Page 68 of Oliver

A soldier. A husband. A father. A man trying to remember what it meant to build something instead of blow it up.

When Emery shuffled in, hair tangled, wearing my old shirt, I thought:I’d fight every cartel and corrupt bastard on this earth just to wake up to this.

She caught my look and laughed sleepily. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Sit down. Breakfast.”

She made a face. “Oliver, you do not have to—”

I kissed her before she could finish. She tasted like sleep and mint toothpaste, and I didn’t care about the damn eggs burning.

“You saved the world,” I murmured. “Let me fry you a piece of bacon.”

She grinned, pulling back just enough to rest her forehead against mine. “Deal.”

Later,plates scraped clean, we sat shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen table. Outside, the sun rose gold over the yard we hadn’t mowed in weeks. Olly, was off at school.

“What happens now?” she asked.

I looked at her. “Now? We breathe, and relax.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Relax?” Do you know how to do that?”

“Or we can go to an island. Depends on if you want to swim in peace here or rule another country.”

She snorted and swatted my arm. “Smartass.”

“Yours.”

She bit her lip, sudden emotion shading her eyes. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore, Oliver. I want to live. Really live.”

I cupped her face. “Then we will. Together. Always.”

And for the first time in a long time, I believed it.

51

Oliver

You’d think after a week of blood and bullets, my team would want to sleep for a month.

But here we were — back porch, mugs of coffee, an old Bluetooth speaker playing country music that made Raven groan every five minutes.

Gage nursed a bruised jaw and glared at me every time I offered him another ice pack. Cyclone leaned back in a chair, arms folded, eyes half on the conversation and half somewhere else. Jude hadn’t come out yet, and that alone told me something was up.

Emery was curled beside me on the porch swing, her feet tucked under my thigh. She was the only one still awake enough to listen to Gage’s dramatic retelling of how we’d rescued him.

“And then — get this — Oliver punches the guard so hard, I swear the poor bastard is gonna tell his grandkids about it one day. If he still has a jaw. Which is debatable.”

Emery’s laugh was the sweetest damn sound. “You’re lucky he didn’t leave you tied to that chair, Gage.”

“Hey!” Gage threw his hands up. “You wound me. Truly.”

Raven snorted. “Next time, try not to get caught in the first place.”

“Next time, try to be fun at parties, Raven.”

Cyclone’s chuckle was low and rare — the kind that made me look twice. Something softened in him lately. Not many people noticed, but I did.

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