Come on, it’s so obvious! You and Rooster have been orbiting each other since you arrived. Everyone sees it.”
“Everyone?” you asked.
“Everyone,” Halo confirmed. “He looks at you like he’s trying not to. Which, honestly, makes it so much more obvious.”
You laughed softly, though something in your chest tightened. You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, your stomach fluttering with nerves. “You’re both reading too much into it. We’re friends.”
Phoenix leaned forward. Her voice dropped, low and sure, her eyes steady on yours. “Friends don’t look at each other like that. Friends don’t fix your shower head without being asked, or volunteer to pick up IKEA furniture over an hour away. I think the two of you are more than friends.”
You smiled, a little sadly. “Not so much. We, uh, used to date, though.”
For a second, both women blinked at you like you’d spoken in a foreign language. Then Phoenix choked on her wine, coughing into her hand as Halo’s eyes went huge. Her hand shot out, gripping Phoenix’s arm like she needed something to hold onto.
“I’m sorry, what?” Phoenix said once she recovered.
Halo’s jaw dropped. “You dated Rooster?” Her voice came out an octave higher than usual, and she squeezed Phoenix’s forearm for emphasis.
“Back when he first got sent to Top Gun,” you said. “I moved into my childhood house for a year, got a job waitressing in the next town over, and… yeah. We dated. I must’ve been twenty-four, Bradley twenty-eight.”
Phoenix straightened on the couch, her glass halfway to her lips and forgotten. “Hold on. That year? I was at Top Gun with him. He never said a word.”
You shrugged. “We weren’t exactly shouting it from the rooftops.”
Halo let out a scandalised gasp. She twisted toward Phoenix, and the two of them started hitting each other’s arms out of excitement.
“Oh my god,” Halo exclaimed. “That’s why he used to skip out on bar nights?! We thought he was just being old and boring.”
Phoenix let out a snort, shaking her head. “You’re telling me I sat across from that man every day for months and he never once mentioned he had a girlfriend?”
You nodded, smiling a little at the memory. “He’d drive out to see me after training. We’d grab dinner or sit on the porch and talk for hours. Sometimes he’d stay the night if he didn’t have early drills. We decided not to tell anyone.”
Halo blinked, her expression softening as the air shifted. Her hand fell from Phoenix’s arm. “Why not?”
Your throat was tight, the words catching halfway up. Phoenix’s gaze softened when she noticed. Her hand settled over yours. You took a sip of wine before answering.
“My dad was still a taboo subject back then,” you confessed. “And I’m not a local celebrity, but being Maverick’s daughter means I’m a familiar face on North Island. We knew word would get back to him if people found out—or at the very least back to Uncle Ice. Besides, Bradley was in the middle of Top Gun, and I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. It was supposed to make things simpler.”
Phoenix snorted. “Sounds simple,” she said sarcastically. Halo gave her a nudge, a silent reminder to be gentle.
You smiled. “Yeah, we really nailed that part.”
The humour in your voice faded a little. “It was a good year, though. He was the perfect boyfriend—thoughtful, steady, stupidly chivalrous. He’d make me coffee in the morning and kiss my hand before he left for work. He’d tell me about flying without realising his whole face changed when he talked about it. I really loved him. But…”
“But?” Halo prompted hesitantly. Phoenix exhaled quietly beside her.
You sighed. “But he was always going to belong to the sky. And I couldn’t. I didn’t want to be someone waiting for the next deployment or living by his schedule. I wanted to travel, to work, to not feel like I was stuck in my childhood house lying to my dad about who I was dating. We were in completely different places. So I left.”
Phoenix watched you for a moment; her usual sharpness softened. “Did he know you were going to?”
You nodded. “We both did. We just didn’t say it out loud. One day he dropped me off after dinner, and that was it. He hugged me one last time, and we pretended we weren’t both crying. He walked down the path, got in his truck, and drove away. I was in Nevada by sunrise.”
For a long second, none of you spoke. The music hummed quietly from the speaker, a slow song.
Halo reached out, her hand resting briefly on your knee. “Hey,” she said quietly. “That sounds brutal.”
You shrugged, though your throat felt tight. “It was a long time ago. Now we’re friends again. Or something close to it. We painted my apartment—thank you for abandoning me, by the way. I know a set-up when I see one,” you added, giving them a meaningful look. Phoenix and Halo didn’t even pretend to be ashamed. “We still hang out in group settings, and we never told my dad what happened between us. It’s easier than I thought it would be.”
