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NINE

ALEJANDRA

I’m standing in the sea of families, feeling so out of place because I don’t fit in with everyone around me.

At the base, the air crackles with a mixture of anticipation, fear, and excitement.

The sounds of hushed conversations, nervous laughter, and the occasional tearful outburst fill the space.

This mission turned to shit and Gage was coming home.

Families of other unit members are here waiting to greet their significant others.

I’m here, too. But not as a wife, not as a girlfriend—just as the nanny, the woman who’s been taking care of his child while he’s been gone.

But this feels like more than that.

Much more.

I adjust Zoe in the carrier on my chest, adjusting the straps to make sure she’s comfortable. She’s sound asleep, her tiny body nestled against me, her breath soft and steady. She looks so peaceful, unaware of the world around her, but for me, the pressure of everything is overwhelming.

I keep my eyes on the bus, watching as it slows to a stop before us. Marines in full gear begin to file off, their faces tired but familiar. The heat from the engine can be felt in the crowd and one by one—a sea of men who have fought and bled for their country—file off the rig.

I try not to focus too hard on the fact that Gage is among them. He’s been gone for weeks. That he’s been through God knows what, and I don’t know how it has changed him. And that’s the hardest part.

Not knowing.

I scan the faces, my heart fluttering in my chest, a mix of anxiety and hope clawing at me. I don’t recognize any of the other men, and why would I? It’s not like I’m that important of a person to where Gage would feel the need to introduce me to people.

Then I see him.

Gage is near the back of the group, moving slower than the others. His usual confident stride is replaced with something more uncertain, more... burdened. His face is drawn, his eyes shadowed, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s being helped down the steps of the bus by a corpsman.

I can’t breathe for a second as I watch him—the way he limps slightly, the obvious grimace on his face.

There’s a slight stagger to his step, and my mind races, trying to process the sight.

I want to run to him, but my feet are frozen, my hands clutching Zoe a little too tightly, like I’m holding on to something that’s slipping away.

My stomach churns with a sudden wave of fear.

I can see that he’s hurt.

My throat constricts, a lump of fear lodged there, as I try to calm myself, but the truth is, I’m terrified.

In the weeks since he left, I’d replayed this moment a hundred times in my mind, each time imagining a different outcome, but nothing prepared me for the gut-wrenching reality.

I never thought it would feel like the ground beneath me might collapse.

Gage looks up, scanning the crowd, and then, for a split second, his eyes meet mine.

I almost think I imagined the way his face softens, the way his posture shifts, like he’s relieved to see me.

But then he pulls his hand free of the Marine helping him, and he stumbles toward me, moving with purpose.

My breath catches as he closes the distance between us, and everything else in the world fades. The noise of the crowd, the shuffling of feet—it all becomes background noise as I focus on him. His gaze flickers to Zoe, and something in his face shifts.

“Hey, you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like he hasn’t spoken in days. He reaches out, and I expect him to grab for Zoe first, but instead, he rests his hand gently on my cheek, his touch warm and surprisingly tender.

I draw in a breath, surprised at the intimacy of the gesture. There’s something in the way he’s looking at me—something I don’t know how to interpret. And for a second, I don’t know what to say. I’m here, holding his daughter, holding his world, and I realize— I don’t know my place in all of this.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” I say softly, the words coming out more easily than I expected, but my heart is still hammering in my chest. I want to say more, want to reach for him, but something in my throat is caught, tangled with emotions I can’t fully process. I have to stay calm.

“I’m fine,” he replies, though his face tells a different story. His eyes scan me briefly, lingering longer than usual. “How’s she been?”

“Perfect. She’s honestly the best baby on the planet,” I tell him, shifting Zoe on my chest, feeling the baby’s warmth press against me. “She’s growing so fast. You’re going to blink, and she’ll be walking.”

Gage chuckles, but it’s strained, as if the sound is forced. “Yeah, well, I’ve missed a lot, haven’t I?”

I nod, biting my lip. “A lot.”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I’ll be home for a bit while I heal up. You’ll have a break.”

I want to reach out to offer some comfort, but I don’t know how.

He’s not just the father of my charge, no, he’s a man I’ve come to care about in ways I never thought I would.

But I can’t cross that line. Not now. Not with him like this.

I take a small step back, putting more distance between us, trying to keep things professional—just for a moment longer.

