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When Maverick mentioned his nephew was a drummer, Jake had just laughed. Honestly, it was kinda cute how the guy who flew like a maniac and regularly gave admirals heart attacks turned into a proud, mushy mess when he talked about his nephew Brad.
The whole squad figured the kid was maybe ten, tops. So when Mav invited them all to a bar to watch him perform , there was some confusion.
“Do we even know anything about this nephew?” Coyote asked, handing Jake his beer and passing the rest around.
“Probably a shitshow,” Jake muttered, taking a sip. “Why else would Mav drag us here like it’s mandatory fun night?”
“I dunno,” Fanboy said, looking around. “This place is packed , dude.”
And he was right. Jake glanced around and—yeah, the bar was full. Not just military types either. Actual civilians. A whole table of twenty-somethings with piercings, tattoos, neon eyeliner, and the kind of chaotic energy you could feel from across the room. And they looked excited.
Before Jake could question it more, Mav appeared, grinning like a lunatic, cheeks flushed and eyes way too bright. Definitely tipsy.
“Oh! There you are,” he beamed. “Brad’s getting ready, after the set I’ll introduce you guys. In the meantime—” he turned to the tall blond guy next to him and tried (and failed) to half-hug him, “—this is Ice. My husband.”
The table went silent.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“No way.”
“You’re gay?!”
“I knew it!”
“You thought he was dating Cyclone, ” Jake yelled at Payback. “You didn’t know shit!”
Mav wheezed, clinging to Ice’s arm like he was trying not to fall over. Ice, on the other hand, looked deeply amused as he nodded toward Jake.
“Hangman, I assume?”
Jake blinked. The guy looked so familiar but… he couldn’t place it. “Yes, sir. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh my god,” Bob breathed. “You’re the COMFLT.”
Maverick just grinned. “Yup. That’s him. My husband.”
Everyone stared at the two of them like they’d just announced they were aliens. Jake was pretty sure his heart skipped three beats.
The COMFLT. The actual living legend. Married to Maverick.
“We’re off duty. Ice is fine,” Ice said with a small smile— and then winked at Jake before disappearing into the crowd.
Jake stood frozen.
Holy. Shit.
The COMFLT just winked at him.
Jake Seresin was having a full-on fangirl meltdown. And, okay, possibly a boner.
“Anyway,” Mav said, already throwing back another shot, “let’s move closer to the stage. People lose their minds when Brad and Nat play.”
The others started to follow, but Jake hung back. No way was this going to be normal. He was still trying to mentally recover from meeting Ice in the flesh. Plus, maybe he’d get a chance to talk to him later. That man was a legend . And honestly… kinda hot? And also married to Maverick , which was still short-circuiting Jake’s brain.
He watched as Mav bounced on his toes like an overexcited puppy. Ice stood next to him with the most patient smile, rolled his eyes fondly, and ruffled Mav’s hair.
Jake blinked. …They were weirdly adorable ?
He was halfway to the bar to grab another beer when he heard a loud, high-pitched scream.
He whipped around and came face to face with a girl who looked starstruck , phone up, eyes glued to the stage.
Jake followed her gaze.
And froze.
Oh. Oh shit.
Jake sees the drummer and his smile freezes.
It’s like a fucking movie.
Nothing makes sense anymore. Not the crowd, not the noise, not even gravity. Just the man sitting behind the drum kit, grinning like he owns the damn planet.
He’s in a white tank top that clings to tan skin and muscle, arms covered in tattoos, one silver earring dangling from his right ear. There’s a stupid little moustache on his stupidly perfect face.
Jake is gone.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
He’s the most beautiful man Jake has ever seen.
On stage, someone else steps up with a guitar—Nat, probably. Mav had mentioned her. But Jake’s brain has entered emergency shutdown. He can’t focus on anything except the man behind the drums.
He looks divine.
“Hello, San Diego!” the man yells into the mic, flashing a quick grin after a drumroll that echoes through Jake’s chest like a second heartbeat. “Thanks for coming out! Tonight’s a special one—my dads are here!”
He points toward the front row where Ice and Mav stand, grinning and clapping. The crowd erupts.
