My Brother Mocked My “Fake Pilot Job” at Our Cousin’s Wedding—Seconds Later, a Helicopter Landed and Proved Everything

---

If you’d asked my family to describe me on the morning of my cousin Jenna’s wedding, they probably would’ve said:

“Alex? Oh, he’s the one who never sticks with anything.”

It wasn’t that far off from how they treated me.

My older brother, Tyler, had the better version: “The family screwup.”

He said it with a grin, like it was just a hilarious little fact, the way people say “Kyle hates cilantro” or “Uncle Rick collects ceramic frogs.” But everyone knew he meant it.

The thing is—he wasn’t around when my helicopter fell sideways into a mountainside in Colorado last March. He didn’t see the way the valley spun or feel the sickening drop before the emergency skids caught rock and we skated sideways like a stone. He wasn’t there in the ER when they pulled a broken hiker off my bird and straight into surgery.

He just knew that I used to wash out of things.

College. Jobs. Relationships. All of it.

So when I told my family I’d finally found something I loved, something I was good at, they all nodded and smiled like they were humoring a kid who said he wanted to be an astronaut.

Except they weren’t humoring a kid.

They were humoring a thirty-year-old search-and-rescue helicopter pilot.

Which brings us to the wedding.

---

Jenna was the first girl in our family to get the full movie treatment—outdoor vineyard venue in upstate New York, string lights everywhere, white tents, a ridiculous flower arch that probably cost more than my car.

I pulled into the gravel parking lot in that very car, a dented ten-year-old Corolla I’d borrowed from my roommate, and immediately wished I hadn’t.

The lot looked like a luxury dealership. SUVs, glossy sedans, one Tesla humming quietly at the end of the row like it knew it was better than us.

I killed the engine and sat for a second, listening to it tick. I checked my phone. No new messages from the base. Good. We weren’t technically on duty—my partner, Drew, had begged the weekend off for his brother’s bachelor party, so our unit was technically down a bird—but we were always on call. If things went bad enough, someone could still ring me.

I tugged at my tie, which was already driving me insane, grabbed the garment bag from the back seat, and did the awkward change-into-a-suit-in-the-car thing that never looks as smooth as it does in movies.

By the time I walked up the path to the ceremony site, the air smelled like roses, expensive cologne, and nerves. Guests milled around in pastel dresses and fitted suits, holding champagne flutes, laughing a little too loudly.

“There he is!” A familiar voice boomed.

I turned to see my mom waving me over, wearing a navy dress and the tight smile she reserved for family events where she was pretending everything was perfect.

“You made it,” she said, hugging me. Her perfume smelled like memories—powdery and floral. “I was starting to worry. Your brother said—”

“He said I’d flake,” I finished for her, forcing a smile. “I hit traffic. Made it though.”

Behind her, my brother Tyler approached with his wife, Brie, attached to his arm like the world’s prettiest accessory. Tyler looked like he’d stepped out of a catalogue—tailored gray suit, hair perfectly styled, beard trimmed.

“Hey, man,” he said, clapping me on the back hard enough to jolt my teeth. “Nice of you to grace us with your presence.”

“Hey,” I said. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Brie gave me a polite hug. “Hi, Alex,” she said. “Love the tie. Very… navy.”

“It was five bucks at Target,” I said. “So, thank you. I think.”

Tyler grinned. “Still living that high roller life, huh?” he asked. “How’s the, uh…” He made a vague circling motion with his hand. “Helicopter thing?”

I tamped down a sigh. “It’s good,” I said. “Busy. We had two callouts last week. One hiker with a broken ankle, one ATV rollover. Both okay.”

“Wow,” Brie said. “That sounds… intense.”

Tyler snorted. “If it’s even real,” he muttered, just loud enough for us to hear.

I stiffened. “What?”

He shrugged. “I mean, c’mon,” he said. “Three years ago you were stocking shelves at Walmart. Now you’re Tom Cruise in Top Gun? Forgive me if I’m skeptical.”

I felt a familiar hot flush rise up my neck. “It’s not like I just woke up one day and said, hey, let’s fly a million-dollar aircraft,” I said. “I did the work. Got my private pilot license, then commercial, then rotorcraft. Training, exams, hours. It’s all pretty real, Ty.”

He raised his hands. “Relax, man,” he said. “I’m just busting your chops.”

“Maybe don’t,” I said, sharper than I meant to.

