Page 57 of Sworn to Protect

The request catches me mid-sip. I lower my glass slowly. “True, how?”

“Not military approved.” She swirls the wine, watching it sheet the glass. “Something you’ve never said out loud.”

Power lines hum above the fence line. Children’s laughter rings through the night air beyond the pine trees.

She waits. Green eyes sharp as tracers.

I set my glass down hard. I’m drowning in lies. I don’t even know which truth to reach for.

“Alright,” I exhale, dragging a hand over my face. “This might sound stupid, but I wanted to be a vet when I was young.”

Her surprise is immediate. “A vet? Really?”

I nod, giving her a wry smile. “The neighbor’s dog, Ginger, got hit once. The driver didn’t stop. I ran out and tried to stop the bleeding. Didn’t know what I was doing. Had zero skills.” A dry laugh escapes. “But I knew I wanted to save that dog’s life.”

“What happened?”

“My dad came home. Pried me off Ginger and told me to be a man. Said I was embarrassing myself.” The words taste like rust. “After he yelled enough, the neighbor lady ran out and took Ginger to the vet.”

“Was she okay?”

“No.” I clear my throat. “The vet said if I’d had a few more minutes, I might’ve stopped the bleeding.”

The confession hangs between us, fragile as a dust devil. Mackenzie studies me, gaze steady. When she reaches across the table, it’s not tentative. Her fingers skim mine. A slow, deliberate touch.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “That’s awful.”

A moth batters itself against the porch light above us, wings ticking like a failing ignition. Mackenzie traces the rim of her empty wineglass, thumbnail catching on the lipstick stain she left earlier. Her gaze drifts past my shoulder to the bedroom window where the boxes of Ethan’s belongings still sit.

I should tell her. Now. Lay it all out.

But I don’t.

Instead, I shift my knee beneath the wrought-iron table until it presses against hers. Solid. Present. The contact makes her blink back to me, green eyes reflecting the moth’s desperate orbit.

Tell her.

I open my mouth.Your husband’s blood stained my sleeve, his last breath fogged my goggles?—

She hooks her little toe around my ankle.

The confession burns behind my molars.

We’re already a live grenade rolling downhill.

Her forehead bumps mine first like an awkward teenage fumble. The kind that should make us laugh. But neither of us does.

Then her mouth finds mine, and there’s no air left to breathe.

I fist her braid, not gentle. Can’t be. She gasps into my mouth, teeth clipping my lower lip. The pain’s a live wire, cutting through every excuse I’ve made, every reason I should stop.

She tastes like stolen courage. Like reckless hope. Like every damn promise I can’t keep.

Her nails dig half-moons into my shoulders. My hands slide under the hem of her sweater, fingertips mapping the fever-hot dip of her spine.

Somewhere beyond the trees, a truck rumbles to life. Jordan. Or a ghost. Does it matter?

Mackenzie nips my jaw, frustration and need tangled in the scrape of her teeth. I bite back the words clotting my windpipe—Ethan sent me here to protect you—and let my teeth speak instead.

---