Los Angeles | 2009
Bradley's POV
We landed at Melbourne Orlando International Airport, stepping off the plane into the thick, humid Florida air. I looked over at Uncle Greg, who looked utterly haggard from the journey. The dark circles under his eyes told the entire story.
That single packet of M&Ms had given Erin a sugar boost that lasted the entire five-hour flight. For the first four hours, she had subjected Uncle Greg to a relentless barrage of kid questions: Why is the sky blue? Do clouds have feelings? If a plane is a bird, can it lay an egg? It was hilarious, a masterclass in psychological warfare waged by a nine-year-old. Then, with an hour left to go, he broke. He pointed a trembling finger at me. "Why don't you ask your brother?" he'd said, and just like that, Erin was launched like a torpedo in my direction. Giving Erin sugar before the flight was definitely the wrong move.
"Brad, honey, find us a cab for the Ritz," Mom instructed me as we entered the main terminal, breaking me from my thoughts. "I'll go fetch the luggage with Uncle Greg." She took a grateful-looking Uncle Greg and Erin with her, heading toward the baggage claim.
I walked over the clean airport floor and out the sliding glass doors into the hub-bub of the passenger pickup area. The humid air was thick with the smell of car exhaust and tropical plants. I explored the hubbub of taxis and vehicles, hailed a cab, and asked him to wait, leaning against a nearby pillar as I waited for Mom and the others to come along.
We boarded the taxi, the four of us piling into the worn seats. The energy from the airport reunion had faded, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. It was late into the night, and the city lights of Orlando were a blurry smear through the car window. Erin, now long off her sugar rush, was already crashing and had dozed off, her head resting in Mom's lap. The sound of the tires on the highway was a soothing lullaby.
When we arrived at the hotel, a grand, elegant building with a brightly lit portico, Uncle Greg helped the driver with our bags but didn't make a move to follow us inside.
"This is where I take my leave," he said, giving Mom a quick hug. "I've been instructed to head for Cape Canaveral on arrival." He turned to me, his expression warm. "Mark will likely arrive late in the morning, and then you all head to the Cape together. See you then, Maggie."
"See you, Uncle Greg," I said, managing a tired smile.
Mom and I, along with a sleeping Erin, then entered the hotel. The lobby of the Ritz-Carlton was emanating hushed opulence—polished marble floors, vast floral arrangements, and the quiet, deferential murmur of the staff. We took an elevator up to our floor, the ride silent and smooth.
Mom swiped the key card, and the heavy door to our family suite swung open into a spacious foyer. The air inside was cool and still, with a faint, clean scent of lavender. A central living area was furnished with a plush cream-colored sofa, deep armchairs, and a dark wood coffee table. To the right was a door leading to the master bedroom with its king-size bed for Mom and Dad. To the left was mine and Erin's.
Mom laid down Erin on one of the beds, gently pulling a soft blanket over her. I walked over to the other single bed and let my backpack slide to the floor. The room was a study in understated luxury. The carpet was thick and soft under my feet, the walls were a calming shade of pale blue, and the furniture was all polished, dark mahogany. The bed was a cloud of white, with impossibly high thread-count linens and a mountain of pillows. A set of heavy, floor-to-ceiling drapes concealed a balcony that likely overlooked the ocean.
I didn't bother to explore the marble bathroom or check the view. The long day of travel, the excitement, and the lingering exhaustion from the week's training all hit me at once. I crashed on the bed, the cool, crisp sheets a soothing comfort against my tired skin. I was out before my head fully hit the pillow.
…
The next morning, I woke slowly, the Florida sun filtering through the heavy drapes, casting the room in a soft, diffused light. I stretched, the luxurious, high-thread-count sheets cool against my skin. I could hear the gentle clink of ceramic, and I sat up to see my mom was already up and brewing herself some coffee from the machine in the suite's kitchenette.
When I uttered a grunt to wipe away the sleep, she turned and looked towards me with a smile. "Good Morning, honey. Did you sleep well?"
I swung my legs over the side of the bed. "Yeah, Mom. The best. This place is really good. I think we will enjoy ourselves a lot here."
"Yes, I think so as well," she said, her grin confirming her intent. "It has been quite some time since the four of us went on a vacation that didn't involve meeting extended family."
"Yeah," I replied, understanding her meaning completely.
"Wake your sister as well, honey," Mom said, sipping her coffee. "Your father just called a while ago. He has landed and will be here in about an hour."
"That's great!" I said, my own face breaking into an excited smile.
I padded towards the other bed in the room to find a lump under the covers that I knew was my sister. I gently shook her shoulder. "Erin. Time to wake up."
The lump groaned. "Nooo. Five more minutes."
"Dad's going to be here in an hour," I said, knowing it was the only magic phrase that would work.
The effect was instantaneous. The covers were thrown back, and Erin shot up, her hair a wild mess, her eyes wide and suddenly alert. The initial protest was immediately forgotten as she heard Dad will be arriving soon. "Daddy's coming?! Now?!"
"Soon," I confirmed with a laugh.
"We have to get ready!" she declared, scrambling out of bed and making a beeline for the bathroom.
