Page 4

GAGE

I don’t know why everyone is so insistent that I should be in a relationship.

Just because I happened to mention my plan to stop back at Rory’s to fix her step today, they all jumped on board with this finding the right woman thing.

Or rather, several iterations of the you’ve been spending a lot of time with Rory and have you thought about asking her out question.

Just because I’m concerned about her safety—I nearly tripped on that loose board myself, and if Rory was coming home loaded down with groceries, not paying attention, she could easily hurt herself—it doesn’t have to have some hidden meaning.

And to answer the asking her out question; no, I haven’t thought about it.

Well. I guess that’s not entirely true. Last month, just after we finished the grilled cheese sandwiches Rory made for us, and I was feeling touched that she’d remembered me saying they were my favorite as a kid, there was a moment when I wondered what if?

What if I wasn’t irreparably damaged and not nearly good enough for a woman like Rory?

What if she’d shown any inkling of interest in me?

What if I was the confident guy I used to be, who wouldn’t have thought twice about asking out an attractive and interesting woman?

But the answer to all those questions is a resounding no.

So when Winter, my friend and teammate’s fiancée, gently quizzed me about Rory yesterday, I gave her a polite but firm, No, I’m not looking to date . I’m too busy. Relationships just aren’t for me.

I hadn’t even meant to bring up my impromptu trip to Rory’s—a deviation from our typical once-a-week visits. But I was leaving the team meeting yesterday, and Winter happened to be out walking her dog, so she caught up to me to ask if I wanted to come over the next morning for breakfast.

“I was just thinking it would be fun,” she explained, “since all of you guys are home for once. Usually at least one or two of you are out on a job. I can make waffles, omelets, bacon, and maybe even pick up those cinnamon rolls from Breakfast Bliss that you guys like so much.”

It sounded nice, and if I didn’t have plans already, I probably would have said yes. I’ve been really trying to be more social lately, at least with my friends and their partners. But I promised Rory I’d come over first thing, and I don’t want to let her down.

She wouldn’t complain if I canceled. That’s not how Rory is. She would very kindly accept whatever excuse I gave and tell me it was no big deal.

But it is a big deal. I may have my fair share of flaws, but going back on my promises isn’t one of them.

And she already has so much on her plate—taking care of all the dogs at her shelter, coordinating rescues and adoptions, maintaining all the kennels, and keeping up with the never-ending list of repairs at her house.

I asked her once why she didn’t ask for volunteers, and she got this funny look on her face before saying something vague about preferring to do everything on her own.

But she doesn’t seem to mind me helping. And I have no intention of stopping. Not just because I ended up with a great companion, thanks to Rory, but like I told her yesterday, I like spending time with her.

She’s smart. Funny in her own quiet way. Hard-working. Generous. And she just has this way about her, like you could tell her anything and she would understand.

So it makes sense that I’d want to be friends with her.

Just friends, to the contrary of Winter’s not-so-subtle hints.

As I navigate the winding road that takes me to Rory’s property—keeping an eye out for any deer that might take opportunity of the last few minutes of semi-dark before the sun officially rises—my thoughts wander to how different my life is now compared to two years ago.

Two years ago, I was a virtual hermit, going weeks without seeing anyone.

I holed up in my house in Glover, a tiny town eighty miles northeast of Burlington.

Working remotely, all my communications were through email and virtual meetings.

I’d make a monthly trip to Burlington or St. Johnsbury to stock up on enough food to feed a small army.

And whenever one of my old Army buddies would call or text, gently suggesting I should come to visit, I always had an excuse ready.

Then Enzo, a former Green Beret who was stationed at Fort Campbell with me, called to ask for my help. His then-friend, now fiancée, was in trouble, and he needed people he could trust to have her six.

How could I say no? Even though we didn’t serve on the same team, I trained with him. Saw him around base. And on more than a few occasions, me and my fellow Night Stalkers were the ones to extract Enzo’s team from dangerous situations in the Middle East.

In the process, I realized I missed being part of a team. I missed making a difference. And when Enzo decided to form his own security team, the Green Mountain Guardians, despite my reservations, I wanted to say yes.

