Page 14

CHAPTER 14

PHARO

Arlo's strong grip tightens around my hand. “Are they back?”

“Every single head accounted for. But just barely. That was a real shit show. I'm sure Hogan will give you a full debrief.”

He seems better today. Stronger. The bandage that covers his right shoulder is dry for the first time in days. Hopefully, the wound won't open up again and seep.

If he would just stay still and stop trying to get out of bed before he's ready, I'm sure the stitches would hold.

“What are you doing here?” Arlo asks, his voice edged with concern, like he's about to scold me.

“Working. What do you think I'm doing?”

“Pharo, you're part-time. You've been here for almost two weeks. Your rotation is over. Why haven’t you gone home?”

“Because the team…” I start, but he doesn’t let me finish.

“The team will still be here when you come back,” Arlo cuts in. “Look,” he sighs, sounding exhausted, “this job isn’t going anywhere. It'll be here for the next guy, and the guy after that. I know I've bugged you for a long time about coming on full-time. But not because being here is more important than not being here. It's because you're lost. I can see it. Anyone can see it. You don’t know where you belong in this world, and I thought, being here with the team, having a purpose, might ground you. But when I look at you now, I see that I was wrong.”

“You’re not wrong,” I say quietly. “It does ground me. I need to work. I need…”

“What you need is to go home,” Arlo interrupts, his voice softer now, like he’s pleading with me. “You have a mother, friends, and a life waiting for you. This job—it’ll put you in a grave faster than you can blink, and it won’t remember your name when you’re gone. We’re not here to serve our country or do anything noble. We’re here to earn a paycheck. That’s it. Each one of us has a different dream for that money, a different purpose, but in the end, we all have the same goal. What’s yours, Pharo? What dream are you chasing?”

He sits up and reaches for the glass of water on his nightstand, and I rush to lean across him and hand it to him before he can strain himself. “You're right. I do have a dream, and it's not flying helicopters and chasing down bad guys.”

“Then what the fuck are you still doing here?” he laughs.

“I don’t know,” I mutter, pinching my nose and rubbing at the tension in my brow. “Chasing ghosts.”

He leans back against the pillow, his face serious. “Go home, Pharo. Visit your mother. Go out with your friends and have a beer. Get laid. Don’t just dream about your future, make it a reality.”

I glance down at my hands. Besides my mother, I don't have a whole lot anchoring me to any particular place—Cairo, Black Mountain, Iraq. They’re all just places I’ve lived. What would it feel like to have a reason to come home? To have someone waiting for me? Someone who made me promise to come back in one piece?

My promise to Jax echoes in my mind.

Is he waiting for me?

The idea strikes me with a strange warmth, something that spreads from the pit of my stomach to the rest of me. A heat I can’t ignore. The same heat that threatened to burn me the night I left his kitchen, after licking the sauce from his lip. I had fully expected him to punch me in the face. But he didn’t. He just stood there, stunned. Would he let me do it again?

I shake the thought away, trying to focus on Arlo’s, but I can’t.

Maybe Arlo’s right. Maybe it’s time to stop chasing ghosts. Maybe it's time to face the one that’s been haunting me for far too long.

“Pharo,” Arlo repeats, raising his voice, a little sharper this time. “Are you listening?”

“I heard you, Arlo.” I try to keep the frustration out of my voice, but I can feel the edge creeping in. I can’t focus on anything he’s saying right now, not with everything swirling in my head.

Arlo doesn't let up. “You're not hearing me. You're still stuck in this world of yours, like it's the only thing keeping you grounded. But it's not. You’re not gonna find what you're searching for out there, man. Trust me.”

I clench my jaw, trying to push the images of Jax from my mind—his face, that damn promise I made to him, the way he looked at me in that kitchen. Every part of me wants to shove it all down, to keep moving forward without thinking about what’s really pulling at me. But it’s hard to ignore the truth that’s starting to sink in, harder to pretend that I don’t feel the pull of something more.

Arlo watches me carefully, and I know he can see through the facade. “If you don’t go now, you might never get another chance,” he says softly.

He’s right, and I know it. But what the hell am I supposed to do about it?

“Well?” Arlo presses, his voice expectant, watching me with that knowing look. “What are you gonna do?”

I exhale slowly, rubbing my hand over my face, trying to clear the fog that’s clouding my brain.

“It would seem I owe an old friend dinner.”

Arlo’s lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “Took you long enough,” he mutters, his tone softer now, but still filled with that gentle reprimand I’ve always known from him. “Don’t screw this up, Pharo.”

