Page 52 of Oliver (The Golden Team #7)

Oliver

T he house was still when I woke up.

No footsteps, no team banter, no buzz of emergency communications. Just the hush of dawn and the soft, steady weight of Emery’s breath against my shoulder.

For a minute, I lay there staring at the ceiling.

The part of me wired for battle cataloged threats by habit — windows locked, dog on the porch, Cyclone probably awake and pacing — but the bigger part, the one Emery had brought back to life, was selfishly, stupidly grateful that the only thing I had to do right now was breathe.

And love her.

God, I loved her.

I slipped out of bed carefully so I wouldn’t wake her. She didn’t stir — exhaustion finally winning out over that fire she carried like a sword. She’d sleep through an earthquake if it hit this house right now.

I padded barefoot to the kitchen, found eggs, bread, and the last few pieces of bacon Gage hadn’t demolished last night. As I cooked, I caught my reflection in the window over the sink.

A soldier. A husband. A father. A man trying to remember what it meant to build something instead of blow it up.

When Emery shuffled in, hair tangled, wearing my old shirt, I thought: I’d fight every cartel and corrupt bastard on this earth just to wake up to this.

She caught my look and laughed sleepily. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Sit down. Breakfast.”

She made a face. “Oliver, you do not have to—”

I kissed her before she could finish. She tasted like sleep and mint toothpaste, and I didn’t care about the damn eggs burning.

“You saved the world,” I murmured. “Let me fry you a piece of bacon.”

She grinned, pulling back just enough to rest her forehead against mine. “Deal.”

Later, plates scraped clean, we sat shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen table. Outside, the sun rose gold over the yard we hadn’t mowed in weeks. Olly, was off at school.

“What happens now?” she asked.

I looked at her. “Now? We breathe, and relax.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Relax?” Do you know how to do that?”

“Or we can go to an island. Depends on if you want to swim in peace here or rule another country.”

She snorted and swatted my arm. “Smartass.”

“Yours.”

She bit her lip, sudden emotion shading her eyes. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore, Oliver. I want to live. Really live.”

I cupped her face. “Then we will. Together. Always.”

And for the first time in a long time, I believed it.