Page 1 of Tyler

Chapter One

If it wasn’t for Tyler Bryson’s older brother with his can-do-will-do, get-it-doneattitude, Ty would be in California staring at the sky, wishing he was back in the cockpit of an F-35C Lightning II. Instead, he was in Texas watching a bunch of former military guys working out while wishing he was back in the cockpit of an F-35C Lightning II.

Three months ago, Ty had arrived in Harland County a bitter and bent man, with a broken shoulder and injured eye. Hell, he was lucky he wasn’t blind, although, he might as well be, since the Navy required their aviators to possess 20/20 vision, and under special circumstances up to 20/70, and he wasn’t one of them.

Last October, in the space of two seconds, he’d gone from Top Gun status to grounded.

Permanently.

HisWings of Goldwere useless now.

And the worst part was that he hadn’t even been in a cockpit when he was injured. He’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time while at base in California, participating in required training updates when a freak accident had caused an explosion. Thankfully, there hadn’t been any fatalities…except for his Naval career.

The next day while at the hospital, Ty had heard scuttlebutt about being offered a training position, something he’d expected to do in the distant future when his reaction time inevitably started to deteriorate, but not at thirty-two, in his damn prime.

Just thinking about it caused heat to prickle across his shoulders as his ire ramped up. No way would he have gone from flying successful sorties to teaching a bunch of damn kids how to do it…hell, not when he shouldstillbe flying them.

It wasn’t right. It sucked.

Big time.

The only positive thing that had come out of this nightmare had been discovering his ex-fiancée’s true colors, although at the time, it hurt like hell.

Ty had been hooked to an IV, his shoulder, head, and eye aching like a son-of-a-bitch as he counted ceiling tiles with his good eye, his damn life in a tailspin when Erika had entered the room. God, he’d been so happy to see her. He’d needed to feel his fiancée’s arms around him and hear her reassurances that everything would be fine.

But the woman’s visit hadn’t been out of concern or to comfort. She’d been there to return the ring he’d given her earlier that year on Valentine’s Day. A massive ring she’d picked out that had cost him more than three months’ pay.

He didn’t know what had hurt worse—his broken shoulder, busted eye, the loss of his Naval career, or his shredded heart.

“Sorry, Ty,”Erika had said, setting the ring on the table by his bed.“I was meant to be the wife of a Navy officer. I hope you understand.”

Before he could even reply, she’d left his room.

Understand?

He’d understood, all right. In fact, even with his reduced vision, he’d seen Erika clearly for the first time in their two-year relationship. She’d never loved him, that much was now obvious. What she’d loved had been his status—his Wings of Gold—and even if he had been offered and had accepted that training position, she still would’ve left him. That spiel aboutbecoming a Navy officer’s wife had been bullshit. Erika had wanted to be the wife of a Navy fighter pilot…a fact she’d proven a month later.

Ty still communicated with a few of the guys from his squadron, and back in November, they’d informed him that Erika had hooked up with a nugget—a first tour aviator. So, if she had truly been interested in just an officer, she wouldn’t have chosen another guy in the flight program.

Plain and simple, she wanted a Top Gun husband.

Surprisingly, Ty was no longer gutted by their break-up. In fact, he was grateful to be rid of the calculating woman and actually felt sorry for her new mark.

Poor bastard.

At least Ty had put that part of his life into better perspective. Now he just needed to pull the rest of it out of a spiraling nosedive. But how could he?

He was no longer a pilot.

Never again could he watch the sunrise from the solitude of his cockpit or feel the force of five Gs pinning him to his seat as he gripped the pole and flew missions that safeguarded the country. His days of catapulting off a carrier at 170 mph in the best strike fighter on the planet and landing on a moving runway only 300 feet long were over.

With a sharp inhale through his nose, he clenched his jaw to keep from spouting the expletives running rampant through his head.

He wouldn’t—couldn’t feel truly alive ever again—not if he was stuck on the damn ground.

His earlier thoughts returned.It sucked.

Life sucked.

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