Page 33

Orion

A warm summer sun spills across my back porch, the light catching on the rim of an iced tea pitcher and reflecting in bright patches on the worn wooden boards. I suck in a deep breath, enjoying the lingering aroma of freshly mowed grass, and then return my attention to the grill. The sizzle of hot dogs and the occasional flare of tiny flames fill me with an odd sense of contentment—an anchor grounding me in this moment.

It’s been a few months since everything happened. A few months since the gunfire, the hospital stay, and that final confrontation that nearly cost me everything I cared about. But now, as I stand here grilling hot dogs in my own backyard, the smell of charcoal and spiced meat mingling with the laughter drifting through the open screen door, it all feels a world away.

Briar’s moved in with me, and though we’ve had our share of adjustments—my tidy habits versus her sudden bursts of creative clutter, Jeb’s unpredictable chatter in the early mornings—it’s better than I could’ve dreamed. She’s here. She’s safe. And that’s all I could ever really want.

“Yo, Orion!” Riggs calls from behind me, leaning against the porch rail. He’s holding a bottle of beer, wearing a grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “How’re those dogs looking?”

I glance at the ten hot dogs sizzling away. “They look about done. You see Dean’s face if I burn them?” I smirk, flipping another patty. “He’d never let me hear the end of it.”

Riggs chuckles, knocking back a swig from his beer. “He might make you run laps around the block.”

“Or reassign me to cooking duty full-time,” I tease. Even the thought of official assignments sends a ripple of relief through me, because the last few months have been blessedly quiet. The Russians and Heath are in custody, Jason’s no longer a threat, and the rest of us have returned to normal routines—whatever normal means for a bunch of protective detail guys.

From inside the house, I hear a burst of laughter, punctuated by the distinctive squawk of Jeb’s voice. That bird’s grown more talkative by the day, apparently thrilled to have so much company around. He’s become the unintentional life of every gathering.

Riggs nods toward the open patio door. “Sounds like Jeb’s entertaining the masses again.”

I can’t help the grin that surfaces. “He’s a show-off. Next time we have a big get-together, I’m half expecting him to break out a stand-up comedy routine.”

Riggs arches an eyebrow. “Couldn’t be worse than some of Gunner’s jokes.”

We share a laugh. Then the squeak of the screen door signals new arrivals to the porch. I glance over my shoulder and see Dean stepping out, hand in hand with Sophia. She’s beaming, dressed in a breezy sundress, her dark hair pinned up in a loose bun. Dean’s got that relaxed look of a man who’s left a thousand worries behind. The difference from a few months ago is night and day—he’s let himself enjoy life again.

“Everything okay in there?” I ask, nodding toward the house.

Sophia answers with a radiant smile. “Everything’s great. Ranger was telling Tory about his last assignment in the Bahamas, and Jeb keeps repeating the word ‘Bahamas’ in the funniest accent. Gunner’s about ready to throttle him if he says it one more time.”

Dean slips an arm around Sophia’s waist, giving her a playful squeeze. “We’re going to set the table. If those dogs are ready, we can bring them in.”

I poke one of the hot dogs with my tongs, listening to the juice sizzle. “Yep, just a minute or two more. You guys mind grabbing the buns and condiments?”

“On it,” Dean says, turning back into the house with Sophia.

The screen door clacks shut, and Riggs steps forward to help me pull the hot dogs off. We slide them onto a large platter that Briar insisted we get—white porcelain, no chips around the edges—one of many little upgrades to the place since she moved in. I used to live a strictly functional life: minimal furnishings, no decorative nonsense. But now there are splashes of color in every room, pictures on the walls, a new throw blanket across the couch. Every time I see these little touches of her, a quiet joy sparks inside me.

Platter in hand, I nod for Riggs to open the door. We head inside, where the living room is in the midst of some chaotic conversation. Jeb is perched on the back of a chair, repeating “Bah-hah-mas!” in a singsong voice that’s part parrot, part comedic impression. Ranger stands near him, arms crossed, grinning. Beside Ranger is Tory, the petite blonde who overcame her own set of challenges—some of which I only half know, involving a security mission that went sideways. She’s wearing a bright smile, amused by the spectacle.

Across the room, Gunner sprawls on the couch, rolling his eyes while Maverick and Briar chat animatedly next to him. The moment we walk in with the hot dogs, the smell must hit them because the conversation halts, replaced by appreciative murmurs.

Briar looks up, and our eyes lock. Her smile is instant, brightening every corner of my heart. She bounds over to me, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. “Smells amazing,” she says, her voice low enough that only I hear the approval in her tone.

