Page 46 of Duty Devoted

Lauren

One year later

The weight of the medical pack on my shoulders felt right in a way that a designer purse never had. I adjusted the straps as I stepped out of the SUV into the humid Ecuador morning, the familiar scent of approaching rain mixing with jet fuel from the private airfield.

“Weather’s moving in fast,” Logan said from beside me, his hand finding the small of my back in that protective gesture I’d grown to love. “We should load up.”

I watched him assess the darkening sky, that hypervigilance still present but channeled now into something productive.

The past months had been a journey for both of us—therapy sessions that actually helped, medication adjustments, learning to trust again.

Some days were harder than others, but we faced them together.

“Dr. Valentino!” Ty’s voice carried across the tarmac. “About time you showed up. Some of us have been working since dawn.”

“Don’t believe his lies. Some of us were actually working instead of flirting with the client’s assistant,” Jace called out from where he was loading equipment into the Gulfstream.

I grinned at their familiar banter. When Logan had first suggested I join Citadel’s new medical division, I’d been skeptical.

But Ethan’s vision made sense—having embedded medical support on certain missions, especially those involving civilian extraction or protection details in remote areas.

It turned out my experience in Corazón was exactly the kind of background they needed.

“How’s our patient?” I asked as we approached the plane.

“Stable but anxious,” Jace reported. “The ambassador’s daughter is convinced she’s dying from that scorpion sting, despite the local doctor’s assurance it was nonlethal.”

“Anxiety can make symptoms worse,” I said, already shifting into doctor mode. “I’ll talk to her again once we’re airborne.”

The past year had been a revelation. Three weeks out of every month, I worked standard protection details with Citadel—mostly medical support for extraction teams or on-site care for clients in areas with limited health care.

The fourth week, Logan and I volunteered with medical missions through a new organization Sophia had connected us with.

It was the perfect balance. I got to use my skills where they were needed most, but with the backup and protection that kept us safe. Logan got to stay active in the field while working through his PTSD with professionals who understood combat trauma.

“Logan, you’re with me in the cockpit,” Andrew called out. “Want to go over the extraction route one more time.”

Logan squeezed my hand before following Andrew.

I watched him go, noting how much healthier he looked.

The shadows under his eyes had faded, the weight he’d lost during those terrible two months of running had returned.

He still had nightmares sometimes, still flinched at unexpected crowds, but he was healing.

We both were.

“So—” Ty appeared at my elbow as I organized my medical supplies “—heard you two crazy kids are making it official.”

I glanced at the ring on my left hand—nothing fancy, just a simple band with a small diamond that Logan had picked out himself.

He’d proposed last month after a particularly challenging mission in Honduras, when we’d successfully extracted a kidnapped journalist and provided medical care for his injuries.

Logan had waited until we were alone on the beach near our hotel, then dropped to one knee and told me he never wanted to face another mission without knowing I’d be there when he got home.

“Next month,” I confirmed. “Small ceremony at Ethan and Mel’s ranch.”

“About time,” Ty said. “The way he looks at you makes the rest of us feel like we’re intruding on something private.”

“The way she looks at him is just as bad,” Jace added, joining us. “It’s disgusting. All that genuine affection and mutual support.”

I laughed, but their teasing held real warmth. This team had become family over the past months. They’d stood by Logan through his darkest moments, staged interventions when needed, and welcomed me without hesitation.

The plane’s engines started, and we all moved to secure ourselves for takeoff. I found my seat next to the ambassador’s daughter, a young woman who looked pale and scared despite the IV line the local doctor had started.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Valentino,” I said, automatically checking her vitals. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

As we took off, she launched into her symptoms, and I settled into the familiar rhythm of patient care.

This was what I was meant to do—help people, make a difference, save lives.

But now I did it as part of a team that watched my back, with protocols that kept everyone safe, and with the man I loved by my side.

“Fifteen minutes to cruising altitude.” Logan’s voice came over the intercom. “Weather’s getting rough, so expect some bumps.”

I smiled at the sound of his voice. A year ago, I’d been drowning in Chicago, convinced I’d lost my purpose along with my na?veté.

Now I understood that wisdom didn’t mean giving up—it meant being smart about how you helped, surrounding yourself with people who supported your mission, and never apologizing for caring too much.

