Page 165 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

I catch his hesitation and the subtle tension in his shoulders that speaks louder than his carefully measured words.

“But?” I prompt, arms wrapping around my middle as if to brace for whatever comes next.

Gabe’s jaw tightens, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. “There wasa kid on board.”

My stomach drops, a hollowness spreading through my chest as the implications sink in. The breeze suddenly feels colder against my skin, the beautiful day at odds with the darkness of the conversation.

Hank moves closer, his body radiating heat beside mine—not touching, but close enough that I can feel the tension building within him, the protective instinct that struggles against the need for honesty.

Gabe shakes his head. “Barely ten. We didn’t realize until we were already storming the boat. He was hiding in the hull, scared out of his mind. Used. Abused. Beaten.” He exhales sharply. “The smugglers were using him as collateral. If the mission went sideways, the cartel had orders to kill him and his family.”

I stare, my chest tightening. “What happened?”

Gabe looks out at the waves, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “We couldn’t save his family. Afterward… that kid?” He shakes his head again. “He wasn’t okay.”

“I’m so sorry.” I swallow hard, my heart thudding. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You can ask us anything you want, luv.” Hank clears his throat and rolls his shoulders like he’s shaking off a memory. “I don’t want you to think we’re unwilling to share, but some of what we experience is dark. But, yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck. “What happened to Gabe is sometimes how it goes. There’s always something they don’t tell you.”

I glance at him, tilting my head. “And you? Maybe not your worst mission, but your first?”

“My first was my worst.” He sighs heavily as he pulls at the memory. “It was a hostage rescue.” Hank’s expression darkens, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“Small town outside Mosul,” he continues, his gaze distant. “Intel said insurgents had taken a handful of locals—shop owners, farmers. No high-value targets, no major political stakes. Just civilians caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

He pauses, jaw clenching.

“Hank…” I place a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to share. It was a foolish question.”

“No. I want you to know me.” His lips press into a thin line. “We got there too late.”

The words hang between us, heavy and cold.

He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t need to.

I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his. For once, Hank doesn’t joke.

Doesn’t tease.

He squeezes my hand, exhaling through his nose, like maybe… maybe he needed that more than he realized.

I shake my head, then grimace. “Okay,note to self—we need a safe word for personal questions. Or at least… a flashing caution sign before I blunder into something that heavy.”

Hank quirks a brow. “A safe word?”

“I’m just saying that was a horrible question. I was trying to lighten the mood, not—” I gesture between them “—summon the trauma train.”

Gabe snorts. “And your method of lightening the mood was asking about our worst missions?”

“In hindsight, yes,terrible strategy. I never said it was smart—I feel bad. But… thank you. For answering.”

Hank shakes his head, dry as ever. “Remind me not to let you lead our team morale sessions.”

“I have other skills that help with morale,” I shoot back, lifting my chin.

Gabe’s eyes gleam with mischief. “Oh, sweetheart… that you do. Demonstratednicelythis morning with the blowies.”

I groan, rolling my eyes so hard I might sprain something. “God, Gabe. That word needs to be banned. Immediately.”

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