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Just a few more days—Pete was finally coming home. Only days earlier, Iraq had agreed to the United Nations’ demands: they would withdraw from Kuwait and accept the resolution. The war was winding down.
Tom had spent weeks waiting, hearing almost nothing from Pete. The last message he’d gotten was a short note, Pete insisting he was fine after another strike on enemy positions. What Pete didn’t mention was that his jet had taken a few hits. He didn’t want Tom to worry. But word always got around—Slider had heard it from someone, who’d heard it from someone else.
Pete had made it out with just a few bruises and scratches. He was one of the lucky ones. And with the war drawing to a close, his mission was over. He was no longer needed in the gulf. Tom had pulled some strings to put down his wingman’s name in the first rotation back to the states.
He was coming home.
Finally.
Tom hadn’t seen him in over a year.
Tom watched the calendar like a hawk.
Each day, he marked another red “X,” counting the days Pete had been gone. Nights were the hardest—he’d lie awake staring at the ceiling, wondering if Pete was already on his way or still stuck waiting somewhere across the ocean. He couldn’t sit still. Could not focus. His mind kept spinning, thinking about how far they’d come, and the promise he’d made to himself a long time ago.
It was back in the summer of ’88 when Tom realized the truth. The sun had been blazing over Miramar, the air thick with heat and jet fuel. Pete “Maverick” Mitchell wasn’t just his best friend, his wingman, or his flying partner—he was everything. The feeling didn’t hit all at once. It had built slowly, over late nights, shared beers, quiet moments, and stolen glances. Pete’s laugh made Tom’s chest ache in the best way, and the way Pete looked at him—like Tom was the most important person in the world—made it impossible to pretend anymore.
One night after a training run, still high on adrenaline, Pete had brushed Tom’s hand with his own. A small gesture, but it meant everything. They didn’t talk about it. Didn’t need to. The next morning, Tom woke up with Pete’s arm around him and his head rested on his chest, sunlight sneaking in through the blinds, and in that moment, Tom knew—he didn’t want anyone else. Pete was home.
But that kind of love wasn’t allowed in the Navy. Not back then, not now.
Not between two men.
So they had to hide. Every word, every look, every little touch had to be carefully controlled. A slip could ruin both their careers. A letter from one man to another, too honest or too emotional, could get them kicked out in shame. It wasn’t just dangerous—it was a risk that could destroy their whole lives.
That’s when Carole stepped in.
She’d figured it out early on. She saw how they looked at each other, saw the quiet way they moved around one another, how they filled in the spaces the other left behind. But she never said anything. She didn’t need to. They knew she knew. One day, Tom was writing Pete a letter when he stayed at Carole’s place to help out with Bradley. He couldn’t help it—he missed him too much. The words poured out like a dam breaking. The next morning, Carole handed the letter back to him. She had copied it word for word in her own handwriting, signed it with a random name.
“So no one asks questions,” she said, like it was no big deal.
But it was a big deal. It meant everything.
From that day on, Carole became their secret shield. She mailed the letters. She picked up the phone when Pete called, saying “She not here right now,” even if he was sitting right there. She never asked for anything in return. She never used it against them. She didn’t do it for a favor or to feel important—she did it because she loved them. Not in a romantic way, but in a way that mattered just as much.
In return, Tom and Pete were there for her and Bradley. Not that they would not have been there for him if she did not help them. Bradley was their kid through an through. Pete’s especially—he was crazy about that kid. Called him his “little co-pilot.” He’d lie on the floor building toy jets with him, or help him color little fighter helmets. Tom had never seen Pete so gentle, so proud. He was more than a godfather.
But war changes things.
Now, sitting alone on the edge of his bed, Tom looked at a photo of the three of them at the beach—Pete, Tom, and Bradley riding on his shoulders. It looked like another lifetime. Pete had been gone for over a year and the fear never left. Tom had read every headline. Watched every report. Heard every rumor. He never knew if the next knock at the door would be someone in uniform, delivering news he couldn’t survive.
What made it worse was knowing Pete felt the same—every day, out there flying missions, he carried the same fear. Not for himself, but for Carole. For Bradley. For Tom. Pete had told him once, in a letter, how every time he strapped into the cockpit, a part of him was terrified that Carole would get the call. The call that something had gone wrong. That he wasn’t coming back. Pete lived with that fear daily, knowing what it would do to them if he didn’t make it home.
But now… now he was coming home. Not unscratched but still well up.
Tom stared at the ceiling again. Same routine. Same silence. But today with excitement instead of fear. Pete will step off that plane, still grinning that cocky grin, and say something like, “You miss me or something, Kazansky?” Just to make him laugh. Just to break the tension. Tom wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and never let go.
But they couldn’t do that. Not out in the open. Not even near the hangar. They’d have to play it cool. Pretend. Just a quick nod. Maybe a pat on the back. Nothing that would draw attention. But later—when the door shut behind them and the world was gone—then Tom would finally fall apart. Then he’d finally hold Pete close, let go of a year’s worth of fear, and breathe again.