Gage seems to notice the shift in the air. He lowers his gaze to Zoe, the softness returning to his eyes. Then he gently leans down, careful of his injury, and places a kiss on her forehead. It’s so tender that it makes my breath catch in my throat. This is what love looks like , I think.

And I feel like an intruder.

He pulls back slowly, his eyes dark with something unspoken. Something more than gratitude. Something more than just obligation.

And then, as if it’s instinct, his hand reaches for mine, brushing my fingers lightly as if testing the waters. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the weight of his hand there, steady and warm. A sudden warmth spreads through me and I almost pull my hand away, but I don’t. I can’t.

When his eyes meet mine again, there’s a flicker of something in them, something I can’t name, but it makes the space between us feel like it’s shrinking, pulling us closer in ways I can’t explain.

“We should get you home,” I say, my voice a little shaky. I step back, moving towards the waiting car, still clutching Zoe close. “I’ll take care of you, Gage. Everything is going to be okay.”

I know it’s not my job to take care of him. But I don’t just care about Zoe. I care about his well-being too. We get plenty of stares from men in his unit and their significant others, and I can only imagine the things they are thinking.

“Ready to go?” I look up at him, and his green eyes gaze into mine. I motion to his truck, which he told me to bring because of his gear.

He doesn’t protest. Instead, he follows me a few steps behind, moving slower than usual.

He’s injured, yes, but there’s more than just physical pain on his face.

There’s a heaviness that’s difficult to ignore.

I don’t know what happened to him out there, but I know it’s something that’s changing him.

***

The next day is rough. Gage is home, recuperating, but his injuries are more than just physical.

I can see it in the way he can’t fall asleep, in the way his hands clench when he’s not paying attention, and in the way his eyes look like they’re always somewhere far away.

But he doesn’t talk about it. He doesn’t talk about his friend. He doesn’t talk about the mission.

Instead, he lets me take care of him, and that feels... strange. It feels more intimate than I ever expected it would. He tries so hard to care for Zoe, but mostly it’s me bringing her to him while he’s in bed or on the couch.

The first time I help him out of bed, I can feel the tension in his body, the stiffness in his movements.

I’m gentle and careful, supporting his body as he leans into me.

He’s taller than I am, his frame broader, but he lets me help him, and it makes something twist in my chest. There’s vulnerability there, something I haven’t seen in a man before.

Gage’s always been the one in control. Always been the one giving orders. But now he’s the one who needs something from me. And that’s harder than I expected.

“I can do this,” he grumbles, but there’s no real conviction in his voice. He’s not arguing, he’s just trying to keep his pride intact.

I don’t say anything. I don’t have to. Instead, I just guide him toward the couch, where I can help him sit. I settle him down, then go about fixing the meal I’ve prepared for him. I know he’s uncomfortable, but I can see the effort he’s making to hold himself together.

The service feeds men all that machismo bullshit and I’m seeing it firsthand with Gage.

He doesn’t have to do that with me. I’m not going to judge him for needing help.

He fucking risks his life for this country and if he needs to be vulnerable, then he should feel safe enough to.

Especially in his own home, behind closed doors. Where it’s just the three of us.

When I return with a tray of food, he’s staring out the window, his mind elsewhere. I sit beside him, setting the tray down on the coffee table. Zoe’s in the playpen next to the couch, where she is close enough for him to watch her.

“You need to eat,” I tell him, my voice gentle but firm. He doesn’t look at me, but he nods, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance.

I place a hand on his shoulder, my fingers brushing lightly over his skin. “It’s okay, Gage. You don’t have to pretend you’re fine.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond. Then, slowly, he turns to face me. His eyes are dark, shadowed with something I can’t quite place, but I know it’s not just the physical pain that’s bothering him.

“I’m not fine,” he admits quietly. “But I’m trying, Ale. I’m trying to get back to who I was. Who Zoe needs me to be.”

“I know,” I say softly. “And I’m here. For you and for Zoe. Let me take some of the burden while you heal.”

For the first time, I saw him really look at me, his eyes lingering on my face. More than just the caretaker. Not just the nanny. But me. And something shifts in his eyes. Something unspoken, like we’re both standing on the edge of something we don’t know how to deal with.

“For me?” He mumbles under his breath. “Nobody’s ever been here for me.”

Those words are all it takes for the feelings growing inside to shift and become real. I’m not just here for Zoe. I’m here for Gage too.

I’m so fucked.