* * *

I sleep for a solid day straight, and when I finally wake, I feel like I'm stepping out of a dream. My body feels heavy, but the exhaustion is fading, and the haze in my mind starts to clear. I shower off the travel dust and the stress of the last few weeks, letting the hot water wash the tension from my shoulders.

I slick my hair back into a neat tail, running my fingers through it to smooth out the mess, and pull on a white linen shirt, its cool fabric against my skin offering the first bit of comfort I’ve felt in days. Navy pants follow, simple but clean, the kind of outfit that feels effortless but still says I’m trying.

Checking my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I splash on some cologne, grab my truck keys, and I’m ready. Ready for what? I don’t know. But I made a promise, and it’s time to keep it.

Jax, however, is not.

He has no idea I’m coming. When I knock on his door, there’s a long pause before it opens. He stares at me for a full minute, his eyes wide, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m real or just some apparition standing in front of him.

“Pharo?” His voice is rough, like he hasn’t used it in days.

“Yeah.” I try to keep my tone steady, but there’s something tight in my chest. “Can I come in?”

Before he can stop me, I push past him. Jax shuts the door behind me, the sound of the latch clicking, and we stand there—silent, eyes locked. The tension between us is palpable, thick as fog.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is quieter now, but no less challenging.

“Keeping my promises. I returned safe and sound.” I keep my tone even, but even I can hear the hesitation in it. Like I’m trying to convince myself as much as him.

“And?” He leans against the door, eyes narrowed, his arms crossed over his chest. “Did you want a medal?”

This isn’t how I saw this going. In my head, I imagined him smiling, maybe even breathing a sigh of relief, telling me that he’d thought about me while I was gone. Maybe even telling me he missed me. But of course, Jax is gonna make me work for it. Petty fucker.

“I came to collect on that dinner you owe me,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the way his challenge sends a jolt through me.

Jax snorts, the sound almost incredulous. “Why do you keep acting like we’re friends?” He sighs, rolling his eyes like this whole situation is the most tedious thing he’s ever dealt with. “It’s exhausting.”

Challenge accepted. If there’s one thing I know about Jaxon James, it’s that he’s full of shit. Always has been. And I’ve always loved to call him out on it.

I close the distance between us, my boots barely making a sound on the floor as I get right up in his face, close enough to smell the coconut and citrus scent of his vape lingering on his breath. His eyes flicker, but he doesn't back away, which only makes my resolve stronger.

“Right from the start, you’ve always played this ridiculous game with me,” I say, my voice low, almost a whisper. “Cat and mouse, hot and cold, pretending like you don’t want this.” I lean in a little, my breath mingling with his. “I call bullshit, Jaxon. I know for a fact you want this.”

I don’t back down, can’t back down, not now, not with the tension between us so thick I feel like I could reach out and touch it. There's something about being this close, this raw, with him that’s different from everything else. It's dangerous. It's exhilarating. And maybe that's why I'm still standing here, staring him down, knowing full well that this is a line we’ve flirted with but have never crossed before.

Jax snorts again, that smug grin creeping back onto his face. “I think you suffered a head injury over there. You’re delusional.”

His denial hits me like a shot of cold air, trying to freeze the moment, but it doesn't work. If anything, it makes the heat between us that much more unbearable. I can feel the electricity in the space between us, the way it crackles in my chest, urges me to push just a little further, to prove him wrong.

“I’m not delusional,” I say, my voice steady despite the wild thrum in my veins. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

I take another step closer, closing the gap, until we’re practically nose to nose. My heart beats faster with each inch, and even though he’s trying to pull away, trying to deny it, I know the truth. I see it in his eyes.

Jax doesn't back down this time. For a split second, the deflection disappears, and I see it—the truth. He feels it too. The pull, the need, the thing that’s been simmering between us since the moment we met.

And for once, neither of us is pretending.

“First, I hear about you asking after me, my whereabouts, and comings and goings. Then you show up at my house and put bandages on my cuts. Wanting to kiss my boo-boos and make them better. Then you followed me around town, poking your nose in my business like a first-rate stalker. You’re worse than an ex, worse than a bad rash. You’re…” I pause, trying to find the right word, but it’s slipping away. “Unmanageable.”

I know I’m pushing him now, but hell, I’ve been pushing him for years. And for once, I’m not holding back. He’s always had this way of dancing around the edges, pretending like he doesn’t care, like he doesn’t get under my skin just as much as I do to him. But now? Now I’m calling him on his shit.

“Unmanageable,” he smirks. “A lot like the way you're looking at me right now.”

“How am I looking at you, Jax?”

Like I want to kiss you?

Like I want to devour you with one bite?

