Page 97 of Tag
We turned and walked away. No slamming doors. No yelling. Just the clean break of walking out and not looking back.
When we reached the truck, Faron glanced at me. “Done?”
“Done,” I said, watching the house disappear in the rearview. Some doors don’t need to be slammed to be closed forever.
The weeksthat followed blurred into something I’d almost forgotten could exist—quiet mornings, shared meals, laughter that wasn’t a shield for pain. The desert still carried the scars of what we’d been through, but here in our little corner of it, the world felt… possible again.
Sometimes I’d catch Tag watching me from across the room, that steady gaze that had once unnerved me now wrapping me in warmth. He didn’t need to say the words every time—I could feel them in the way he brushed my hair back, in the way his hand always found mine without searching.
We still kept our weapons close. The Golden Team would always be ready for whatever came next. But for now… for this moment… we’d carved out a life worth protecting.
As the sun dipped low over the horizon one evening, painting the sky in fire and gold, Tag’s arm slid around my waist.
“Ready for forever?” he asked.
I smiled, leaning into him. “Already started.”
And in his arms, beneath a sky that would burn and fade a thousand times, I knew we’d never stop choosing each other.
One Year Later
The desert in southern California had a different beauty in spring—wildflowers spilling color across the sand, warm winds carrying the scent of rain. From the porch, I watched Tag adjust the scope on his rifle, the late afternoon light catching in his hair.
Life wasn’t quiet, not exactly. The Golden Team still answered calls, still put themselves between danger and the innocent. But now, our missions started and ended here—at home.
Faron’s truck pulled into the drive, dust curling in its wake. He climbed out, his expression tight, and even before he reached the steps.
“We’ve got a lead,” he said, his voice low. “Girls have been going missing again… this time closer to home.”
Tag’s eyes met mine, and in that silent exchange, the peaceful evening fell away.
Foreverwas still ours—but so was the fight.
Some fights, I suspected, started with a broken heart.
The End
Keep reading for more of the Golden Team
CARTER
92
Carter
Some moments stick to you like burrs — you can try to shake them off, but they cling.
The day I walked into my girlfriend’s office and found her tangled up with her boss? That one dug in deep.
The coffee in my hand went cold before I could even put it down. I stood there in the doorway, the hum of the copier in the corner filling the silence. Her laugh — the same laugh I used to think was meant for me — was muffled against him. She turned her head and jerked.
“Carter—” she started, eyes wide, lipstick smeared, blouse half-buttoned.
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My hands curled around the cardboard coffee tray like it was the only thing keeping me upright. An entire year wasted on someone who I thought loved me.
The boss had the nerve to smirk, like he’d just won some contest I didn’t even know we were in.
I set the coffee on her desk — hers still in it — and stepped back. My voice came out calm, too calm.
