Page 61 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2

They don’t understand that I don’t know how to hold a woman without Gabe by my side. Or that he feels the same. We need each other. Always have.

Whatever this thing is between us, it’s not about sex. It’s never been about that. It’s deeper than friendship. Deeper than the blood of brothers. It’s not clean and it’s impossible to describe, but it’s everything. It’s the way we move in sync. The way we balance each other. It’s how I can feel his pulse from across a room and know exactly what he’s about to do before he does it.

I need him in ways I’ve never been able to put into words, and as much as he broke something in me the second he saidshe’s mine, he needs me just as much as I need him. Maybe even more so.

But none of that matters right now.

What matters is Ally and the rest of our women.

All that matters is bringing them home.

So I push my anger down. I shove it so deep I don’t have to feel it until this is over. Until they’re safe. Until I can bleed in peace.

“We’re solid,” I say again. This time with more weight behind it. I feel the shift in me. The determination to do whatever it takes to bring Ally home. I’m done fighting with Gabe. I need my friend standing beside me. The rest?

We’ll figure out the rest later.

Ethan gives us one last look, then jerks his chin toward the rest of the team, already gathering by the waterline. “Good. Saddle up. Manic Mitzy is ready for us.”

As he walks off, Gabe limps beside me, quiet and slow.

We don’t speak. Not yet.

This mission just became the only thing holding us together. I’ll be damned if I let either of us fall apart before Ally’s back in our arms.

Because none of this means a damn thing if we don’t get her back.

“We’re calling a truce.” My voice is low but firm. No edge, no venom. Just finality. “We’re calling it because we don’t get to fall apart right now. Not when she’s out there. Not when she needsbothof us.”

He turns toward me, and I catch the side of his face—bruised, smeared with blood, jaw clenched around whatever emotion he’s still swallowing.

“I’m with you,” he says quietly. No hesitation. No ego. “We get her back. Together. You and me. Like it’s meant to be, and I’m going to make it up to you.”

I nod once. It’s not absolution. Not even close. But it’s something. I glance out toward the surf, where the tide creeps in like time, slow and merciless.

For a second, we stand there—two men held together by loyalty and the ghost of the woman we’d burn the world down to protect.

It’s not forgiveness, but we’re no longer at war. Gabe and I stand together. As we always have.

TWENTY-ONE

Clean Slate

HANK

We followEthan across the rocky beach toward the massive bonfire setup. Smooth stones shift under our boots, the kind worn round by decades of Northern California surf. Tide pools dot the shoreline like scattered mirrors, reflecting the late-afternoon sky in perfect miniature.

Gabe walks beside me, not behind, not ahead.

With me.

Charlie team spreads around the unlit bonfire like they’ve been waiting for orders. Blake’s eyes immediately catalog Gabe’s swollen left eye.

I grab a seat on one of the weathered logs. Gabe settles beside me. It’s the way things should be, the two of us gravitating toward each other.

But that moment from just minutes ago still burns in my mind. When I took a swing at Gabe and he just—took it. Didn’t counter. Didn’t try to block. Just absorbed the hit like he deserved it.

That’s not the Gabe I’ve known for years. The Gabe who fights like a cornered animal when pushed. The Gabe who never backs down from anything.