“Have to keep you well-fed,” I murmur back, ignoring the gentle teasing glances from our friends. I never used to do small talk or flirty banter, but with Briar, it's as easy as breathing.

She giggles, guiding me toward the dining table, which has been extended to accommodate the entire group. Bowls of salad, chips, a tray of condiments, and a pitcher of iced tea line the center. Dean sets down a basket of warm buns, and Sophia places a stack of plates at one end. Within seconds, the once-quiet table is a flurry of activity as we all gather around, pulling out chairs and passing around dishes.

“All right, all right,” Ranger calls out, raising his voice to be heard above the hustle. “Let’s get a seat before Jeb decides to sample everything.” He gently shoos Jeb off the back of a chair, and the bird flutters to a smaller perch in the corner, squawking in mild protest.

We manage to cram around the table, a cozy sort of chaos. Dean at the head, Sophia beside him, then Maverick, Gunner, Ranger, Tory, Briar, and me. Riggs, who always picks the most awkward seat, ends up at the far corner near Jeb. The bird eyes him as though planning a sneak attack.

A lull settles as we dig in. Paper plates crinkle, and plastic cups rustle. The aroma of fresh-grilled beef mingles with the crisp tang of salad dressing. There’s a sense of relief in the air, that intangible weight lifted from all our shoulders.

Mid-meal, I glance across at Gunner, who’s wearing an expression of thinly veiled disgust. He picks at the label on his beer bottle. Maverick arches an eyebrow. “Something on your mind, Gunner?”

Gunner huffs. “The new assignment. Dean stuck me with bodyguard duty for that Hollywood actress, Scarlett something. I’m not looking forward to babysitting some pampered starlet.”

At that, Tory laughs softly. “You think it’s going to be that bad?”

He shoots her a half-glare. “I’m an ex-Marine, not a glorified fashion accessory. The job starts in a week—two months in Los Angeles, trailing after this actress at red carpet events and swanky parties.” He shudders. “Doesn’t seem like my scene.”

Ranger chuckles, nudging him with an elbow. “C’mon, maybe you’ll like it. All those fancy parties and free drinks. Might even see some big-name celebrities. Hell, you might end up on the front page of a magazine.”

Gunner’s face twists like someone just made him eat a lemon. “I’d rather babysit Jeb in a hurricane.”

“Bah-hah-mas!” Jeb exclaims from his perch, as if weighing in on the conversation. We can’t help but burst into laughter, the tension melting away in an instant.

Dean clears his throat, pretending to be serious. “Look, we all have to take the occasional assignment that’s not exactly a perfect fit. Just try not to scare the poor woman with your scowl.”

“Asher might be more suited for that job,” Maverick says. “He’s got the calm, quiet thing going on. He can handle starlets, no problem.”

Gunner levels a scowl at them. “At least I won’t have to deal with your wisecracks. I’ll be on the west coast, far away from this crew.”

Riggs, who’s been silent, chimes in with a smirk. “Send pictures, or we’ll never believe it’s real.”

The table breaks into another round of laughter, and I smile, letting the conversation wash over me. This is what we fought for—these moments of camaraderie, free from fear or bullets or kidnappings. My gaze shifts to Briar, who’s nibbling on a chip while surveying the group with a contented expression. She catches me looking and raises an eyebrow in question.

I lean closer, letting the chatter fade into the background. “How’re you holding up?” I ask softly, mindful of her past anxieties.

Her green eyes shine with warmth. “I’m good,” she answers, resting a hand on mine under the table. “Happy.”

A wave of affection swells in my chest. God, I love her. The thought is so strong I can’t help the surge of pride that follows—pride that she chose me, that we survived all that chaos and still found each other intact.

Across the table, Dean pushes back his chair and stands. The group grows quiet, expecting some sort of announcement. Dean’s always been the leader, the anchor for us. He clears his throat, glancing around.

“I just want to say,” he begins, “it’s good to have all of us here, healthy and safe. Lincoln, Asher, and Boone are definitely missed, but their jobs are still going strong and they’re in the thick of it now. However, we’ve seen some dark days, but nights like this remind me why we do what we do—to protect the people who matter, and to keep living even after the worst storms.”

A flicker of emotion passes over his features, and Sophia slips her hand into his. The rest of us nod, murmuring our agreement. I feel Briar squeeze my fingers again, an unspoken vow that we’re in this together.

“Now,” Dean continues, forcing a lighter tone, “I’m going to excuse myself to rummage through Orion’s fridge. I need another drink, and there’s bound to be dessert around here. Right, Sophia?”

Sophia laughs. “We brought homemade cupcakes. Double chocolate, your favorite.”