My phone buzzed with a text from Sophia:

How’s the new job treating you?

Perfect. Heading to Haiti next week for that clinic project you mentioned.

With appropriate security, I hope?

Always. Logan’s already done three site assessments.

Her response was just a string of heart emojis.

The plane leveled out, and Logan emerged from the cockpit.

His eyes found mine immediately, that small smile playing at his lips that was just for me.

He’d kept his promise—he hadn’t left, hadn’t run, hadn’t let his demons make choices for him.

We’d both learned that facing your fears was easier when you had someone holding your hand.

“How’s it going?” he asked, settling into the seat across the aisle.

“I think we’re fine. Anxiety, more than anything.” I finished adjusting the young woman’s IV. “The local doctor did good work.”

“He said you trained him,” the ambassador’s daughter piped up. “When you were here two months ago?”

I nodded. “Basic scorpion sting protocol. He’s a quick learner.”

This was the other part of what we did—training local health care workers during our missions, leaving them better equipped to handle emergencies.

It was one of Ethan’s requirements when he’d created the medical division.

We weren’t just there to extract people; we were there to make things better for those who stayed.

“Five hours to Miami,” Andrew announced. “Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

I leaned back in my seat, feeling Logan’s hand find mine across the aisle. His thumb traced circles on my palm, a silent conversation in touch. We’d gotten good at those—reading each other’s moods, offering support without words, being present even in silence.

My phone buzzed again. This time, it was a photo from Elena, sent through her school’s new computer lab. She was holding up a paper—her English test, marked with an A+. Her message was in carefully typed English:

Thank you for teaching me. I am best in my class now.

I showed Logan the photo, watched his face soften.

We’d been back to Corazón twice on medical missions—both times carefully coordinated and heavily secured.

The village had slowly recovered from the Silva reign of terror.

Elena was thriving in school—we’d arranged for her to go to a private school in the city.

Miguel’s mining accident scars had healed clean.

Even Carlos’s family had found some peace, knowing the men responsible for his death were gone.

“You saved her too,” Logan murmured, quiet enough that only I could hear. “That little girl’s going to grow up and change the world because you took time to teach her English.”

“We saved each other,” I corrected, squeezing his hand. “All of us.”

The plane hit a pocket of turbulence, and I automatically checked my patient’s IV line.

She had dozed off now, the anxiety medication finally taking effect.

Around us, the team settled into the familiar rhythm of a mission completed—Ty shuffling cards for a poker game, Jace typing up his after-action report, Andrew double-checking our flight path.

This was my life now. Not the sterile halls of Chicago Presbyterian or the dangerous chaos of unprotected medical missions, but something in between. Something better. I still saved lives, still made a difference, but I did it as part of a team that valued my safety as much as my skills.

“Hey,” Logan said softly, drawing my attention back to him. “You happy?”

I thought about the question, really considered it.

A year ago, happiness had seemed impossible.

I’d been hollowed out by trauma, convinced that my compassion was weakness, that caring too much had nearly gotten me killed.

Now I understood that caring was my strength—I just needed to be smart about it.

“Yeah,” I said, meaning it completely. “I’m happy.”

“Good.” He lifted our joined hands and kissed my knuckles. “Because I plan to keep you that way for the next sixty years or so.”

“Only sixty?”

“Fine. Seventy. But that’s my final offer.”

I laughed, the sound carrying over the plane’s engines. In the medical pack at my feet was a photo—all of us at Ethan and Mel’s ranch last month, Jolly front and center with his ridiculous grin. My family, chosen and cherished.

The storm outside was getting worse, rain lashing against the windows. But inside, we were safe. Protected. Together.

“Dr. Valentino?” The ambassador’s daughter stirred, looking better already. “Thank you. For coming to get me. For making sure I was okay.”

“It’s what we do,” I told her. “We help people. We keep them safe. We bring them home.”

Logan’s hand tightened in mine at the words.

Home . Such a simple concept that had taken us both so long to understand.

It wasn’t a place—not Chicago or Denver or even Ethan’s ranch.

It was this. The work that mattered. The people who stood by you.

The love that survived everything the world threw at it.

The plane flew on through the storm, carrying us toward whatever mission came next. And for the first time in my life, I was exactly where I belonged.