“Like you want to suck my dick.”

The superior expression on his face tells me how much he’s enjoying this. Maybe I haven’t pushed him too far at all.

I step back slightly and smooth my palms over his shirt, over his hard chest. The tight buds of his nipples poke my skin. “No,” I laugh with deliberate coolness, though I’m feeling anything but. “If I wanted to suck your dick, I would do this.” I reach down and mold my hand over his groin, cupping his dick. Jax grows harder in my grip until he fills my hand.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t back away. Jax boldly accepts my unspoken challenge, which makes me just as hard as he is.

“What about the way you’re looking back at me?” I ask, my voice rough.

His dark gaze locks onto mine, unwavering. The tension thickens, and for a second, the world seems to shrink down to just us.

“How am I looking at you, Pharo?” he asks slowly, deliberately—like he already knows the answer but wants me to say it.

And maybe I do. Maybe I want to hear him say it, too.

“Like you want me to suck your dick.” Just saying it aloud feels forbidden, like we’ve crossed a line that neither of us can uncross. My pulse hammers in my chest, a quiet drumbeat. Something dangerous. Something raw.

I watch Jax’s face, searching for a sign, for any hint that he’s feeling the same pull, the same tension. His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, he just holds my gaze, like he’s daring me to make the first move.

I swallow hard, trying to push back the feeling that’s rising in me, but it's no use. “You know exactly how you're looking at me, Jax,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “And you want it just as much as I do.”

The silence that follows is deafening, and in that moment, I know there’s no going back.

I dip my head, brushing my lips softly over his, the contact fleeting but electric. The world feels like it slows down, like time stretches in that one heartbeat. But he denies me entry, his mouth pressing firmly, almost like a challenge—like he’s waiting for me to push harder, to prove that I want this as much as he does.

His breath is warm against my skin, and for a moment, I think he’s going to pull away, push me back, maybe even tell me to stop. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, unmoving, waiting.

My heart pounds louder, a steady drumbeat that matches the way my blood rushes through my veins. I pull back just a fraction, my lips lingering close enough to feel his breath, but not enough to kiss him again. “You’re not the only one who’s been wanting this,” I murmur, barely able to keep my voice steady.

His eyes flash, something dark and hungry flickering across his face. And in that look, I see everything we’ve both been holding back.

I close the distance again. This time, he doesn’t pull away. Jax parts his lips, allowing my tongue to slide between them. He tastes like exotic destinations and mixed fruity cocktails. Coconuts, pineapples, and mandarins. His mouth is warm and soft, better than I could have imagined.

My heart feels like it’s going to explode. My stomach swirls with adrenaline.

And then that petty fucker bites my tongue.

“Fuck,” I hiss, pulling away.

Jax mocks me with his smirk, as if the kiss left him completely unaffected. “Isn’t that what you said you wanted? Cat and mouse, hot and cold?”

No. This isn’t how this is going to play out. Jax wants this as much as I do. He’ll give it to me, or I’ll take it from him. Maybe that’s what he wants, for me to take it, to call the shots.

Isn’t that how it’s always been with us?

“I’ll always be your Master Sergeant, and you’ll always do what I tell you.” My hand snakes around the back of his head, and I grip his short hair between my fingers, pulling tight enough that he can’t escape my hold. “Is this what you want? You want me to take it from you, to take away your choice so you don’t have to feel conflicted about giving in to me?”

Jax’s breaths become harsh, his nostrils flaring wildly with each rise and fall of his chest. He shoots daggers at me with his eyes, his jaw clenched tight like he’s holding back whatever insults he wants to hurl at me.

His eyes never leave mine, the intensity in them making my pulse spike. I can feel the heat radiating off of him, and it only makes the storm inside me rage stronger.

“After all these years, you still want your CO to tell you what to do?”

“You're playing with fire, Pharo,” Jax growls, his voice low and dangerous. His lips twitch, but he’s holding himself in check, barely. “You know that, right?”

“If you want me to touch you like that, you’ll have to ask me for it. I refuse to give you another opportunity to blame me for something I didn’t do. I’m not gonna let you twist it in your head like I forced you. You want my dick? Ask for it.” My tone is sharp, teasing, the confidence in my voice a mask for the heat pooling in my stomach.

The moment stretches, both of us caught in the pull of it, but Jax doesn’t break. Instead, he steps forward, closing the distance between us once more. This time, there’s no hesitation. His hand grips the back of my neck, pulling me toward him. His lips crash against mine, fierce and demanding, and I can feel every ounce of restraint he’s struggling to hold on to crumble.

This time, neither of us pulls away.