Page 60 of Faron (The Golden Team #8)

Faron

I smelled the barbecue before I saw it.

Someone—probably Gage—had loaded what looked like half a cow onto the grill. Laughter echoed from the rec center’s back porch. Music drifted through the sliding glass doors, an old country tune with a beat slow enough to sway to.

Blue was barefoot, a paper plate stacked with ribs and corn in one hand, the other handing out napkins to a group of muddy rec center kids. Kat and Beatrice were arranging a folding table with way too many desserts. Cyclone leaned against a railing like he hadn’t nearly died a few days ago.

We’d chosen the rec center for the barbecue so everyone could come—friends, family, even some of the local families we’d helped.

Cyclone caught my eye. “Nice bandage.”

I raised my drink. “Nice limp.”

“Matches my personality.”

“Always did.”

We both laughed.

The back gate creaked, and in strolled Tag—wearing a Hawaiian shirt, mirrored sunglasses, and dragging a rolling cooler that had clearly survived more combat than most of us.

“Oh no,” Blue muttered beside me.

“Oh yes,” Tag said with a grin, popping the lid. “Frozen margaritas. Strawberry and mango. Because I believe in balance.”

“Did you bring any food?” Gage called.

“I brought joy , son. Liquid joy.”

Laughter rippled across the yard.

Tag handed me a drink and motioned toward the side fence. “Hey. Got a minute?”

I followed him to a quieter spot, away from the music and the kids chasing Bear in circles.

He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, then turned the screen toward me.

A woman. Long black hair. Storm-gray eyes. Soft, familiar features that pulled a breath straight from my chest.

“She popped up in the system two days ago,” Tag said. “Volunteer nurse with a traveling unit out of El Paso. Name was changed. Records sealed. That was eight years back. Now she’s working in L.A. as a detective. Her DNA flagged a match when she donated blood at a clinic partnered with the VA.”

My throat went dry. “Aponi.”

He nodded. “I haven’t reached out. Wanted to ask you first.”

I stared at the photo. She looked strong. Confident. Everything I hoped she’d grow up to be.

“She doesn’t know I’m alive,” I whispered. “Our mom made sure of that.”

“You want me to keep digging?”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. But gently. If she doesn’t remember me… I don’t want to scare her.”

Tag rested a hand on my shoulder. “You got it, brother.”

We stood in the quiet hum of laughter and conversation, the scent of barbecue thick in the air. The clink of cups. The music. Blue’s voice floating through the breeze.

It felt like home.

Family.

Hope.

Tag smirked. “Also—I brought pie.”

I blinked. “That’s the real headline.”

“Cherry. Homemade. From a lady I’m trying to impress. Don’t screw this up for me.”

“God help her,” I said, heading back toward the food table.

Blue caught my expression. “You okay?”

I wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her temple. “Yeah. I think I finally will be.”