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It was the Saturday of Labor Day weekend, and already the leaves were starting their slow-motion death throes.
Never underestimate the human capability to make the worst decision imaginable.
On some level, she was aware that she was either the best person to have accidentally witnessed this tragedy or the worst.
But Leo, ever the contrarian, grabbed Pete’s because it was at his feet. He didn’t care—the packs were identical.
So Leo was supposed to die
Dad would fucking hate it if we killed our goddamn selves doing this.”
Now why would you say that?!
So he grabbed the toggles to the steering lines, planning to direct himself to the drop zone, and pulled down with his left hand. And nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.
She didn’t believe his sincerity was genuine—she felt what her gut was telling her—and yet his incredulity and grief seemed so real.
The problem now—and this was what had him both grieving and confused—was the fact that he had switched chutes with Pete back in the hangar. The pilot had told Pete to take one and Leo the other. But the chute he’d offered to Pete had been right at Leo’s feet, and a chute was a chute, and so Leo had taken the one nearest him. Hadn’t thought twice about it, was just being a curmudgeonly older brother. It was what he did, both who he was and what he was supposed to be.
Which meant two things: The pilot was in on this. And Pete wasn’t the target. He himself was.
As much as I thought earlier
Oh, and bury his brother. He sure as shit wasn’t going to cremate him and sprinkle his ashes from a goddamn airplane.