“Except you still look at him like you used to,” Halo said, tilting her head and grinning.
You gave her a small, helpless smile. Your chest ached, a soft pull just beneath your ribs. “Yeah, maybe. But we’ve both changed. Things are different now.”
Phoenix set her glass down on your coffee table. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s still completely in love with you.”
You laughed softly. “You think everyone’s in love with everyone.”
“Maybe,” Phoenix said, grinning. “But I’m right about this one.”
The conversation drifted after that, back to work gossip and whether Halo should see her ex while she was in town.
You could still feel the warmth of their closeness long after the laughter faded. But the subject of your history with Bradley lingered long after they’d gone home, and the apartment was quiet.
You stood by the sink, washing wine glasses. You’d spent years convincing yourself that staying meant settling. But now, standing there in your own little kitchen with three empty glasses and an ache in your chest, you weren’t so sure.
Your dad’s house still smelled the same. You’d expected it to feel different now that it wasn’t yours, but it didn’t. Just more lived in. There were photos on the mantel that hadn’t been there before, a new coffee mug beside the old ones, a few of Penny’s things scattered across the counter.
You heard them before you saw them, their voices mixing with the sound of the stove fan. Maverick was chopping tomatoes, Penny stirring something on the hob, both laughing at a story you couldn’t quite catch.
You leaned against the doorway for a second and watched them. Your dad looked lighter than he used to, and so did Penny. A quiet warmth crept in and you were happy the two of them finally figured things out.
When they noticed you, you were smothered with hugs and affection until you pulled away, laughing. Penny finished up the pasta, Maverick opened a bottle of wine, and conversation flowed the way it always did when the two of them were together. You didn’t have to fill any silences or think too hard.
Then there was a knock at the door.
“Can you grab that?” Maverick asked, wiping his hands on a towel.
You went to open it and stopped short when you saw Bradley on the porch.
“Hey,” he said, his voice even.
“Hey,” you said finally, your voice softer than you meant it to be. You smiled, because that’s what you’d always done around Bradley. “Didn’t know you were coming.”
Bradley shrugged, eyes flicking past you toward the kitchen. “Mav invited me. Guess he forgot to mention it.”
“Right.” You stepped back to let him in, trying to ignore the faint smell of his cologne mixing with the sea air. “Come on, they’re in the kitchen.”
He nodded, but his smile never reached his eyes. There was a tightness to him that hadn’t been there the last time you saw him. You told yourself it was nothing, but your pulse didn’t slow as you followed him inside.
Dinner didn’t go badly. If anything, it went almost too well. The four of you talked and laughed, the kind of easy rhythm you could fall into without thinking. You and Bradley had done this dance before; pretending you were just old friends, nothing more, nothing less.
He sat across from you, relaxed enough to look natural. He passed you the parmesan, smiled when Penny teased Maverick, and joined in when your dad told stories from the hangar. You found yourself smiling back, and for a while, it felt like old times.
After dinner, you and Bradley both tried to stand, but Penny waved you down.
“Absolutely not. You’re guests,” she said, already stacking plates. Maverick backed her up, grinning at your protests.
So you and Bradley ended up outside on the porch, on the same old bench that had been there since you were a kid. The wood creaked under your weight.
You sat with your hands clasped loosely in your lap. Bradley leaned back, one ankle crossed over the other, silent in a way that wasn’t quite comfortable.
“So,” he said eventually, his tone careful. “You told Phoenix.”
You turned your head toward him. “Told her what?”
Bradley gave you a look, eyes narrowing just slightly. “About us.”
You blinked, surprised. “Oh. Yeah, it came up.”
He let out a short laugh, but there wasn’t any humour in it. “You didn’t think to give me a heads-up before dropping that little piece of history into squad gossip?”
You frowned, sitting up. “It wasn’t gossip. It was just a conversation.”
“About something between you and me,” Bradley said, voice low but edged. His arms crossed over his chest like he needed somewhere to put the frustration.
You shifted slightly, mirroring the gesture without meaning to. “Bradley, it’s been eight years. It’s not like I was giving them details or spilling your secrets. We were talking; we’re friends.”