Jake nearly faints.
The love of his life just yelled “my dads.” And he said it like it was the coolest thing in the world.
“Let’s have an awesome night! C’mon, Nat!” he calls, and she grins back at him.
And then she hits a note on the guitar that sounds better than sex.
They start to play—and they’re good . Like, stupid good. The crowd goes wild. Nat shreds, but Jake can’t look away from the drummer. From him . From whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is-but-Jake-is-pretty-sure-it’s-Brad-something-the-love-of-his-life.
He sings too—raspy, loud, and hot . Like whiskey and gravel and sin. Jake wants that voice to moan his name.
Jesus Christ.
By the third song, their eyes meet.
Jake’s been staring. Unblinkingly. Borderline creepily.
And the fucker smiles at him.
Jake stops breathing.
He’s not going to survive this night. No chance.
Also, his blood is definitely rushing south and— no. He will not pop a boner in the middle of a bar. He has self-control . He is a naval aviator . He is—
“God, he’s so hot,” someone says next to him. Jake glances over and sees a guy, probably twenty-two, covered in tattoos with a lip piercing. “I’d let him do whatever he wants to me.”
Jake nods. Without meaning to. Full agreement. Total solidarity.
And then the panic sets in.
Because the guy’s cute. Boyish. Young. And Jake finds himself spiraling, comparing himself like a man unravelling.
He’s a damn fighter pilot , goddammit. With a confirmed air-to-air kill. Sure, he’s just a lieutenant, but he’s on a solid career track. He’s strong. He’s got dimples. He could probably lift that drummer— Bradley— over his head with one arm.
He is not— not —about to lose the love of his life to some glitter-covered twink.
Jake’s losing his mind a little bit.
But oh well.
“Thank you, San Diego!” the drummer yells, grinning wide as he slams one final drumroll and the song ends. Cheers explode. He tosses a stick into the crowd, hugs Nat, then hops off the stage and straight into the arms of Mav and Ice.
Jake jolts into motion.
He doesn’t run.
(Shut up, Javy.)
But he moves . Fast. Purposeful. Slightly panicked. Totally uncool.
He weaves through the crowd, slipping in just as people start introducing themselves to the band. And then—
“You must be Hangman,” the man says, stepping up to him with a lazy smile, hand outstretched. “Bradley,” he adds.
Jake reaches out like a man in a trance and thinks, I’m gonna marry you.
Jake’s future husband’s name is Bradley .
It’s such a stupid name.
Jake can’t wait to marry him.
“Yeah,” he breathes out, shaking Bradley’s hand. Holy shit. He knows he should let go—especially because Javy is already giving him weird looks—but his brain refuses to process that kind of loss.
“Just Jake is fine,” he says, trying to sound cool. “Or, you know… you could also call me yours .” He winks.
Bradley bursts out laughing. Jake hears his friends groan collectively behind him. Maverick is grinning like the devil.
“Why don’t we let Jake humiliate himself in peace and get drinks? It’s on me!” Mav calls out.
Jake could kiss him. If he wasn’t, you know, the dad of the love of his life.
He turns back to Bradley, who’s still smiling—eyes bright, cheeks pink, curls clinging to his forehead with sweat. His tank top is basically glued to his skin, tattoos gleaming, and—wait.
He has a nose piercing . Oh my god.
“So, Bradley,” Jake says, trying for smooth, “come here often?”
Bradley bites his cheek, clearly fighting a smile. “This is my bar,” he says. “So yeah. All the time.”
Jake blinks.
Right. Okay. He’s stupid. That’s fine.
He opens his mouth to say something clever, but all he can do is look. Just—look. “You’re really pretty,” he blurts, immediately wanting to throw himself into the wall. “Shit. I’m sorry. I swear I’m better at this usually. Jesus—”
Bradley blushes. He actually blushes .
“Thank you,” he says quietly, and then, “Can I get you a drink?”
You can get me a ring .
“Yeah. Yes. Of course,” Jake nods enthusiastically, and then glances toward the bar—where the entire squad is watching him with full mocking force, making faces like middle schoolers. Fanboy even throws a thumbs-up.