My mom stepped between us with a brittle little laugh. “Let’s not do this today,” she said. “Please. It’s Jenna’s wedding. Can we just… have one day without you two sniping at each other?”

Tyler smiled like the golden boy he’d always been. “Totally,” he said. “No sniping. So Alex, you got a real paycheck yet or you still being paid in, what is it, ‘experience’?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the ceremony music started—a soft piano version of some pop song—and people began to drift toward the rows of white chairs set up in front of the flower arch.

Saved by the bride, I thought.

For now.

---

The ceremony was beautiful, of course.

Jenna, in lace and sunlight, walked down the aisle on her dad’s arm while everyone turned and “awww”ed like we were in a commercial. Her fiancé, Mark, cried openly at the altar and didn’t even pretend he wasn’t, which I respected.

I tried to be present. To soak it in. Did the whole mental Polaroid thing: the way the light hit the vineyard, the minister’s shaky hands, the way Jenna’s voice wobbled when she promised to choose Mark even when they were old and cranky.

But part of me was elsewhere.

Somewhere over a tree line, scanning for lost hikers. Back in a hangar, running my hands over rotor blades, doing my pre-flight checks.

I loved what I did.

They just didn’t believe in it.

“Earth to Alex.”

I blinked. The ceremony was over. People were getting up, stretching, hugging. Tyler stood in front of me, smirking.

“You looked like you were solving world hunger,” he said. “It’s just a wedding, not a NASA launch.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Just thinking.”

“That must be exhausting,” he said.

I ignored it.

We followed the crowd to the reception tent, where fairy lights twinkled and a band tuned up onstage. White tablecloths, floral centerpieces, tiny, perfectly arranged place cards. Party favors that were probably monogrammed.

I found my name at a table with my parents, Tyler and Brie, and a cluster of cousins.

As we sat, my aunt leaned over. “Alex, honey, your mom says you’re flying helicopters now?” she asked. “Like in the army?”

“Civilian search and rescue,” I said. “We work with the state police, forest service, that kind of thing. We lift out injured hikers, lost kids sometimes. It’s like… aerial EMS.”

Her eyes widened. “Wow,” she said. “That sounds dangerous.”

“It can be,” I said. “But it’s worth it.”

Tyler snorted into his drink. “When he isn’t mopping hangar floors,” he muttered.

“Tyler,” my mom warned.

“What?” he said. “I’m just saying. Dude acts like he’s saving the world every weekend. More likely he’s flying rich tourists to see fall foliage.”

I clenched my jaw. “We don’t do tours,” I said. “We’re contracted by the state. We respond to 911 calls.”

“Sure,” he said. “And I’m Batman.”

Brie tried to change the subject. “So, uh, Jenna looks amazing, right?” she said brightly. “That dress is just—”

“How many hours you flown now, exactly?” Tyler interrupted. “Hundreds? Thousands? When do you get your cape?”

I set my fork down carefully.

“About seven hundred fifty,” I said. “Enough to not crash every time I take off.”

“Ooh,” he said. “Listen to the pro.”

“Ty, knock it off,” my dad said quietly.

But Tyler was in a mood now. I knew that mood. It usually involved him drinking too much and deciding that being “honest” was the same thing as being cruel.

“I’m just trying to look out for him,” Tyler said. “Remember when he was this close to being a firefighter? Or a cop? Or a marine biologist? Dude, you tried to join the Coast Guard and washed out in three weeks.”

“I tore my shoulder,” I said through gritted teeth. “You know that.”

He shrugged. “I know a pattern when I see one,” he said. “And now this whole helicopter hero story… c’mon, man. How do we even know it’s not just you moving boxes at an airfield and telling people you ‘fly’?”

Brie winced. “Ty…”

I felt my face heat. People at the table were staring now, awkward smiles frozen in place.

“You want proof?” I said. “You want my flight log? Pictures? The news article from the time we pulled that family off Devil’s Ridge last December? They called us heroes then. That good enough for you?”

“Oh yeah,” Tyler said. “Local news. That bastion of fact-checking. Look, man, I’m happy you found something to cosplay, but maybe save the tall tales for people who don’t know your track record.”

My chair scraped as I stood up.

“Excuse me,” I said tightly. “I need some air.”

“Here we go,” Tyler said. “Classic Alex, storming off. You never could take a joke.”

“Tyler, shut up,” my mom snapped.

I pushed my way out of the tent, into the cool night.

