"Yep."
"Uh-huh." Rodeo grunted an unconvinced response while jotting in the book. "I'm here, ya know. If you want to talk."
"You've been watching too much 'Dr. Phil' when you're TDY. There's nothing to talk about." Frustration swelled in the dark cockpit.
"Well, now we both know that's not true. You can't let it weigh you down in the workplace."
"I'm doing my job. Back off."
"Can't do that."
Anger at life overflowed toward Rodeo. "You're a helluva one to talk about spilling my guts here. You wanna talk about screwed-up relationships? Feel free to start."
Rodeo continued to write without looking up. "Since we're friends—and twenty thousand feet in the air—I won't punch you."
"Try later, if you're so moved. I haven't been in a good bar fight for at least seven months." Since Monica came into his life and he had a reason to clean up his act and better things to do with his time.
"You want me to talk first, hell, I'll talk." Rodeo stopped writing, hooked the pen on the edge of his data book. "Thing is, my situation is a no-go. No chance. I think you may have a window to fix this mess you're in if you'll try."
Jack kept eyes front on the opaque sky. "Who says I'm not trying?"
"Is it working? Are you two back together?"
"Hell, no."
"Gotta be tough working in the same place, watching each other move on."
"Like hell," Jack muttered. "She won't be moving on anytime soon."
The plane's rumble filled the silence for a five count before Rodeo said, "Run that by me again."
"Nothing."
"Not gonna wash, man."
Finally, Jack let three and a half months of hell out. "A divorce takes time."
"Divorce?" Rodeo snapped the binder closed. "Good God, Korba, that 'wife' thing back at the Warrior Inn in Nevada was true? Holy crap. You weren't just holding out details on a little argument here. You two eloped and then... What?"
Monica would have his ass if she found out he told, but damn it, he needed a sounding board and his crew mentality rebelled at the whole solo act. A guy had a wingman for a reason. He trusted Rodeo with his life on a regular basis. Why not on this, too? "We didn't exactly elope."
"Exactly what, then?"
His memory of the surroundings might be hazy, but his determination that night to tie himself to Monica before she slipped away remained clear as water. "Downed a bottle of tequila and ended up shit-faced in an Elvis chapel."
Rodeo's cheeks twitched with restrained laughter.
"Go ahead and laugh. Hell, I've laughed at my own dumb-ass self often enough the past three and a half months."
"Three and a half months? You've held out telling me that long?'' Rodeo slapped a hand over his heart. "Man, I think I'm hurt."
"It's easier to talk about crap that doesn't matter."
The copilot's hand slid from his chest along with the humor from his eyes. "That it is, my friend. That it is."
Engines droned. The radio chatter crackled in his helmet. The night sky scrolled ahead and for all the confiding, nothing had changed. No answers, and he couldn't dodge the feeling he'd betrayed Monica.
He switched back to work mentality, instructor mode. Training never ended. Fewer land mines waited there, anyway. "Hey, Rodeo, time for a little training. If we got hit right now, where would we land?"