Page 2 of Fierce Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #3)
Deke Williams sat at the small kitchen table, cradling a mug of lukewarm coffee, staring at the front page of the Hope Landing Gazette without really seeing it. The sharp blare of his son DJ’s alarm clock sliced through the thin morning quiet like a serrated knife.
He prayed for patience. He’d been fifteen himself once, though he didn’t recall having DJ’s anger. Too busy dreaming of a pro football career, maybe.
Upstairs, DJ silenced the alarm—not by turning it off, but by slamming his fist against it. The sudden thud echoed through the modest cabin, followed by the creak of bedsprings and muffled footsteps stomping across the floorboards.
Deke sighed, running a hand over his scruffy jaw, the grains of stubble as coarse as his patience.
“DJ, let’s go. Hustle up,” he called, voice gruff from more than just sleep. “Bus leaves in twenty minutes.”
Silence.
Finally, heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs. DJ appeared, hoodie up, earbuds in, backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. His face was a mask of teenage resentment, perfected over months of practice.
“Morning,” Deke tried, keeping his tone neutral.
No response.
Deke fought the urge to push. But almost two months into their new domestic routine, he knew how that would go. DJ would snap. He would snap back, and they’d end up further from anything resembling connection.
Instead, he watched as his son grabbed a granola bar from the counter, ripping it open like it had personally offended him.
“Don’t forget your history project. It’s due today, right?”
DJ pulled out an earbud and shot him a glare. “I’m not an idiot.”
Deke clenched his jaw. At the moment that was open to debate, but Deke wasn’t dumb enough to pick that fight. “Good to know,” he muttered.
DJ rolled his eyes and headed for the door. Halfway there, he stopped, spun around, and snapped, “You know, I didn’t ask to be here.”
Deke didn’t flinch. He’d heard it before—different words, same bitterness. But it still landed like a gut punch.
“Yeah,” Deke replied quietly, “I didn’t ask to miss most of your life either.”
Regret hit the moment the words left his mouth.
DJ’s face hardened as he shoved the granola bar into his mouth. Without another word, he left, slamming the door.
The silence that followed was louder than the argument. The echo lingered longer than it should, like the final word in a battle Deke wasn’t sure how to win—if he even knew the rules anymore.
His grip tightened around the coffee mug until the ceramic groaned under the pressure, the warmth seeping into his palms, doing nothing to thaw the cold knot in his chest.
He rubbed the back of his neck. Nice one, Williams. Father of the Year.
His phone buzzed on the table. A new group chat from his team.
Kenji: Guys, we need to talk. URGENT.
Maya: What is it now? Did you bet on another curling match?
Kenji: No. This is way more serious. Izzy just asked me to help with Chantal’s birthday party.
Ronan: LOL. You? Around sugar-hyped six-year-olds? This I gotta see.
Kenji: Exactly. I need backup. It’s a tactical nightmare.
Axel: Have you considered saying no?
Kenji: I tried. She gave me the look. You know the one. Like if you say no, your soul shrivels up and dies.
Zara: That’s just your guilt complex. You’ll live.
Kenji: I CAN’T FACE THIS ALONE!
Deke: It’s a birthday party. Not a hostage situation.
Kenji: Could be both. There will be glitter. You think that stuff ever really goes away? It follows you. FOREVER.
Maya: He’s not wrong. Glitter is basically the beach sand of craft supplies.
Deke shook his head, fighting a smile as he shoved the phone into his pocket and grabbed his gear.
The exchange was bittersweet. He and his team were tight, woven together through years of trust and camaraderie.
But he and his own son? Strangers sharing the same roof, separated by mine fields worse than any he’d ever faced.
Fifteen minutes later, Deke pulled into the secured perimeter of Knight Tactical Protection, a sprawling, high-tech compound tucked against the snowy expanse of Hope Landing’s airport.
A cluster of sleek, three-story hangars stood sentinel, housing Knight Tactical’s fleet of jets and helicopters.
Beyond the security gates lay the headquarters—a fortress of reinforced glass and steel, brimming with cutting-edge surveillance tech, an armory stocked with specialized gear, and a state-of-the-art gym where workouts bordered on brutal.
He stepped into the familiar hum of activity—voices blending with the click of keyboards, the occasional thud from the training room where someone was working off tension with fists against a bag.
The blast of warm, filtered air hit him as the heavy security doors hissed shut behind, carrying the faint scent of industrial cleaner, freshly brewed coffee, and the subtle tang of gun oil. Boots scuffed against polished concrete floors.
The chaos of Knight Tactical was a sharp contrast to the suffocating silence in his house that morning.
The gourmet kitchen was already buzzing with the scent of fresh coffee and something warm baking, courtesy of whoever had drawn breakfast duty.
Upstairs, luxury guest suites sat ready for clients needing protective custody, designed with the same precision as their tactical plans.
Ronan leaned against a desk, flipping a pen between his fingers in a casual, steady rhythm.
Maya stood nearby, arms crossed, her sharp eyes tracking everything, missing nothing.
Axel sat at a corner table, deep in conversation with Izzy, their petite, tattooed team mechanic, whose easy smile softened Axel’s usual stoicism while her sharp wit kept everyone else on their toes.
Kenji lounged on a chair, feet propped up on a desk, scrolling through something on his phone with a grin that suggested trouble. Zara, as usual, hovered near the espresso machine, her quiet presence grounding amidst the controlled chaos.
Ronan squinted at him, pulling a face. “You look like you got hit by the entire Eagles’ front line.”
An apt description. He felt like it, too. “Rough morning.”
“Aren’t they all with a teenager?” Axel clapped him on the back. “Surprised you’re still standing, dude.”
“But am I really?” Deke managed a smirk, though he knew it didn’t reach his eyes.
“They say it gets easier,” the usually quiet Griff added, sympathy clear in his expression.
Deke rubbed the knot at the base of his skull. “I keep waiting.”
The team laughed, their voices filling the space easily, light and unforced. Deke managed a grin, but it felt like wearing someone else’s face.
Because no matter how good he was at this job, he couldn’t figure out how to protect the one thing that mattered above all else.
The one mission he couldn’t afford to blow.