My heart was pounding. I knew I shouldn’t let him get to me. I knew his digs said more about him than me. But knowing and feeling were two different things.

I walked past the parked cars, down a little slope toward the vineyard’s edge, where rows of grapevines stretched out in neat lines, silver in the moonlight.

I pulled my phone out to breathe-check my own reality.

There it was. A background photo of me and Drew standing in front of our bird, the Bell 429, rotor blades frozen above us, helmets under our arms. Behind us, a slice of Colorado sky, impossibly blue.

Under it, three missed calls.

Not from my mom.

From my base.

My stomach dropped.

I tapped the voicemail icon.

“Hey, Alex, it’s Steve,” my chief pilot’s voice came through, tinny and urgent. “I know you’re technically off tonight, but we just got a call from New York State Police. There’s been an accident out in the Catskills, terrain’s rough, weather moving in. Our nearest bird is grounded with a hydraulic issue, so they’re requesting mutual aid. You’re actually the closest qualified pilot, believe it or not. We scrambled 4-2 from Albany and they’re inbound to your location to pick you up. If you’re getting this, call me back ASAP. And, uh, sorry to ruin the wedding.”

I stared at my phone.

A helicopter was on its way here.

To get me.

I looked up at the night sky, as if I might see it already.

Nothing yet. Just stars.

I hit call back.

Steve picked up on the first ring. “Tell me you’re still in New York,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m at some vineyard outside Kingston. What’s going on?”

“Small commuter plane down in the Catskills,” he said. “Lost an engine, pilot tried to put her down in a clearing, clipped trees. Two passengers, one unconscious. Local EMS can’t get a rig closer than three miles, terrain’s a mess. State wants a medevac. Nearest helicopter is… you.”

“Okay,” I said. The world tunneled down to logistics. “What’s 4-2’s ETA?”

“Six minutes out,” he said. “They’ll put down in the biggest open space they can find near you. You good to fly right now?”

I looked down at myself. Nice shoes. Suit. Tie.

“I’ll have to lose the tie,” I said. “But yeah. I’m good.”

He exhaled. “Figured you would be,” he said. “Sorry again about the wedding.”

I glanced back up the hill at the glowing tent. Laughter floated on the air. The muffled thump of bass.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I think the wedding’s already ruined.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Text me the coordinates. I’ll meet 4-2 wherever they can safely land.”

I hung up and stood there for a second, heartbeat syncing with a familiar, imagined thrum of rotor blades.

Then I turned and jogged back up the hill.

---

I didn’t get far before Tyler intercepted me, drink in hand, face flushed.

“There he is!” he crowed. “Back from his dramatic exit. You okay, Top Gun? Need a tissue?”

“I don’t have time for this,” I said, brushing past him.

He stepped in front of me. “Whoa,” he said. “Relax. I’m kidding. Come on, man, don’t be such a—”

“My helicopter’s inbound,” I blurted.

He blinked. “Your what now?”

I checked my watch. Three minutes since Steve’s call. “There was a plane crash,” I said. “In the mountains. They need an extra pilot. Our crew is on their way to pick me up. I have to find an open field for them to land. You need to tell everyone to stay back when they come in.”

He stared at me like I’d grown a second head. Then he laughed.

“Oh my God,” he said. “You’re still doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“The bit,” he said. “The whole ‘I’m a big deal pilot’ bit. At my cousin’s wedding, man? Really?”

I frowned. “Ty, I don’t have time—”

He raised his voice. “Hey, everybody!” he called, turning toward the tent. “Alex says his helicopter is landing. Make room for the invisible aircraft!”

A few heads turned. A couple of cousins snickered.

My mom appeared in the tent entrance, brow furrowed. “Helicopter?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Tyler said. “Alex is just telling us about his secret agent mission.”

My phone buzzed. A text with coordinates and a note: Two out. Approaching from west. Look for us over the tree line.

I shoved my phone into my pocket.

“This isn’t a joke,” I said. “We’ve got maybe three minutes before they’re overhead. We need to clear that lower field.”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “Sure, man,” he said. “Whatever you say. Are the Avengers coming too? Should we clear space for Iron Man’s suit to land?”

I opened my mouth to respond, then—

thump-thump-thump.

At first it was faint. A distant, rhythmic thudding you could mistake for someone doing construction miles away.

Then it grew louder.

People stopped laughing.

The sound rolled over the vineyard, low and powerful, rattling the wine glasses on the tables. Conversation faltered as heads tilted, eyes scanning the dark sky.

