Page 30 of How Much For A Broken Heart?

“Aria, Special Operations.”

She offered me a fist to bump, which of course I tapped. “Also fucking shit up, but in a less obvious way than a former 427 flyboy,” she offered.

“Whatever,” Kai sighed, which again earned him a scowl from Zach. Kai smirked, but if anything Zach’s scowl deepened. No love lost there, then.

“And last, but by no means least, Yazmin, also SpecOps. Strategy.”

“Yaz,” she said and shook my hand. She seemed to be taking the measure of me. I exchanged a nod with her.

“Coffee?” Kai asked, and I almost said yes, when I realized he was pointing at me and then, over at the machine. “Last one in makes the coffee, mine’s black with two sugars.”

I sat back in the chair, my leg aching, needing to assert something like confidence. “Same,” I said, and we entered into an epic stare-off, which ended with us grinning at each other.

I think I’m gonna get on with Kai.

“Jesus, I’ll get the fucking coffee for the children,” Zach muttered, and headed over to the coffee station.

“That’s my boy,” Kai said.

“Fuck you,” Zach muttered.

Ethan ignored them both. “Ryder will be joining our team, post-recovery, as the newest Shadow Team recruit,” Ethan announced, and I caught his gaze on me.

“Welcome aboard,” Aria said and took a coffee from Zach, who then made sure we were all supplied with caffeine and cookies. Then, Ethan started the meeting, his voice echoing in the tiled space. His leadership style hadn’t changed—direct, no-nonsense, yet underpinned with a deep sense of care for his team. It was a far cry from the battlefields and covert operations I was accustomed to, yet here I was, part of something just as important, just as impactful.

“Now, business,” Ethan said, and passed over a folder of photos. “Thin file, but we need to talk to August. Anyway, intel so far on Amos.”

“You know where he is?” I asked quickly.

He shook his head. “But we will.”

* * *

I opened August’s door, exchanging fist bumps with Doc Jen on her way out, and when I entered, the first thing I noticed was that the chair I’d used had shifted from his side. It was a subtle change, but in a room where I had spent so many hours, every detail was familiar. I glanced at August, who appeared to be sleeping, his breathing even and deep.

Doc Jen had moved the chair—probably didn’t want to be quite so close to August as I had been when I was holding his hand and getting him to settle.

Deciding to make my presence known, I dragged the chair back to its original position. The sound was jarring in the quiet room, and almost immediately, August cracked open an eye, his expression one of annoyance.

“You’re fucking noisy, Army,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, but carrying an edge.

“I know,” I replied with a grin. I pulled the chair closer to the bed and settled into it. “So, how are you feeling?”

“Like I got shot in the gut,” August replied, his dark gray gaze meeting mine before he closed his eyes again. There was a hint of dark humor in his tone, a coping mechanism a lot of us military types wrapped ourselves in.

“How are you feeling?” he asked after a pause, his eyes still closed.

I couldn’t help but smile at his question. “Like I broke my leg, and also got shot in the vest at least three times, and breathing is hard,” I confessed. It was the truth; the vest had absorbed the force of the bullets, but the impacts had still left their mark.

August responded with a simple, “Whatever,” but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was progress, however small.

I wondered if I should tell August about the search for Amos. Not that there was much to tell him given there was no trace of the fucker. Still, an update might be good.

But then he’d kind of smiled, and I didn’t want to rock the boat.

I opened the Reacher book on my phone and cleared my throat, then began to read aloud, filling the room with the sound of my voice. It was a routine I’d fallen into, and he could tell me to stop any time.

As I read, I couldn’t help but glance at August from time to time. He kept his eyes closed, but I knew he was listening. In that room, with the steady beep of the monitors, there was a sense of peace, a brief respite from the chase for Amos and for just surviving. And for now, that had to be enough.

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