“Oh God, no, Max, that is not what I was hinting at,” she says hastily, putting her hand on my arm. “I just don’t want to be a bother. Well, more of a bother than I already am.”
Letting out a forced laugh, she tries to blink away the tears in her eyes and tucks the pillow I hand her under her arm.
“You are a blessing, not a bother,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “Now, let’s get out of here before Rockwell finds us. I’ll come back for your bed later.”
I grab the rest of her things and maneuver her out of the room. In a perfect world, she wouldn’t have to carry anything, but both of my hands being full is already a bit of a safety hazard.
People rarely believe me when I tell them most of my injuries didn’t happen on missions. I don’t have a ton of gory stories about gunshot wounds or frenzied enemies trying to beat me to a pulp. No, most entries in my medical record come from missing a step or three on the stairs, the occasional wild night with Logan, and accidents in our shared kitchen. I’m no longer allowed to flambé.
We arrive in my room, and Lily keeps on standing in the doorway, tightly clutching her pillow. I put her stuff on my bed and hope the message is clear enough.
“No way,” she protests, throwing her pillow past my head onto the couch. She wants to do the same with the blanket, but before she has a chance to do so, I grab her wrist. My fingers dig into her skin, and she lets go of the blanket, staring at me wide-eyed.
“I won’t discuss this,” I say, and for a moment, my voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. “Not today, baby. We can argue as much as your heart desires on any other day, but not now.”
A pout flashes over her lips, and I pull her closer.
“If you want to sleep on the couch so badly, we can share it. You can be my weighted blanket,” I whisper, turning her pout into a small smile.
There was a submissiveness in her gaze when I scolded her, and until now, I never saw the appeal in it. Preferred to be the one who gets the orders, who gives up control and breaks for someone else. But Lily is so damnsoft,and I’d be lying if I said I don’t like the idea of taking the lead with her.
She sits down on the bed, and I immediately pull her back up because I still need to show her around, or rather show her where she’s allowed to go.
Logan can’t be heard or seen anywhere, which means he’s either at the shooting range or spooking around on the training grounds like a bad omen.
Rumor has it that not even a week after Cantrell welcomed Logan on base, he generously offered to help with corrective training. I think it’s his way of mentally decompressing, and unsurprisingly, it also helps to keep the recruits in check. Tales of Mr. Cabrera’s creative punishments even crossed base borders, told like scary campfire stories in the mess hall.
Lily keeps on holding my hand as I lead her through the building. I knew I’d get to touch her all the time.
The second floor houses our private rooms, the shared kitchen, and the living room area. However, since I want to save this for last, we return to the stairwell and head down to the first floor. Past all the meeting rooms no one uses because we prefer our own offices, down the long hallway until we reach our private armory. Not that Lily needs access to it, but along with the large armory at the back of the garage, it’s usually a tour highlight.
Unlike Ruby, Lily does not get giddy upon seeing our Javelin and stays nervously plastered to my side instead, as if she’s worried about setting anything off by breathing the wrong way.
As we walk back to the stairwell, I look through the small windows on the office doors, almost tripping over my own feet when I see Sam, Rockwell, and Charlie in the captain’s office. The fact thatCharlieis involved in whatever is going on feels like getting hit in the face.
Charlie, whose middle name should be pacifist. Who stays back on every single mission because he’s better at working behind the curtain—his words, not mine. The very Charlie who fucked up more things than I could count in the short time he’s been with us.
His father and his lack of a backbone were the reasons he had to join the military and task force Phoenix, specifically because Rockwell and his dad are friends. Everyother unit would have kicked him out after a week, and I still suspect he somehow conned his way through basic training.
It’s not that I don’t like him or that he is an incompetent person; quite the opposite, actually. If he wants to, that is. Sometimes, it’s refreshing to spend time with someone whose moral compass is still intact, but nothing can distract from the truth that this isn’t the right career for him, and seeing that Rockwell trusts him more than he trusts me hurts.
Because I never fuck things up, at least not on the battlefield. I was among the youngest and most talented recruits in my platoon and completed all three levels of EOD training in record time while pursuing my bachelor’s degree in leadership and strategic studies.
So I may be too loud, too bold,too happy—still don’t get that one—but when it matters, I have my shit together.
“Hungry?” I ask as I lead Lily to the kitchen in our rec room, pulling a bar stool out for her.
“Starving,” she answers with a smile as she sits down.
“Pasta?”
“Mhm,” she mumbles, and by now, the smile on her face looks a little too forced for my liking.
“You know I won’t yell at you if you want something else, right?”
“Maybe something green?” she asks, playing around with a strand of her hair.
“Pesto Genovese?” I suggest as I look through our mostly barren pantry.