“What is that?” someone whispered.

My skin prickled.

I knew that sound in my bones.

I looked past the tent, past the parking lot, to where the dark shape of the tree line loomed like a jagged shadow.

And there, cresting the hill beyond it, lights sliced through the night.

A helicopter emerged over the trees, white and green strobes blinking, landing lights carving the vineyard into sharp relief. Its rotors churned the air, kicking up leaves and dust even at this distance.

It banked slightly, nose dipping, as it lined up with the largest open space near the venue—the lower field I’d just walked through.

Someone screamed.

Wine sloshed. A centerpiece went over.

“Oh my God,” Brie gasped. “It’s real.”

The helicopter descended, wind from its blades flattening the tall grass. Tablecloths snapped like sails. Women clutched at their hair and dresses. A few guests instinctively ducked, as if that would help.

Tyler stood frozen, jaw slack, eyes wide, as the machine he’d just mocked into existence roared over his head.

It was 4-2, all right. Bell 429, white body with a green stripe, the small logo of our company—SkyLine Rescue—above the sliding door. I could see the pilot, Jace, through the front windshield, his helmet visor down. Beside him, in the co-pilot seat, an empty spot.

Mine.

The helicopter flared and touched down in the field with the kind of smooth precision only hours could buy. The rotors kept spinning, the sound a constant roar.

I turned to my stunned family.

“Stay here,” I shouted over the noise. “Do not come down to the field. Please.”

I didn’t wait for their response.

I ran.

---

The wind from the rotors hit me full force as I jogged down the slope, flattening my tie against my chest, whipping at my hair.

Grass flailed against my shoes. The noise was so loud it vibrated in my ribs, but under it, my heart calmed.

This, at least, I understood.

I reached the edge of the safe approach angle and ducked low, hand up, signaling I was coming in. Jace saw me and gave a thumb’s up. The door slid open and our flight medic, Kira, leaned out, ponytail thrashing.

“Hey, pretty boy!” she yelled. “Nice suit! You know we’re going to ruin it, right?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time tonight,” I yelled back.

I hopped up onto the skid and into the cabin, the space suddenly familiar and close. The smell of hydraulic fluid, metal, and faint antiseptic wrapped around me.

I yanked off my tie and jacket, flinging them into a corner. Kira shoved a headset into my hands.

“Crash is twenty-one miles north-northeast,” she shouted. “Fog rolling in. We’ve got maybe a thirty-minute window before it gets ugly. Jace’s blood sugar tanked, he’s not fit to fly solo in this, so congrats—you’re up.”

I slipped on the headset, the noise dulling to a manageable roar. “Copy that,” I said into the mic. “You sure you want to trust a guy whose family thinks he’s making this up?”

Kira snorted. “Screw your family,” she said. “We’ve got a job to do.”

Jace twisted in his seat, lifting his visor. His face was pale, sweat beading at his temples. “Sorry, man,” he said. “Thought I could push through. Bad idea.”

“I got it,” I said. “Go lie down back there and try not to die. I don’t want to explain that paperwork.”

He unbuckled and stumbled to the back, Kira steadying him. I slid into the pilot seat, hands moving on instinct.

Power. Instruments. Gauges. Systems check. Outside, through the windscreen, the world narrowed to the arc of our landing lights and the vague glow of the wedding tent up the hill, full of people who’d just learned something about me I’d never been able to prove before.

“SkyLine 4-2, this is dispatch,” the radio crackled in my ear. “Confirm you’ve picked up second pilot?”

“Affirmative,” I said. “Alex Reyes in the left seat. Ready to lift.”

“Copy, 4-2. Proceed direct to coordinates. State Police are securing an LZ near the crash site. Expect uneven terrain and possible low visibility due to fog. Patient status: one critical, one stable. Time is a factor.”

“Roger that,” I said.

My hand went to the collective. I took a breath.

Then we lifted.

---

From the ground, my family saw the helicopter rise in a roar of light and wind, banking away over the vineyard and into the night.

From the air, the wedding tent shrank to a glowing patch on a dark quilt of fields and woods. For a second, as we climbed, I saw tiny silhouettes—people, dots—standing outside, watching.

Then the ground dropped away and the world became instruments and stars.

“Altitude one thousand,” I said, scanning the gauges. “Climbing to twenty-five hundred. Heading zero-four-two.”

“Fog bank at your ten o’clock,” Kira warned, peering out her side window. “Looks thick.”

