Page 31 of Her Redeemed Protector

I roll my eyes, trying to cover up the blush creeping up my neck, thinking about what’s really on my mind. Jack laughs, his amusement free-flowing as if my awkwardness is merely a punchline to his joke.

I mumble a quick, “It’s nothing.”

“There! Huxley Cometti never says ‘it’s nothing.’” He scoffs. “Man, the last time I checked, I was supposed to be the brooding one.”

“Looks like your gloom’s contagious,” I shoot back, a weak smile trying to spark our usual banter.

“You want one, don’t you?” he nudges.

“What? A baby? Yeah, I guess I do, Jack.”

“And who’s the lucky lady?” he insists, unrelenting.

My jaw tightens, words scrambling to get out. Today was supposed to be about him, yet my moment of truth seems unavoidable.

“Savannah Mitchell?” His question is so on point it startles me.

My eyebrows fly up. “How do you know?”

“Ah, my sources are as reliable as a weatherman predicting rain in the Sahara,” he replies nonchalantly.

“Yeah, her,” I concede, bracing myself for his inevitable teasing. I rub the back of my neck in exasperation, already regretting how easily he can read me.

“What’s your game plan?” Jack’s interest is genuine, his gaze keen.

“I’m not even sure I want to be in this game,” I reply.

He gives me a long look. “Forget I called it a game, Comet. It’s not. When are you seeing her next? Tell me you’ve got something lined up.”

There’s a hesitation inside me, but I push it aside. “I’m picking her up soon from St. Peters,” I admit, the words sounding more like a commitment now that they’re spoken aloud.

“That’s a solid first move. You should be proud.” He claps a hand on my shoulder.

I grunt in acknowledgment. “Remember I told you once that I joined the Navy thinking it’d impress the ladies?”

His laughter is short but sincere. “I remember. You’ve come a long way since then.”

I manage a rueful grin. “Part of me wishes I hadn’t grown up, though.”

The mood shifts. Jack’s voice drops a register, touching on my Colombian scar—a chapter I only shared with a select few.

“Time to step forward, buddy,” he says with a seasoned tone of encouragement.

“Maybe she’s already nudging me,” I sigh, the image of Savannah igniting a flicker of hope. “It’s frightening, but… she’s sparked something in me.”

He cautions, “Easy there, Hux.” But he delivers it with the clarity of one who’s weathered his own storms. “Love’s a battlefield, all right. Just make sure you know who you’re fighting.”

A wry chuckle escapes me, acknowledging the mix of humor and wisdom in his words. The connection Savannah and I share goes beyond our love for horses and the ranch life.It reaches deep into the matters of the heart, the places that hurt from past wounds.

For every battlefield, there’s a training ground. What if that’s where I begin? Staying close to her to glean wisdom from her experiences, her losses. The comfort of her presence is becoming increasingly essential. This time, unlike my past relationships, retreat is not an option. When the wreckage of my past breaches the surface, it will confront its destiny—either to be reclaimed and renewed or to sink back into the abyss forever.

13

SAVANNAH

I yank the blinds open, letting in a flood of sunlight. It’s not just a new day or the fact that I have real clothes to wear. It’s the thought of seeing Huxley again that makes me feel like I’m transforming from a sluggish worm to a butterfly ready to take off. Twenty hours in this room is more than enough.

My reflection in the mirror nods back at me, donned in a fresh pair of jeans and a breezy linen top, courtesy of my father’s thoughtful packing.

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