Page 26 of Need for Speed (The Elite 2)

Shit. I can’t do this. I can’t fly like this and put everyone else and myself at risk. Shit, shit.

As quickly as I’d barreled down the runway, I brought the jet to a screeching halt. Paralyzed, I sat there at the edge of the strip and struggled for breath. It was all I could do to lift my arm enough to rip the mask off, and then there it was—air, sweet air.

“Panther?” came a voice over the comm.

“I can’t.” The sound that came out of me sounded nothing at all like me. It was shaky and breathless and full of anxiety, all things that weren’t me. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

There was a pause, and then the voice said, “Bring it back in.”

Without the mission hanging over me like a sack of bricks, I was able to get back in control of myself enough to turn the jet around and head back. Once I parked, I just sat there, the full reality of what had happened hitting me.

I’d failed. I’d failed by not having the guts to go up there and try. I wasn’t a guy who said, “I can’t,” but I’d said it, and not just once.

“Fuck.” I pulled off my helmet and scrubbed my hands over my face. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just suck it up and do what needed to be done? Now I’d have to face not only my instructors, but also the other trainees. I’d have to face Solo. My father would hear about it. And I’d look weak.

Nausea swirled in my gut, and I quickly made my way out of the cockpit and across the field. I barely made it to the bathroom in the bay before it all came out, all the tension and fear—and breakfast. Thank God everyone else was already on the mission and couldn’t see the way I wasn’t handling my shit. When I was sure I was done, I collapsed onto the floor, leaning my head back against the door and giving myself a few minutes to make sure nothing else would be making a surprise appearance.

Who are you?

The bathroom door squealed on its hinges as it opened, and then I heard Commander Levy say, “Lieutenant Hughes?”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Really?

I pushed up to my feet and stepped out of the stall feeling like a dead man walking. I must’ve looked it too, because a flash of compassion crossed Levy’s face before he schooled it back into his usual nonchalance.

“Sir?” I said.

“Wash up. Get out of your gear. Then come see me in my office.”

As he let the door swing shut behind him, the urge to be sick again hit me; the problem was that there was nothing left in my stomach that needed to come out. So I washed my hands and splashed some water on my face, not bothering to look in the mirror. I didn’t know if I could face looking at myself when I felt like I was crawling out of my skin.

Ten minutes later, I knocked on Commander Levy’s office door.

“Come in.”

I stepped inside to see Levy standing at his window, looking up at the sky—maybe watching the other trainees who actually decided to leave the runway today, who knew.

He gestured to the seat in front of his desk. “Sit.”

I sat gratefully, not sure if my legs would hold me up much longer now that my whole body seemed to be coming down with a case of the shakes.

Commander Levy hit a button on his phone, and when his assistant picked up, he said, “Two waters and something out of vending, please, Jane.”

Less than a minute later, Jane walked in and set the bottled waters and a packet of salted nuts and a Snickers bar on the edge of the desk.

“Those are for you,” Commander Levy said, taking a seat behind his desk. When I didn’t immediately open anything, he gestured toward the food. “Eat. Drink. You need something in your system, since I’m guessing you cleared everything out.”

Heat flooded my face at being caught in such a pathetic moment, but Levy waved me off.

“You’ve been through something that would bring any pilot to his knees. No need to be embarrassed.”

I’d expected a dressing-down for failing to go through with the hop, but instead I was getting…sympathy?

As I tore open the bag of nuts and popped some into my mouth, he asked, “What happened out there?”

I chewed and swallowed some water, already starting to feel less shaky. “I couldn’t do it.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“Fear, sir.”

“Ah, yes.” Commander Levy rocked back in his chair, clasping his hands over his stomach. “I imagine that was a first for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not a feeling you enjoy, is it?”

I took another swallow of water and shook my head. “Not at all, sir.”

“Mhmm.” The look he gave me was curious, assessing. “The reason we’re able to do what we do is that lack of fear. Cocky. Alpha. Terms we hear often, but without it, we’d hesitate. We’d lose. We’d die.”

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