“We’ll skirt it,” I said. “Keep eyes on those ridgelines. Last thing we need is to add ourselves to the crash report.”

The night swallowed us. Below, the outlines of mountains rose and fell. Somewhere out there, in the dark, a small plane lay crumpled, people hurt, maybe dying.

This was the part no one at the wedding saw.

They saw the drama of the helicopter landing, sure. The noise. The spectacle. But not the thirty minutes of concentration and quiet panic that followed.

We found the State Police LZ—a patch of dirt on a ridge, marked by strobes and flares. A trooper’s voice crackled over the radio, guiding us in.

“Wind’s out of the west at eight,” he said. “Be advised, ground’s soft. We had a cruiser almost sink up to the axles.”

“Copy,” I said.

I eased 4-2 down, eyes flicking between the terrain and the instruments, trusting my hands, my training. The skids kissed the earth with a bump. The rotors kept spinning.

Kira and another medic bailed out, ducking low. In the distance, I could see the twisted shape of the small plane, its nose buried in the earth, one wing bent at a sick angle. Emergency lights bathed it all in red and blue.

They loaded the critical patient into our cabin—a woman in her fifties, unconscious, blood on her face, neck braced, IV already in. Kira shouted something about vitals. I barely processed it. My job was to get her to a hospital. Alive.

We lifted again.

The flight back was faster. My focus narrowed to a needlepoint. Airspeed. Altitude. Course. Avoid the fog, avoid the ridges, avoid every single way the night could kill us.

When we touched down on the hospital helipad thirty-two minutes later, the ER team was already there, gurney ready.

“On three,” Kira yelled. “One, two, three—”

They whisked the woman away. Our job, for the moment, was done.

I sat in the cockpit for a second longer, hands still gripping the controls even though they no longer needed me.

My whole body buzzed.

We’d done it.

I exhaled slowly and forced my fingers to unclench.

“Nice flying,” Kira said, leaning into the cockpit. “Crash site’s a mess. You threaded that needle tight.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“You okay?” she asked.

I thought of Tyler’s face as the helicopter cleared the trees. Of my mom’s hand pressed to her mouth. Of my own voice, sharp and small, saying, “My helicopter’s inbound,” and no one believing me.

“I’m good,” I said. “Just… not looking forward to going back to the tent and explaining all this.”

She snorted. “Dude,” she said. “You just medevaced a crash victim from a mountain in the dark. If anyone gives you crap after that, send them to me. I’ll show them the footage.”

“Footage?” I asked.

She grinned. “Hospital’s security camera caught you coming in,” she said. “They’re hyped. You’re trending in the break room.”

I groaned. “Great,” I said. “That’s exactly the kind of fame I wanted.”

She clapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s get you back to your cousin’s fairy-tale nightmare,” she said. “Maybe they saved you a piece of cake.”

---

By the time 4-2 set down again in the vineyard’s field, it was close to midnight.

Noise ordinances meant we had to cut the drama this time—power back quiet, landing lights dimmed. The tent’s glow was softer now, the music slower. The party was winding down.

When the rotors finally spooled to a stop, the sudden silence made my ears ring.

I hopped off the skid, jacket over my arm, tie crumpled in my pocket, hair a wreck.

My mom stood at the edge of the field with my dad. Tyler and Brie were beside them. A small knot of cousins huddled behind, pretending not to stare.

As I walked up the slope, my legs felt weirdly heavy, like I’d just run a marathon and then put on a suit.

No one spoke until I was almost in front of them.

My mom reached out and grabbed my face with both hands.

“Are you okay?” she demanded, eyes searching mine. “Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?”

“I’m fine, Ma,” I said, startled. “I swear.”

She pulled me into a hug so tight it knocked the air out of me. She smelled like champagne now, on top of the perfume.

“I saw you,” she whispered. “In that thing. You went up there for some stranger.”

“That’s the job,” I said softly.

She pulled back, eyes wet. “I didn’t know,” she said. “I mean, I knew. You told us. But I didn’t… I didn’t understand.”

My dad, usually quiet, cleared his throat. “They had the news on in the bar,” he said. “Local station did a quick segment. ‘Small plane crash in Catskills, medevac responds.’ People at the bar were saying the pilot must be nuts to fly into fog like that.”

He looked at me, something like pride flickering behind the worry. “I told them, ‘That’s my son.’”

Emotion punched me in the throat.

“Dad,” I said, voice rough.