The next hour was a flurry of happy, energetic activity as we all got ready, the air filled with the sounds of running showers and Erin's excited chatter. By the time we were all dressed and waiting in the living area, the suite felt full of a bright, eager anticipation, all of us listening for the tell-tale click of a key card in the door.
The sound of a key card in the lock made us all look up. The door swung open, and there he was. Dad arrived, looking tired from the flight but his face broke into a wide, genuine smile when he saw us.
"Daddy!" Erin hugged him, a blur of motion as she launched herself at his legs.
He laughed, scooping her up into a one-armed hug before leaning in to give Mom a long kiss. "Morning, team," he said, his voice full of a weary warmth. He set his luggage down. "Give me fifteen minutes to get refreshed, and then we can get this mission started."
Half an hour later, we were sitting at a pristine, white-clothed table in the hotel's sun-drenched dining room, enjoying breakfast as a family. The air was filled with the clink of silverware and the rich smell of coffee. We were discussing the merits of Disney World versus the beach when a smooth, confident voice cut through our conversation.
"Naird? I thought that was you."
We all looked up. Standing by our table was a man with an easy, charismatic grin and an unmistakable intensity in his eyes.
"Pete," Dad said, truly surprised to see him there, a look of genuine shock on his face as he stood to shake the man's hand. "What are you doing here?"
"I was invited by esteemed Rear Admiral Tom for the Cross Link Defense Communication Satellite launch," Pete explained, his smile widening with snarky undertone. "Couldn't miss a show like this. Looks like we're all here for the same party."
As they conversed, my brain felt like it had short-circuited. Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell. Rear Admiral Thomas 'Iceman' Kazinsky. The names, the call signs... they were firing off in my head like warning flares. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. My entire understanding of this world, which I thought I had finally mapped out, suddenly felt terrifyingly incomplete. I was also in the world where Top Gun is real and not just a movie. The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. I was seeing Tom Cruise... no, I was seeing the real man, a living legend from a story I thought was fiction.
My dad's voice pulled me from my daze. He had a hand on my shoulder. "This is my son, his name is Bradley," he said, his voice full of a pride that I barely registered. "Bradley, this is Captain Pete Mitchell from the Navy. We went to the best flight school in the US Armed Forces together. TOPGUN."
Captain Mitchell's famous, million-dollar smile was now directed at me, and he extended a hand. I took it automatically, my own hand feeling small and numb. He said something, probably "Nice to meet you," but the words were just a distant buzz. All I could think was that the universe I had been reborn into was infinitely larger, and more unpredictable, than I had ever imagined.
"Bradley huh, you named him after your wingman?" Tom Cruise no Maverick asked Dad. There was a sombre tint to his voice when he said my name.
"Yeah," Dad answered, a rare, fond smile touching his own lips. "Brad may be a dunce at times, but I owe him my life. As I seem to owe you as well, Pete."
Wait. Dad owed his life to Maverick? My brain, which was already struggling to process the fact that the Tom Cruise was standing in front of me, completely stalled. That would be an awesome story. I was so star-struck I was unable to join the conversation.
My dad, seeing my stunned silence, put a hand on my back and gently guided the conversation forward. "Pete, you remember my wife, Maggie."
"Of course," Captain Mitchell said, his smile turning genuinely warm as he nodded to my mother. "Maggie. It's been too long. You look wonderful."
"You too, Pete," Mom replied, her voice full of an easy, familiar warmth. "It's a wonderful surprise to see you."
"And this must be Erin," he said, his gaze shifting to my sister, who was methodically working her way through a slice of chocolate cake, a smudge of frosting already on her cheek. She just looked up at him, blinked, and went back to her breakfast, completely unimpressed.
My dad chuckled. "She's a tough audience. Pete, pull up a chair. Have breakfast with us."
I saw it then—a flicker of something in Captain Mitchell's eyes. A tension. He was a man built for motion, for the cockpit of a fighter jet, and the idea of sitting down for a quiet family breakfast seemed to make him antsy. He was a little tense and averse to it, but his manners were impeccable. "I wouldn't want to intrude."
"Nonsense," Mom insisted. "We have plenty."
"Alright, then," he nevertheless accepted, pulling up a chair and settling in with a practiced ease that didn't quite hide his restlessness. A waiter appeared, and he ordered a black coffee.
"So," my dad began, "what have you been up to, Pete? "Still trying to prove you can outfly everything with an engine?"
Captain Mitchell laughed, a sound full of charisma. "Not this week. Mostly just helping out Tom get his bearings as rear admiral while also running inspections for him." He then leaned forward, his expression turning to one of genuine respect. "Besides, I should be congratulating you. One-star. That's a hell of an accomplishment, Mark."
I sat there, listening, watching the easy camaraderie between them. My dad wasn't just a general. He was a peer to this legend, a fellow graduate of TOPGUN. The world I lived in just kept getting bigger.
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Alright time for a poll
So are you guys satisfied with the way I have written the basketball matches or would you like me to take a different approach like for example explain and narrate every basket scored by every player and expand the narrative to multiple chapters.
YES: Change the Narrative style
NO: Don't Change the Narrative style
Comment only yes or no in the paragraph comments just like last time.
ALSO POWERSTONEEEEESSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!