Bradley had started to understand more than they expected as well. He knew Pete wasn’t just off flying for fun. He knew the uniforms, the flags, the salutes. And he knew what happened to fathers who went off to war.
He didn’t remember his own dad much—just a warm laugh, a faint smell of jet fuel, and stories that lived more in Carole’s voice than his own memories. But the fear? That had taken root all on its own. Deep and quiet. And when Pete left, that fear got worse. At first, Bradley asked every few days when he was coming back. Then it became every week. Then, not at all. Like maybe not asking meant he wouldn’t be disappointed.
What broke them wasn’t the questions—it was when the questions stopped.
It was when Bradley would sit silently on the couch, watching the news with wide, tired eyes, trying to read the ticker at the bottom of the screen. It was when he’d flinch if the phone rang late at night. It was when he started checking the calendar the same way Tom did, counting down the days and whispering to himself.
“Three more days,” he said that morning, small and soft, while tying his shoes. “Then Uncle Pete comes home. Right?”
Tom had crouched next to him, helping him loop the laces through one final time, his throat tight: “That’s right, buddy. Just three more,” he lied.
Pete and Tom had never wanted to lie to him. They never tried to turn their jobs into something they weren’t. They didn’t sugarcoat it. They told Bradley that flying jets meant protecting people—but it also meant risk. They explained it carefully, gently, in pieces over the years. And still, when it came time to say goodbye, it broke their hearts every single time.
Bradley would cling to Pete and bury his face in his shoulder, refusing to let go. Tom would hug him next, strong but quick, like drawing it out might make the whole thing worse. Carole, watching from the doorway, always seemed to hold her breath through those moments. They all did.
And it was partly because of all that—those goodbyes, those quiet fears—that Tom made the decision.
He could’ve kept chasing ranks across the globe. A strategic shift, he called it on paper. A smart one. A fast track to brass. That’s what his superiors said. But the truth was simpler: Tom chose to stay close. He took a position stateside, a high-level training and planning post that kept him grounded and placed him just a few minutes from Carole and Bradley’s front door.
He didn’t need to be in the skies to make a difference anymore. What he needed was to be there—for Bradley, for Pete, for whatever came next. He didn’t want to be another framed photograph a kid clung to at night. He didn’t want Bradley to grow up thinking the men who loved him always disappeared.
He wanted them to come home. And stay.
Carole had hugged him the day he told her. Long and quiet. No words, just the kind of hug that said everything. She didn’t say “thank you, Tom.” She didn’t have to.
That evening he was able to visit Carole, Bradley had dragged him into the backyard to look at the starsm “That one’s Uncle Pete’s star,” he said, pointing up with all the certainty in the world. “I pick one every time he’s gone.”
Tom looked up at it, blinking against the night sky. “And when he comes home?”
“I still keep it,” Bradley said. “Just in case he goes again.”
Tom didn’t know what to say to that. He just pulled Bradley in, held him for a long moment, and whispered, “He’ll always come back.”
Bradley nodded, but didn’t answer. Kids his age weren’t supposed to carry that kind of weight. But he did.
And now, they were all just waiting.
The day had finally come.
The sky was overcast, painted in pale gray clouds that hung low over the base, like even the weather couldn’t breathe properly until those boots hit the ground. Inside the hangar, Tom stood ramrod straight—posture textbook-perfect, hands clasped behind his back. He looked every inch the composed officer. But the twitch in his fingers, tapping out a restless rhythm against his palm, betrayed the truth underneath.
His work bag sat quietly on the bench beside him. Inside, tucked into a side compartment, was a small velvet box—hidden, secret, the way their love had always been.This was for Pete.
It had started with a conversation in Carole’s kitchen, exactly seven days ago. Bradley had gone down for a nap, and the house had finally settled into that rare kind of silence that only comes when a child is asleep and adults are too tired to fill the quiet.
Tom had been standing at the window, watching the street like he always did.
“You count the cars every time, you know that?” Carole said gently from behind him, voice warm with something more like understanding than amusement.
Tom didn’t turn around. “Can’t help it.”
Carole joined him at the window, sipping from a chipped mug that said World’s Best Mom, faded and worn: “It’s not him today,” she said softly. “But he’s close.”
“I know.”
There was a pause. Then Carole asked, casual as anything: “You ever think about what you’d do if things were different?”
Tom blinked: “All the time.”
“No, I mean—really think about it. If there weren’t rules. If no one cared. If it was just you and him.”
Tom turned his head slowly: “I don’t need things to be different to know what I want.”
That’s when he told her. Everything. It’s not like she didn’t knew, but he had never poured his heart out like this.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t even flinch. Just sat down across from him at the table and listened. When he finally said the words—I want to ask him to marry me—she smiled like she’d known it all along.
“Well,” she said, reaching for her purse, “then I guess we’ve got a ring to buy.”
They made a plan that night. And the next morning, they stepped into a jewelry store off base pretending to be husband and wife.
“You sure about this story?” Tom muttered as they walked in.
