Page 19 of Boomer

He wanted a second chance.

He wanted to know that maybe, justmaybe,she was as involved as he was.

But in the silence of that dark, foreign room, with his team sleeping all around him and the mission looming in the hoursahead, all he could do was lie there. Wide awake. Hard as stone, hoping like hell he wasn’t imagining the way her walls had started to crack.

Break interrupted his thoughts as he entered and went to his bunk. He rummaged in his duffel and pulled on a pair of soft gray shorts, dropping the towel. Jesus, that kid was ripped. “Boomie?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Boomer responded, turning his head.

“We tease you, Boomer, because we love you, but there's nothing funny about being exposed to the team when you've got it bad for a lady.” He pulled the covers over himself. “Just...be careful, with her heart, sure, but be extra careful with yours, brother.” He turned over and was soon breathing deeply.

Boomer didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Be careful with yours, brother.

The words landed quieter than the rest but harder. Like they’d been dropped in the exact place Boomer kept locked up tight behind his grin and easy drawl.

He let out a slow breath, one that didn’t reach his lungs.

Breakneck didn’t know. None of them did. None of them knew that his heart wasn’t something youcouldbe careful with. It had already been scraped raw and wired back together with whatever was left. He didn’t even know if it stillbeatright.

Most days, it just…worked. Like the rest of him.

Another tool in the box. Another job to do. Another weight to carry.

He always had a joke. Always. Especially when he was bleeding. Humor was the safest armor, sharp enough to misdirect, soft enough to pass as charm. He’d worn it so long, most people couldn’t even tell when he was using it to deflect.

But Breakneck had looked him in the eye.

Taylor hadseensomething, too, and that scared the hell out of him.

If she saw past the mask, past his bullshit, the shoulders, the laugh. If she sawhimand still leaned in?

God help him.

That meant she wanted more than what he could do. More than his body. More than the warm breath and strong hands and quick fixes he was so good at giving.

Boomer wasn’t sure he had anything else to offer.

Not really.

She was composed. Controlled. Brilliant. She walked into war rooms like shebelongedin them. He walked in like a battering ram, hoping to God the walls were weaker than he was.

He knew men like Bash were threats, not because of jealousy, but because of confirmation. Men like that reminded him of what she deserved. Smooth, polished, fluent in diplomacy.

He was grit and fire, and demolition cord wrapped in Southern heat.

He was the loudest answer to every problem, and maybe she didn’t want answers like that anymore.

He closed his eyes, just for a second. The ache was still there, hard and unrelenting in his body. But it wasn’t about sex. Not really. Not tonight. His dick was loud and insistent, but his need for her was louder, more insistent.

It was aboutvalue.

It was about wanting to beenough, not just useful.

He didn’t know yet if she could give that to him or if he’d ever believe it, even if she tried. But God…he hoped she would.

The next morning, Boomer rolled out of bed at 0500, muscles fluid, head foggy. He hadn’t slept much thanks to the woman down the hall and the way his body couldn’t stop remembering the feel of hers pressed against his.