Page 30

Ethan

There was something deeply satisfying about standing next to my father at the grill. The familiar ritual of fire, meat, and male conversation had been part of my life since I was tall enough to hold a spatula. The scent of charcoal and sizzling steaks brought me back to countless summer evenings just like this one.

“So,” Dad said, flipping a steak with practiced precision, “you’re lucky your mom isn’t telling me to rip you a new one right now. You know if she’d known you were bringing company, she would’ve?—”

I finished the sentence before Dad could. “Worked herself into a tizzy cleaning? Made four different pies? Gone out and gotten her hair done?”

Dad chuckled. “Yes, probably all that stuff.”

“I didn’t want it to be a big production. I wanted Mel to see you guys just as you are.”

I’d been planning to bring Mel to meet my parents since our conversation on the ridge. But telling them in advance would have meant explaining who she was, what she meant to me, and I wasn’t sure I had the words for that yet.

“She seems like a keeper.” Dad’s voice was casual, but his eyes held meaning when they met mine. “Different from your usual type.”

“I have a type?”

“Strong, yes. But usually more…” He paused, searching for the word. “Aggressive? Career-focused to the exclusion of all else?”

Samantha’s face flashed through my mind. “Mel’s plenty strong,” I said, adjusting the heat on the grill. “Just in a different way.”

“I can see that. I like it.” Dad nodded, setting the spatula down. “How’s everything else going? Your team. Logan settling back in okay?”

The question didn’t surprise me. Logan had spent a few weeks here after a particularly rough mission had triggered his PTSD. My parents had taken him in without question, given him space to heal.

“He’s handling it,” I replied. “Some nights are better than others, but the work keeps him grounded.”

“And the current assignment? Pop star security sounds a far cry from extracting hostages in Colombia.”

I couldn’t help smiling. “It’s had its moments. Someone broke in to Nova’s house, left threatening messages. We had an incident at a club in New Orleans that could have turned ugly.” I didn’t mention the dead raccoon or how it had affected Mel. That wasn’t my story to share.

“Sounds like you’re not missing the more…extreme assignments.”

“Surprisingly, no.” I checked the steaks, but it was just for something to do with my hands. “And not just because of the lack of constant action. I can see us taking more cases like this. The team works well together, and the challenges are different but still engaging.”

“Good.” Dad’s hand squeezed my shoulder. “It’s time you stopped running, son.”

I looked up sharply. “Running? From what?”

Dad raised an eyebrow, his expression so familiar it almost hurt. The look that said he saw right through me, just as he had when I was eight and trying to hide a broken window.

“You tell me. Professionally, things have gone well since you started Citadel. But personally?” He shook his head. “You volunteer for the most dangerous missions. You keep everyone except your core team at arm’s length. That’s not living, son. That’s running.”

His words hit harder than I’d expected. “You think I’ve been using the job to avoid dealing with other things?”

“Haven’t you?” His voice was gentle but unyielding. “Those high-octane missions keep your mind busy, don’t they? Keep you from having to think too much about other parts of your life not going as well?”

The truth of it settled like a stone in my chest. How many times had I chosen the most dangerous assignment, not because it needed my specific skills, but because the adrenaline-fueled focus it required silenced the noise in my head?

“Maybe,” I admitted, turning the steaks one final time. “But it works.”

“Until it doesn’t.” Dad’s eyes held mine. “It’s a potentially deadly way to find peace, son.”

I couldn’t argue with that. We’d both seen too many men who never came back from war, not because they died overseas, but because they couldn’t live with the silence afterward.

“Mel’s different,” I said after a moment, changing the subject. “From Samantha, I mean.”

Dad accepted the shift. “How so?”

“She’s just as organized, maybe even more efficient. But there’s a gentleness to her that Samantha never had.” I searched for words to explain the warmth that filled me whenever Mel was close by. “She doesn’t use her competence as a weapon.”

“And?”

“And nothing. She’s just…easy to be around. Things get quieter in my head when she’s near.” It was the closest I could come to describing how her presence affected me. “She dreams of having a family, a home. That kind of life.”

“I understand that,” Dad said, his gaze drifting toward the house where Mom and Mel were visible through the window. “It’s what I saw in your mother. Margaret was— is —an incredible force. Not just for our family, but for the entire community. Always the first to organize meals when someone was sick, to take in kids who needed a safe place.”

I followed his gaze, watching as Mel laughed at something my mother said. “I can see Mel being similar.”

“She has that quality,” Dad agreed. “The ability to create a sanctuary for others.”

“She hasn’t had much of a sanctuary herself.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. “Her whole life has been managing her sister’s career, putting her own dreams on hold.”

“Then maybe it’s time someone put her first for a change.”

The door opened, and Mel emerged carrying a large bowl of salad, her hair catching the last rays of sunlight. Mom followed with a platter of roasted potatoes, both women laughing about something.

Dad lowered his voice. “I’m proud of you, son. And I’m happy you found someone like her. Whether it works out long-term or not.”

A warmth that had nothing to do with the grill spread through my chest. “Thanks, Dad.”

We gathered around the patio table, passing dishes and pouring drinks. Mel sat beside me, our knees occasionally brushing under the table. The conversation flowed easily—Mom telling stories about my childhood escapades, Dad talking about the new foals born this spring, Mel sharing some of the more amusing mishaps from Nova’s tour.

I found myself laughing more than I had in months, maybe years. The tension that usually lived between my shoulder blades had eased, replaced by a contentment I’d almost forgotten was possible.

As twilight deepened to purple, Dad built a fire in the stone pit near the patio. We moved our chairs closer, wrapped in blankets against the cooling mountain air. Mel leaned against me, her body snuggled into mine, and I slipped an arm around her shoulders.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she whispered, her breath warm against my neck.

“Thank you for coming,” I replied, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Mom caught my eye across the fire, her gaze knowing and approving. Dad winked, raising his coffee mug in a silent toast. The four of us sat in comfortable silence, watching sparks spiral toward the star-filled sky.

In that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that there was nowhere else I’d rather be. Not in Colombia on a high-stakes extraction. Not in some war-torn country where the adrenaline could drown out thought. Right here, with Mel tucked against me and my parents across the flames, was exactly where I belonged.

For the first time in longer than I could remember, the restlessness that had driven me from one dangerous mission to the next was quiet. The need to prove something—to myself, to the memory of fallen comrades, to a woman who no longer mattered to me, to the world—had faded to background noise.

Instead, I found myself thinking about tomorrow, and the day after, and all the days stretching ahead. Days that might include more evenings like this one. More laughter. More peace.

More Mel.