Bradley turned toward you fully now, eyes catching the light from the kitchen window. “You think I want everyone looking at me like some guy who couldn’t hold on to Maverick’s daughter?”
You stared at him, caught off guard. “That’s what this is about? What other people think?”
His jaw tightened, the muscle in his cheek jumping. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make me sound shallow just because I care how it looks.” Bradley’s tone was clipped, defensive.
You exhaled, trying to keep your voice even. “I didn’t tell Phoenix and Halo to hurt you.”
“I know you didn’t,” he said. His voice cracked a little on the words. “But it still did.”
That stopped you for a second. “Why?” you asked quietly.
Bradley looked at you for a long moment before answering, his fingers tapping once against his knee. “Because you didn’t just leave town back then. You left me too.”
You felt your throat tighten. “You were never really here, Bradley.”
His mouth pressed into a line. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” You turned toward him, heat rising in your voice. “You were always chasing the next posting, the next mission, the next step. I couldn’t even get you to slow down long enough to talk about what you wanted for dinner without it turning into logistics.”
Bradley pushed a hand through his hair, eyes flashing. “I was trying to build something—to have a plan. That’s what people do when they care.”
You let out a short, sharp laugh. “You cared more about the plan than me.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You didn’t know what you wanted.”
“I was twenty-four,” you said, your voice rising. “I was still figuring it out.”
“And you decided you couldn’t do that with me around!”
“That’s not true!” You were on your feet now, before you realised it, pacing a few steps toward the railing. “I loved you, but I couldn’t keep being the girl waiting for you to come home.”
Bradley stood too, his voice rougher now. “You could’ve told me that.”
“I did,” you shot back. “You just didn’t want to hear it.”
Bradley let out a sharp exhale and turned away, hands on his hips. “You think it was easy for me? I had no one, alright? My mom was gone, Mav and I weren’t talking, and you—” He broke off, jaw tight. “You were supposed to be the one person who didn’t walk away.”
You stared at him, your chest tightened. “You’re kidding.”
He frowned. “What?”
“You think it was easy for me?” you said, your voice shaking. “Lying to my dad? Pretending I didn’t still talk to you, didn’t still—” You stopped, swallowing hard. “Don’t put it all on me.”
“I’m not putting it on you, I’m telling you how it was!” Bradley’s voice cracked with something raw. “You had a home here. You had Maverick—wherever he was deployed that year. You had people who actually gave a damn. I had empty apartments and transfer papers.”
“Yeah, I ‘had Maverick,’” you echoed. “Some relationship we had that year, what with me lying to him every day.”
Bradley’s mouth opened, then closed again. His jaw flexed. “I didn’t think you wanted to tell him.”
“He’s my dad,” you said, voice rising. “The only parent I’ve ever had. Deciding to lie to his face every time he asked if I’d heard from you wasn’t something I did lightly. But we agreed to keep it quiet, remember? You didn’t want anyone to know.”
“I was protecting you,” he said quickly, taking a step closer.
You gave a short, incredulous laugh. “No, you were protecting yourself. Protecting your perfect image, your golden-boy career, your chance to prove you weren’t just Goose’s son dating Maverick’s daughter.”
Bradley’s eyes flashed. “That’s not fair.”
“Maybe not,” you said, your voice shaking. “But it’s true.”
He groaned, frustration sparking again. “You think you were the only one carrying something? You had your dad—someone who was always in your corner. I had to do it all on my own.”
Your throat burned. “You had me!”
“Until I didn’t,” Bradley shot back. “Until you decided you couldn’t handle it anymore and ran.”
That one hit deep. Your arms crossed instinctively, a weak sort of shield. “You make it sound like I didn’t even try.”
Bradley’s voice rose. “You didn’t stay.”
You inhaled sharply, feeling your eyes sting. “And you didn’t even notice I was falling apart!”
He froze, chest rising and falling fast.
“I couldn’t breathe, Bradley,” you said quietly, voice breaking. “Do you know what that felt like?”
His expression softened for half a second, but then his shoulders straightened, defensive. “You were always the ‘anywhere but here’ girl,” Bradley said. “I should’ve seen it coming. You’ve been running your whole life.”
You took a shaky breath, blinking hard to keep your eyes clear. “And you’ve been chasing ghosts,” you said, voice low. “Your father, your career, whatever version of yourself you think you owe him. I wasn’t going to stick around and become everything I was scared of growing up—living life according to someone else’s orders.”