He just nodded.

Then there was Tyler.

He stood a step back, hands shoved deep in his pockets, face unusually pale.

For once, he didn’t have a joke queued up.

“You actually… flew that,” he said finally, nodding toward the helicopter.

“Twice,” I said. “There and back.”

He let out a shaky breath. “I thought you were screwing with me,” he admitted. “When you said it was landing. I thought it was just… another story. Another… Alex-thing.”

“I know,” I said. There was no heat in it. I was too tired.

“I saw you get in,” he said. “Saw you take off. And then Mom got a news alert on her phone and Dad came back from the bar with the TV footage and… and the whole time I kept thinking, ‘Holy shit, that’s my little brother.’”

His voice cracked on the last part.

We’d never been that kind of brothers—the crying-on-each-other type. We were more the punching-on-the-shoulder-and-never-saying-real-feelings type.

Hearing his voice shake did something in my chest I wasn’t prepared for.

“I shouldn’t have… said what I said,” he blurted. “About you. About your job. About… all of it. I was being an ass.”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “You were.”

“I’ve always thought of you as the one who… doesn’t finish things,” he said. “The one who jumps ship. I tell myself I’m just ‘telling it like it is,’ but really I’m just… stuck on who you were when you were twenty-two. I never updated the file.”

He laughed once, bitterly. “Meanwhile, you’re out here flying freaking helicopters into mountains and I’m selling insurance in Albany, making dad jokes in a cubicle.”

“Those are important too,” I said automatically.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me feel better, it ruins my apology,” he said.

I huffed a surprised laugh.

He stepped closer.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For not believing you. For making you the punchline. For… not seeing who you turned into.”

Silence stretched between us for a heartbeat.

“I’m sorry too,” I said. “For storming off. For not… pushing back sooner. For letting you think it was okay to talk to me like that.”

He nodded. “We’re both idiots,” he said.

“Runs in the family,” I said.

We stood there, two grown men in suits on a sloping field, the smell of cut grass and exhaust in the air, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was twelve and he was sixteen and everything was a competition I was destined to lose.

I felt… like me.

“Hey,” he said after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tell me about it. The job. The flights. The scary parts. The cool parts. All of it. For real this time. No sarcasm. I’m listening.”

I looked at him, at my mom, at my dad, at the cousins pretending not to eavesdrop.

I thought of all the times I’d tried to tell them before, in pieces, and watched their eyes glaze or their mouths twist into polite disbelief.

I thought of Jenna, dancing with her new husband under the tent, blissfully unaware that a small plane crash had almost stolen the helicopter pilot from her wedding forever.

I took a breath.

“Okay,” I said. “But I’m starting with the boring stuff. You need to appreciate how much paperwork it takes to be a hero.”

Tyler groaned. “Ugh, paperwork,” he said. “Fine. I deserve it.”

We walked back toward the tent together.

---

Later, after the band had played their last song and the venue staff had started stacking chairs, I stood alone at the edge of the vineyard, looking out at the dark horizon.

My phone buzzed.

A text from Steve.

“Nice work tonight, Reyes. Heard you made a dramatic exit from a wedding. Save some theatrics for the next training expo.”

I smiled.

“Can’t make any promises,” I wrote back.

Another text popped up.

From Tyler.

“Hey, we’re heading out. Brie says she wants to come visit your base sometime. She thinks the helicopter is ‘kinda hot.’ I told her that’s gross. But also… I kinda want to visit too.”

“Maybe you can take us up one day? If that’s allowed. I promise not to make any Top Gun jokes. Okay, maybe one.”

I stared at the screen, warmth pushing against my ribs.

“Yeah,” I replied. “We’ll set it up. And you get two Top Gun jokes. Max.”

“Deal,” he wrote.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and looked up at the sky.

Somewhere out there, another helicopter might be slicing through the night. Another pilot on another call. Another family waiting at another wedding or birthday party or dinner table, wondering what the hell pulled their person away.

Being that person—being the one who leaves when the radio crackles, who walks toward the noise while others stay seated—it had cost me a lot.

Free weekends. Easy relationships. The simple version of myself my family had wanted to hold onto.

But as the leaves rustled and the last of the fairy lights blinked out, I knew something had shifted.

They’d seen me now.

Not just the screwup.

Not just the punchline.

The pilot. The rescuer. The guy who, when a helicopter landed in the middle of a vineyard, didn’t freak out or run away.

He got in.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.

THE END