“I was drugged out of my mind.”
“You don’t even own houseplants,” Tex reminds me.
“I have one,” I shoot back. “Not my fault the others died.”
They look at each other like I’ve just proved their point.
Tank taps my chest with two fingers. “Come on, Saint. This is literally your thing.”
“My thing?” I echo.
“Protecting strays, lost souls, and anyone who looks at you with big eyes,” Tank says. “You earned that callsign fair and square.”
Tex sobers a little. “This auction… It’s not like the shit we saw overseas. It’s good.”
“It’s not,” Henry agrees. “It’s… good. Real good. Women who need out, men who’ll give ’em a fair shot. A fresh start. Safety.”
Tex inhales deeply, breath clouding in the cold. “Yeah. When shit goes sideways, like it did for us, you start thinking about what matters. Someone to come home to. Someone to build something with. My sister’s got that. So do the Suttons. Hell, why can’t we?”
Tank’s eyes soften in a way he’d punch me for pointing out. “It’s been almost two years since the blast,” he says quietly, glancing toward the mountains. “Maybe… I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in a cabin, drinking coffee and pretending I don’t want more.”
My chest tightens. Tank doesn’t talk about that day. Or about wanting anything.
He slaps Tex’s shoulder. “So… why not go? One night. Maybe meet someone who wants a new start as much as we do.”
Tex nods. “Doesn’t have to be anything. Just… possibility.”
Even now, they move like they’re still in formation. I look between them—two men who held me together when bullets tried to break me. Two men who’ve carried their own bruises in silence. Two men who, for the first time since we crawled out of hell, look like they’re finally admitting they want something real.
And damn if that doesn’t punch a hole straight through my armor.
“It’s not even dangerous,” Tex reasons. “It’s a matchmaking auction, not the Hunger Games.”
Tank adds, “Come on, man. You can stand in the back and scowl at inappropriate men. You’re good at scowling. It’s your primary hobby. We’ll even take separate vehicles so you can leave early and go brood somewhere.”
“I don’t brood.”
They stare at me.
I cross my arms. “Much.”
“Accept the emotional blackmail,” Tank says. “Embrace it.”
I exhale through my teeth.
My side throbs like it wants to vote to go back to my cabin and never speak to anyone again.
But every excuse I reach for collapses under the look in Henry’s eyes.
I sigh. “Fine. I’ll go.”
Henry gives me a nod like I’ve just been knighted. “Thank you, Wyatt. You’re her safe place. Nothing more.”
I grunt.
A cold question curls in my gut: what the hell have I agreed to?
This feels like volunteering to reopen an old wound.
