Page 2 of Wild Hearts

“All good.” I push the mic away from my mouth and rub my face. The plane slows down to a stop and I look around at the small, but well-maintained airport.

Rifle, Colorado.

I’ve heard a lot about this place from Striker, but never been here myself, until now. We often staggered our time off so that one of us would always be by the base in case of an emergency. Now, with me getting out, there’s no need anymore.

The three of us hop out as Grant, the pilot, helps us unload our bags.

“Thanks for the ride, man, I appreciate it,” Striker tells him.

“Anytime Josh, you know that. Besides, no point in renting a car when you have one here already.”

“Like he said” —I point to Striker— “thanks for the ride.” I hold out my hand for him to shake.

“Any friend of the Pierson’s is a friend of mine,” he says, shaking my hand. He turns back to Striker, “I arranged for a ride up to the house. You’ll know it when you see it.” He chuckles.

Striker frowns. “Thanks?”

“He’s waiting in the parking lot.”

Before either Striker or I can respond, Grant jumps back in his plane and waves.

“What was that all about?” I ask Striker.

“I guess we’re about to find out,” he mumbles.

We grab our bags and walk toward the parking lot.

“Motherfucker,” Striker growls under his breath.

“What?” I ask, instantly on alert.

“Reunited, and it feels so good!” someone croons over a speaker.

I look ahead and see a cop leaning against the driver’s door of his SUV, pointing at Striker.

“Knock it off!” Striker yells.

“I missed you too!” the man says through the mic before dropping it and meeting us halfway. He pulls Striker in for a bro hug. “It’s been too long, man.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The man steps back, looking me up and down. “So you’re the SEAL me,” he states.

I raise my brow for clarification.

“I’m the Rifle best friend, you’re the SEAL best friend.”

“Ah, guess so. I’m Mick.” I shake his hand.

“I’m Jake.” He looks back at Striker. “Well, let’s get you guys dropped off. She’s out on a cave excursion so she won’t be home until late afternoon.”

“Awesome, that means we might get some shit done before she gets home and gives us both hell for being here.” Striker rubs his hands together, walking toward the SUV.

“Good luck with that.” Jake laughs.

I jump in the back, Striker sitting in the front. I pull out my phone and open the family text thread.

Me: Made it.

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