But there was one glaring difference between me and the rest of the guys on the team. Enzo, Knox, Alec, Ronan—they were still in practically the same shape as they’d been before they left the Army. Then there was me. The damaged one. The one who’d always be a liability to the team.

“That’s bullshit,” Enzo told me when I voiced my concerns.

“You’re just as important as anyone else.

Your flight skills, your ability to use drones for surveillance, and you didn’t hesitate to step up to help Winter when she needed it.

Plus, I’ve seen you sparring with Knox. You’ve still got it.

And I would absolutely want you at my six. ”

So I agreed to join the Green Mountain Guardians.

We all have regular jobs, but the rest of our time is dedicated to private security jobs and pro-bono protection cases.

The money we make from the paid jobs helps subsidize the pro-bono work, so we’re able to offer our assistance to people who can’t get help through more traditional means, like PIs or the police.

And last year, after Knox’s fiancée, Lark, had her own narrow escape, I started rethinking the whole living like a hermit thing.

Living nearly forty minutes away from the rest of the team, I couldn’t get to them right away in case of an emergency.

And that was more important than my self-imposed isolation.

Now I live in a newly-built cabin right on the GMG property, still with plenty of land and privacy, and it’s not nearly as bad as I feared. I’m around for my teammates more. I’ve gotten to know Winter and Lark better. And I don’t have to worry about letting down my team.

When I think about it, my life is much better than I ever thought it could be when I first moved here. Back then, I was depressed. Suffering from terrible PTSD. And I didn’t see anything positive in my future.

Now? I have friends. A team. Not just one job I enjoy, but two. A dog who’s become a trusted companion. And an unexpected bonus friend in Rory.

As I get closer to her house, my spirits lift, just as they always do when I come here.

Once I turn down her narrow driveway, my tires crunching across the gravel, the band that’s permanently notched around my chest releases.

Not entirely, I’m not sure it ever will, but there’s just something about this place that relaxes me.

Whenever I come here, Rory makes me feel welcome. Accepted. And when the dogs see me, they get all excited, which feels pretty great, too.

“Have you ever thought about asking Rory out?” Winter’s question repeats in my head. “Not that I’m trying to push you, Gage. But you’re just such a great guy. And I met Rory when we adopted Rusty. She’s so nice.”

She is. Rory, I mean. And maybe, if things were different, I would.

Up ahead, her house comes into view, a stone cottage that Rory informed me was on Vermont’s list of historic places. Beyond it, the barn is a cheery pop of red against the swirls of orange and crimson and yellows of the sunrise.

A quick glance at the dashboard tells me it’s a little before seven, which means Rory should be out in the barn feeding the dogs breakfast. I park in front of the house and open the car door, then grab my travel toolkit off the passenger seat and sling it over my shoulder.

But as soon as I hop out of my truck, I’m immediately struck by something out of the ordinary. Something I’ve never experienced in all the months I’ve been coming here.

The dogs are howling. Not just one or two, but from the sounds of it, all of them. And they aren’t playful, excited barks. They’re upset. Anxious.

But that’s not right. From what I know of Rory, she’s dedicated to these dogs. She feeds them like clockwork every morning, forgoing her own coffee and breakfast until they’re all taken care of.

So why are they barking? Could one of them be sick? Hurt?

Picking up my pace, I hurry towards the barn, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. One of Rory’s favorites terribly ill. A dog trapped by a malfunctioning kennel, even though the manufacturer guaranteed it was safe. Or?—

What if the newest dog—Charlie—got aggressive with Rory? What if he bit her? What if she’s inside the barn, injured, bleeding, and unable to get back to the house to call for help?

Dammit.

This is why I don’t like her living out here alone.

The closer I get to the barn, the more insistent the barking becomes. And the more my concern grows.

My concern escalates to full-blown worry when I try the back door to the barn and it’s still locked. A quick check of the larger double doors shows the same.

I rap on the doors, calling out for Rory, but the only response is more barking.

Dammit.

Where is she?

Doubling back, I head to the house, sidestepping the loose board on the porch as I make a beeline to the front door. Through the windows, I can tell all the lights inside are still off, another detail that adds to my increasing worry.