A general groan of delight ripples around the table. I catch Gunner rolling his eyes again, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. Maverick chuckles, patting his stomach. “Well, we might have to waddle out of here.”

We continue feasting, the conversation weaving from topic to topic—Ranger and Tory’s upcoming trip to the mountains, Maverick’s new side hobby designing custom drone attachments, Riggs’s plan to visit family overseas. Even Jeb gets a mention, though mostly to complain about his 5 a.m. squawking. Briar volunteers an impassioned defense of the bird, claiming he’s just “energetically curious.” We all grin and humor her.

Eventually, the plates clear, the drinks run low, and we drift into the backyard to sprawl on lawn chairs, the sky overhead streaked with oranges and purples from the setting sun. Jeb waddles around on the grass, pecking at random spots. Ranger keeps an eye on him, calling out, “Don’t you dare take flight and vanish, you little thief.” Jeb merely cocks his head, squawks “Bah-hah-mas!” once more, and flutters closer.

I settle onto a cushioned outdoor sofa, Briar tucked beside me. She leans her head against my shoulder, and I drape an arm around her. Her hair smells like citrus shampoo and sunshine. The rest of the crew lounge around, finishing off the last of the iced tea or cracking open new bottles of beer. A comfortable silence envelops us, punctuated by the chirping of crickets and the occasional whir of a passing car in the distance.

When darkness finally settles, Dean and Sophia start gathering their things. Gunner stands, picking at his phone, no doubt checking for the next dreaded Hollywood assignment. Maverick and Riggs chat quietly about tomorrow’s training schedule. Ranger and Tory slip inside to wash a few dishes, and the muffled sound of running water filters through the open windows.

Briar shifts in my arms, her lips grazing my ear. “Ready for them to go so we can have some alone time?”

My heart stutters at her soft tone. Alone time. After everything, that concept feels sacred. I nod, pressing my mouth to her forehead. “More than ready.”

As if on cue, the final goodbyes are said. Maverick, who was quiet most of the evening, offers a handshake and a grin, referencing an early morning briefing with Dean. Ranger and Tory linger a bit, exchanging a warm look with me and Briar. Then, with Jeb safely back on his perch, we’re left alone at last.

We migrate back into the house, flipping off a few lights until only the living room lamp casts a gentle glow. The remains of the evening’s feast clutter the table, but it can wait. I guide Briar to the couch, and we sink into the cushions, the hush of night settling around us.

“You did good tonight,” she whispers, tracing a fingertip along the collar of my shirt. “You always do. Making everyone feel safe.”

I shrug, a little self-conscious. “They’re family, in their own way.”

She nods, eyes reflecting the warm light. “A big, protective, kinda crazy family,” she amends with a grin.

We laugh, letting that notion sink in. For a moment, I recall the day I almost lost her, the bullet in my side, the endless hospital nights. My chest tightens with a flood of gratitude that she’s here, that we survived. Slowly, I cup her cheek.

“I love you, you know,” I say, voice thick with emotion. “Not a day goes by where I don’t realize how lucky I am.”

Her gaze softens, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. “I love you too,” she breathes, leaning in. Our lips meet, a soft, lingering kiss that conveys more than words ever could—a quiet vow, a promise of tomorrow.

When we part, she curls closer, resting her head on my shoulder. I skim my fingers up and down her arm. The hum of the air conditioner clicks on, stirring the curtains slightly. Jeb mutters something from the other room, but it’s subdued now that the crowd’s gone.

“What do you think happens next?” she asks softly, perhaps uncertain about the future now that the immediate danger has passed.

I take a slow breath. “We keep living,” I say simply. “Jason’s gone, the Russians are done for, and we’ve got a new normal. We watch out for each other, chase away nightmares if they pop up, and build something real here. Day by day.”

She nods against me. “Yeah. I like that plan.”

We settle into a contented quiet, the weight of the last few months lifting bit by bit. The living room lamp casts shadows that dance across the walls, and I hold onto Briar, my heart full in a way I never imagined possible.

Suddenly, Jeb flutters in, squawking what sounds like “Goodnight!” We exchange amused glances. Briar giggles, sliding off the couch to guide him back to his perch. I watch her, my chest tight with the kind of happiness that’s both terrifying and exhilarating in its intensity.

This is it , I think. This is what I wanted. A home, a life, and someone to share it with. Even if the next mission or crisis calls me away for a while, I know where my heart will remain—right here, with Briar. There’s no question about it.

She returns, curling into my side again, and I press a kiss to her hair. Outside, the night sky stretches infinite and peaceful, unbroken by threats. Inside, warmth and laughter linger, even after the lights dim, forging a memory I’ll carry forever. And I vow that nothing will take this peace from us again.