Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I let out a breath that almost passes for a laugh. “Fair.”
“No.” Weston’s voice is flat. “Not fair, just true.”
The three of us are still standing close together, roughly forming a triangle in the center of the office. Brothers-in-arms. Idiots. Men who’ve survived too much together to start lying now.
“We’re all scared,” Weston says. “I get what extraction would mean. Elena somewhere unfamiliar, always looking over her shoulder. T.J. wondering why he can’t call his friends. One or more of us not there. It fucking sucks.” He turns my way. “But it’s too late to turn this into something simpler just because simpler would hurt less.”
He’s right, and I hate him a little for it.
Without even trying, Elena punched straight through armor I’d thought was welded shut. T.J., too. There’s a constant exposed place under my ribs now, and it’s far too fucking late to do anything about it.
Buck sinks onto the edge of the desk. “You’re not extra.” I look away, but he doesn’t let me. “Look at me.”
His expression is hard, but not cold. “We’re all in. On her, and on T.J. That also means we’re responsible when things get ugly. Nobody gets pushed aside just because their damage shows more.”
“You don’t know that,” I say.
“I do. You think Elena Ramirez is with any man by accident?”
No. She isn’t, and that’s part of the problem.
Weston steps back to lean against the wall, arms crossed. “For the record, if any of us starts making decisions based on who we think is easiest to lose, we’re screwed.”
I rub the back of my neck, suddenly tired in a way sleep can’t fix. “So what, then? We act like this is sustainable?”
“A threat shows people what really matters,” Buck says.
Weston nods. “That part’s already decided.”
The room goes quiet, but it’s different now. I turn the laptop back in my direction so I can face what’s in front of us. “We need contingencies.”
“Agreed,” Buck says.
Weston pushes off the wall. “Start with the worst case.”
I reach for the legal pad and scribble things down. “Worst case. Kozlov pushes fast. A coordinated strike at both the house and the school. Maybe uses a diversion and forces us to split.”
Buck moves in beside me. “Elena and T.J. need a go-bag in both locations. Tonight.”
“Already halfway there,” Weston says. “I started one at the house.”
Of course he has.
For the next hour, we talk routes, coverage, weapons, and shifts. We decide on safe houses and who makes the next call if a line goes dead. We draw up a schedule for who stays with Elena at the school, and who takes nights at the house. We talk about how to keep T.J.’s world from collapsing while we prepare for it to do exactly that.
It’s familiar in the worst ways. The three of us, bent over a threat matrix, deciding how to hold a perimeter around people we can’t afford to lose.
Only this time, it’s not a mission objective. It’s home.
And for the first time all night, when I think about what comes next, I don’t picture myself as the one left outside the line.
I picture the three of us holding it.
CHAPTER 37
ELENA
“Let me wash the dishes.” I try to edge closer to the sink, but the big man beside me is an immovable object.
“Absolutely not.”
“You just cooked a delicious dinner and didn’t allow me to help with a single thing.”
Buck presses his lips together and sighs, as if I’m the one being unreasonable. “And you never have a moment of downtime. Sit back down.” He gestures with his chin to the most comfortable chair in his living room, and though it’s definitely an order, the tenderness in his eyes softens it enough that I’m willing to obey.
I curl back into the big chair, tucking my legs under me before I reach for my glass of wine. The TV’s playing a home renovation show, but the volume’s low, and I only glance at the screen occasionally.
It’s so peaceful out here at Buck’s house, even quieter than in town, and Moon Ridge is already a pretty quiet place. And it is a treat to just sit and do nothing. There’s no immediate crisis demanding my attention. No homework to oversee. No paperwork to catch up on. Just a cozy chair and a handsome man who’ll hopefully take me into his bedroom soon.
As I take a sip of the rosé, a text alert pings, and even though I’m halfway through my second glass of wine, panic still flutters in my chest as I grab for my phone.
The message is a picture, and I relax a second after I tap it. T.J.’s sitting on the floor between Atlas and Boyd, baby blocks stacked in front of them, towering in a way a toddler could never manage. As I’m zooming in on my son, I notice Silas sitting behind them, watchful as ever, and I laugh to myself.