The words hung between you, heavy and hot. Neither of you moved for a long moment.
Bradley finally exhaled, his shoulders dropping. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered. “That you ran. That’s not fair.”
You didn’t answer at first, watching the way his hand flexed at his side, like he didn’t know what to do with it.
“I was the one running,” Bradley said finally, quieter now. “From everything. Every mission, every deployment, every new posting—whatever kept me busy enough not to think.” He gave a small, tired laugh. “I thought if I just kept working, I’d never end up like my dad.” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “But I was scared all the time. Terrified, actually. Of chaos, of losing control, of you seeing me come apart.”
You turned toward him, your voice softening. “Bradley…”
“I didn’t want you to go through what my mom did,” he went on, voice rough. “The waiting, the worrying. I thought keeping it quiet would protect you. But maybe I was just protecting myself. Because if something happened to me, and you were still—” He stopped, clearing his throat. “I couldn’t live with that.”
You stood still for a moment, feeling the wind shift, the scent of salt in the air. “I knew all that,” you said quietly. “I knew why you did it. Why you pulled away.”
Bradley looked at you then, searching your face.
You gave a small, sad smile. “You weren’t the only one who was scared. I felt stuck. Living in my childhood home again, pretending I wasn’t lying to my dad every day… it was like being sixteen all over again, except worse, because I actually had something to lose.”
You shook your head, the motion small. “Growing up with Maverick taught me to rely on myself, to move fast, to never get too comfortable anywhere. So when things started getting real with you, I panicked. I didn’t know how to sit still.”
Bradley’s expression softened, guilt flickering in his eyes. “You thought if you kept moving, you wouldn’t need anyone.”
“Yeah,” you said, voice low. “And then you ruined that theory completely.”
That drew the faintest ghost of a smile from him. “You think I meant to?”
You huffed a small laugh, the tension easing between you. “Pretty sure you didn’t. You just existed, and that was enough.”
Bradley ran both hands over his face, dragging them down to his jaw. “You know, I thought I’d made peace with it,” he said. “I told myself I was over it. Then you moved home, and suddenly it all came flooding back like it never ended.”
You let out a slow breath, your heartbeat still loud in your ears. “Tell me about it.”
Bradley huffed a quiet laugh, then went still again. “You really didn’t mean to tell Phoenix?”
You shook your head. “No. I wasn’t thinking. It just came up, and I trusted her not to tell anyone. I guess I didn’t think she’d bring it up to you.”
“She told me we were being dramatic,” Bradley admitted, chuckling.
“She’s not wrong,” you said, a small smile tugging at your mouth.
That earned you a smile back—tired, but real. The tension between you eased, but it didn’t fade completely. Bradley looked at you again, softer this time. “You look different.”
“So do you,” you said, the corners of your mouth twitching. “In a good way.”
His brow lifted just slightly, like he didn’t quite believe you.
You took a slow breath. “You know, I’m proud of you.”
Bradley blinked, caught off guard. “Of me?”
“Yeah,” you said, your voice steady. “You worked so hard for everything, and you did it without a safety net. Without anyone really holding you up. You built the life you wanted from nothing, and that’s—” you exhaled softly, searching for the right word, “that’s brave. Doing it scared, doing it alone, is a hell of a lot braver than doing it with the kind of confidence someone like my dad has.”
His expression flickered, somewhere between disbelief and something warmer.
“I know your parents are proud of you,” you went on. “You did all the things you used to talk about when we’d sneak onto the tarmac and you’d point at the sky like it already belonged to you.” You smiled faintly, eyes unfocused for a moment. “You made me want to find somewhere that actually felt like home. And the only place that’s ever even come close was North Island, that year I was here with you.”
Bradley stared at you, silent for a long time. Then he leaned back slightly, shaking his head as if trying to get a handle on whatever was building in his chest. “You always did know exactly what to say.”
“That’s not true,” you argued softly.
He smiled at that, small and rueful. “You know what I always admired about you? How easily you fit in anywhere. You could move halfway across the country, not know a single person, and by the end of the week you’d have a new routine anda new friend group. I used to think that was your version of magic.”
You laughed under your breath. “It was survival.”
