Chapter 1
Wyatt
The wind slices across the training yard hard enough to make the scar under my ribs tighten.
“Jesus, Saint,” Jackson “Tex” Briggs mutters from behind me, his Southern drawl exaggerated as his breath fogs in the cold. He’s been in Montana for years, but the accent survived Hell Week, Kandahar, and three deployments—hence the callsign he’ll take to the grave. “You look like your lung is trying to file for divorce.”
“It already left me,” I grunt. “Didn’t leave a note.”
Tex snorts. “You’re hilarious. Truly. America weeps for the loss of your comedic talent.”
Sawyer “Tank” Granger’s loud, unfiltered laugh booms across the yard—the way it used to be before a roadside bomb gave him a reason to stop laughing for a while. Man’s built like a brick wall and twice as stubborn; Tank wasn’t just a callsign—it was a warning label. It’s good to hear that laugh again.
“You two bicker like an old married couple,” he rumbles.
“Shut up,” Tex and I say simultaneously.
Tank’s mouth splits his beard as he grins wider. He’s enjoying this way too much.
We’re supposed to be doing low-impact drills—doctor’s orders—but none of us are built for “low-impact” anything. The three of us were a team. A unit. Then two bullets ripped through my side, punching air out of a lung and color out of the world. Tex and Tank hauled me out of that mess.
They’re the reason I’m still breathing.
We look up as Henry Sutton strides across the yard. Henry has a three-month-old son now, and somehow he still looks like he could bench-press a tractor. The man has the face of a stone angel and the protective instincts of a pissed-off grizzly bear.
He nods at us. “Boys.”
“Boss man,” Tank says.
“Daddy of the Year,” Tex adds.
Henry’s mouth twitches. That’s basically his equivalent of a belly laugh. “I need a favor.”
Every hair on my neck stands up. Henry Sutton does not ask for favors lightly.
“A favor?” I echo.
Henry looks right at me.
Not at Tank.
Not at Tex.
At me.
My stomach drops. “Oh, hell no.”
“You don’t even know what I’m asking.”
“I can feel the trouble radiating off you like heatstroke.”
Tank whistles. “This is gonna be good.”
Henry crosses his arms. “It’s about Shay.”
That gets all three of us standing straighter. Shay’s family now. The kind you bleed for.
“She okay?” Tex asks.