Nope.
He turns quickly back to Bradley. “Actually, you wanna step out for a sec? Get some air?”
Bradley smiles. “Sure. Lead the way.”
Jake focuses very hard on the door, doing his best not to reach out and grab Bradley’s hand.
Once they’re outside, the noise fades. The air is cooler, quieter, and Jake takes a deep breath in. And out.
Then he turns to Bradley.
And— oh .
Bradley looks even more beautiful under the sunset, like the sky itself decided to paint his face in gold and rose just to mess with Jake’s sanity.
Jake takes a moment—just a second—to really look at him again.
He’s maybe an inch or two taller, broad as hell, and built like a guy who knows how to throw people around in the best possible way. Jake’s not small, not even close, but Bradley is solid . And unfairly hot.
His arms are covered in tattoos—some of them silly, like a goose and a dove on his left arm, others more artistic. There’s a trio of tiny sharks Jake doesn’t understand but immediately loves, and— Oh.
Bradley wears rings. Three of them. One silver on his index finger, another stacked above it, and one on his ring finger that looks suspiciously like an Academy ring.
Jake frowns a little and glances up at Bradley’s chest—just catching the glint of dog tags.
Oh. Is he—?
“They were my dads’,” Bradley says softly, curling the tags into his hand.
“Mav or Ice’s?” Jake asks gently.
“Oh, no,” Bradley smiles. “They’re technically my godfathers. They adopted me after my mom died. My dad was Nick, callsign Goose. Mav and Ice used to fly with him.”
“Oh,” Jake says stupidly. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Bradley shrugs. “It’s life.”
Jake wants to kiss him for that. His brain just won’t cooperate.
“So you’re not Navy?”
“Oh god, no,” Bradley laughs as he starts walking toward the beach. Jake follows without hesitation. “I co-own the bar with my best friend, Natasha. We perform here—and in a few other states when we feel like it.”
“You’re kinda famous,” Jake says.
“Am I?” Bradley smirks.
Jake wants to kiss that smirk off his face. Asshole.
“Or something,” Jake shoots back. “Never heard of you. But the kids inside looked like fans or something.”
Bradley laughs. “Or something.”
There’s a beat of quiet, then Bradley glances over, amused. “So, Hangman. You’ve been giving my dad gray hair.”
“Well,” Jake shrugs, “never too late to make a good first impression.”
Bradley snorts. “I think it’s hilarious. You’re a lot like Mav. Ice and I have been having a blast every time he complains about you and realizes it’s something he would’ve done.”
Jake grins. “I assume he didn’t describe me too kindly.”
“Nope,” Bradley says, sitting in the sand. “Forgot to mention the pretty eyes and the dimples.”
He will not blush.
He— fuck.
He’s blushing.
“Thank you,” Jake says, voice a little hoarse. He looks at Bradley’s smile and yeah, he’s done for. “I’m about to do something really stupid.”
Bradley tilts his head, eyes sparkling. “I might even let you.”
Jake leans in slowly and presses the softest kiss to those smug, perfect lips. Bradley kisses him back instantly, one hand sliding around Jake’s back—and just like that, Jake’s gone.
It’s a three-second kiss and he’s breathless.
“Wow,” he mutters, dazed.
Before Bradley can answer, the bar’s door swings open.
“ Bradley! ” Nat yells.
“I’m coming!” Bradley shouts back, standing up.
No. No no no. Not yet.
“Take me to breakfast tomorrow,” Bradley says with a smile that could kill a man. (Jake. It could kill Jake. Probably killed him, five minutes ago.) “Ten a.m.”
Jake grins like an idiot. “Yes. Yes. Absolutely.”
Bradley’s already jogging back toward the bar when Jake yells, “ Wait! I don’t know your number! Or your address!”
Bradley turns back with a wicked smirk. “They told me you were smart and stubborn! I’m sure you’ll figure it out!” he calls.
And then he’s gone, slipping back inside.
Jake stares after him for a second, then lets himself fall dramatically into the sand with a sigh.
Well. Jake Seresin is nothing if not determined.
He will figure it out.
He can't wait to marry Bradley Bradshaw.