“Maybe,” Bradley said, eyes lingering on you. “But it’s also something I wish I had. I still have all your postcards. Philly, Austin, Chicago. I keep them in the top drawer of my desk, like little reminders that there’s more to the world than checklists and orders.” He hesitated, his thumb rubbing along the edge of his jaw. “You never settled for anything less than what felt right for you. And I think that’s what I learned from that year: if I could be just a little more like you, I’d be a much happier man.”
You smiled, small but real. “You do look happier. I’m glad I got to be a tiny part of that.”
Bradley looked at you for a long beat, eyes softening in the golden porch light. “For what it’s worth, you’re still the most amazing person I know,” he said quietly. “You were always so beautiful. You still are, more than ever.”
You smiled sadly, your shoulders lowering. “You’re the most amazing person I know too, Bradley.”
He laughed under his breath, then after a beat, said, “I missed you.”
You froze, every nerve in your body alert. “Don’t.”
“Why not?” His voice was low now, quiet in a way that felt dangerous.
“Because it’s not fair,” you said, breath unsteady. “You can’t just say that now.”
Bradley shifted closer, eyes flicking to your mouth before meeting your gaze again. “You think I planned this?”
“I think you always have a plan,” you said. “That’s the problem.”
He smiled, small and tired, running a hand along his thigh. “Maybe this time I don’t. Maybe I’ve learned that not everything has to be perfect. That life with the people you love isn’t about checklists and timelines.”
You blinked at him. “You really mean that?”
“I do,” Bradley said, voice softening. “Being with you showed me I could let go a little. So, I’m taking the chance to tell you I still love you.”
The space between you shrank. You could see the faint crease between Bradley’s brows, the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way his hand twitched like he wanted to reach for you and didn’t know if he should.
“Bradley,” you said quietly.
He reached up anyway and brushed his thumb along your cheek. You tilted your head slightly, closing the tiny gap, your pulse pounding in your ears. His fingers slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, tilting your face closer, and you inhaled sharply.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this,” Bradley murmured before connecting your lips.
You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. The kiss started slow, tentative, but the second your lips moved, Bradley’s restraint shattered.
His hand cupped the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and the rest of the world—the ocean breeze, the light streaming in from the kitchen window, the creak of the porch—faded out.
He groaned low in your mouth, and it made your knees weak. Teeth caught briefly on your lower lip, and you parted just enough for him to deepen the kiss, tilting his head so your mouths fit perfectly together. Every touch, every brush of skin against skin, was electric.
You could feel the tension of the last eight years unravelling between you with every press, every gasp, every tiny, desperate shift closer.
Bradley’s hands moved to your waist, gripping the curve of your hips with a hunger that mirrored your own. You pressed against him, leaning into his warmth, letting yourself melt into the familiarity of him. It was reckless and indulgent and everything you’d wanted for ten years without ever saying it out loud.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” Bradley whispered between kisses.
You laughed, a soft, shaky sound, and kissed him again, harder this time. “I’ve been waiting—”
“For far too long,” he interrupted, nipping your jaw, then pressing his forehead to yours. “I know, gorgeous. But we’re here now.”
Bradley’s mouth moved over yours again, teasing then demanding, hands everywhere you wanted them. Your fingers tangled in the thick hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him close, shocked at how easy it felt to lose yourself in him again.
His lips trailed down your jaw, your neck, each kiss leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He whispered your name against your skin, and it made something inside you shatter and mend all at once.
“You’ve been mine all along,” Bradley murmured, voice urgent. “Even when we weren’t together, I still loved you. You were all I thought about, every single day, for ten years.”
“I love you,” you breathed, cutting him off with another deep, desperate kiss. “I always loved you.”
When you finally broke apart, gasping, you rested your foreheads together, both of you laughing breathlessly. Bradley’s hands stayed on your waist, yours on his chest.
“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, voice ragged.
“I’ve missed you too,” you breathed back, and it was impossible to say whose smile was brighter.
Inside, Penny froze mid-step, dish towel in hand, staring out the window.
“Are they—” she started, eyes wide as she watched you and Bradley tangled together on the porch. “Are they kissing?”
Beside her, Maverick leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a grin slowly spreading across his face.
“Did you—?”
“Of course I knew,” he said smugly. “Ice and I had a long-running bet about when they’d get back together.”
Penny tore her gaze away from the window to stare at him. “You’re kidding.”
Maverick shook his head, smile softening, voice low and fond. “Can’t believe he got the exact month right.”