Carole grinned: “Relax. I’ve got this. You’re the clumsy husband who lost his wedding ring at work. I’m the exasperated wife who just wants you to stop leaving your hand in jet engines.”
Tom gave her a flat look: “I don’t leave my—”
“Tom. Focus.”
The shop smelled like leather and carpet cleaner, and the lighting was too bright. A middle-aged man with thinning hair and kind eyes greeted them from behind the counter.
“Can I help you two?”
Carole put on the performance of a lifetime.
“Yes, hi—my husband here lost his ring on base. Third time in two years.” She shot Tom a faux glare, nudging his side. “I told him not to take it off when he’s working.”
Tom played along, offering a sheepish smile: “Slipped off while I was in the hangar. I think it got sucked into a vent.”
“Jet engines eat everything,” Carole added dryly. “Including marriages, apparently.”
The jeweler chuckled: “Well, we’ll see if we can help salvage both.” He gestured toward a long display case. “Looking for something similar to the original?”
Tom hesitated: “Something simple. Subtle.”
“Sturdy,” Carole chimed in. “Because clearly, he’s a menace.”
The man pulled out a tray of bands. Tom leaned over, eyes scanning the rows. Nothing felt quite right—too flashy, too modern, too sterile. He wanted something that felt like Pete. Something steady. Quiet.
Carole leaned closer, tapping a finger gently against the glass. “That one,” she whispered.
A brushed gold band, slightly curved, warm and understated.
Tom’s breath caught: “Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s the one.”
The jeweler boxed it up while Carole handled the payment. Tom just stood there, clutching the velvet box in his pocket like it was a heartbeat.
Back at the car, he leaned against the door and exhaled slowly: “Thanks.”
Carole unlocked her side. “He’s going to say yes, you know.”
Tom didn’t answer immediately: “I hope so.”
Carole looked at him: “He will.”
Now, back in the hangar, that moment felt like a lifetime ago.
The engines roared in the distance. The transport plane was touching down.
Tom’s pulse kicked into overdrive.
Outside, families clustered near the ropes, holding signs and kids and each other. There were wives and husbands and parents. Tom had no one standing beside him. No welcome banner. Just a secret and a ring.
The ramp lowered.
Tom held his breath.
And then—
Pete.
His uniform not as neatly pressed as it was when he left, tired looking and definitely a bit skinnier —but alive. Smiling. That cocky, unmistakable grin.
Their eyes locked across the crowd.
Tom didn’t move. He couldn’t. For one impossible second, there was no war. No rules. Just Pete. Just them.
Pete raised a brow and called out, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear: “You miss me or something, Kazansky?”
Tom fought a smile: “Don’t flatter yourself, Mitchell.”
They met halfway, in a handshake that lasted just a hair too long. Their thumbs pressed together in that familiar, silent language.
“Welcome home,” Tom said quietly.
Pete’s voice was low. “It’s good to be back.”
The rest blurred. Reports. Debriefs. A quick physical. A lot of tired smiles. But Tom’s focus never drifted from his bag.
And later—long after the hangar cleared, and the light began to fade—they slipped away together.
Tom’s apartment was quiet. Comfortable. Safe.
The door had barely clicked shut before Tom turned and wrapped his arms around Pete, pulling him in like gravity had finally caught up.
Pete didn’t speak. Just clung to him, face buried in Tom’s neck, holding on like he never wanted to let go.
It was a long time before either of them spoke.
Eventually, Pete pulled back, just enough to look at him.
“I’m here,” he said softly.
“I know.”
“You okay?”
Tom hesitated: “I will be.”
Pete studied him: “You’ve got that look. The one you get before a surprise inspection.”
Tom laughed under his breath: “That bad?”
“No. That serious.”
Tom swallowed and stepped back. He reached for his bag and pulled out the velvet box.
Pete’s breath hitched: “Tom—”
Tom dropped to one knee.
Pete blinked.
“I know we can’t file paperwork. No legalities. No chaplain. No cake,” Tom said, voice steady now.
“But I don’t care. I don’t need any of that. I just need you. I want you to be my husband—not in front of the world, just here. With me. Where it counts.”
He opened the box.
Pete’s eyes filled instantly.
“I want you to have a home to come back to,” Tom continued. “A life that’s ours, even if no one else sees it. I want mornings and late-night calls and grocery lists. I want all of it. With you. Pete, will you make me the happiest man on earth-”
Pete dropped to his knees, took Tom’s face in his hands.
“You are such a goddamn idiot,” he whispered. “You really think I’d say no?”
Tom’s breath caught.
Pete smiled through the tears: “I’d say yes a hundred times. In every life. In every version of this.”
Tom slid the ring onto his finger, hands trembling now that it was real.
They didn’t need witnesses. They didn’t need permission.
They just needed each other.
They stayed there for a long time, foreheads touching, hands clasped together. The only thing that mattered was them and the love between them.
Outside, the stars came out—soft and steady.
And among them, Bradley’s star still shone, right where they left it.
Still watching.
Still home.