“We help you heal,” AB corrected softly, adding his hand to theirs.
Bones covered them all with his own, squeezing the back of my neck gently. “And we don’t give up. Ever. We’re with you, Dollface. All the way.”
Then Goblin shoved his head right up between all our arms and nudged my knee with his nose like he was impatient to be included.
A watery laugh broke out of me. “What do you say?” I asked him. “Ready to go back to Base?”
His sharp bark echoed in the hallway—and the guys laughed, real and warm, something bright cracking through the exhaustion around us.
We weren’t giving up.
I wasn’t giving up on her. I never would. But I wasn’t alone, and pretending I was didn’t help any of us. We were stronger together—broken pieces braced against each other.
“Then let’s go home,” I said, more certain this time.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
BONES
Two weeks after returning to Base, Montana welcomed us back with a snowstorm. Big, heavy flakes drifted past the windows like someone was shaking out a feather pillow over the mountains. The world outside was quiet, soft, and white—too peaceful compared to where we’d been, but that was the point of coming home.
Inside, the fire snapped and cracked in the stone hearth, throwing gold light across the living room. I sprawled in the large armchair, watching the flames chew through a fresh log. The whole place smelled like pine, cedar, and the faint sweetness of whatever Lunchbox had simmering in the kitchen. Something with apples, probably. He’d gotten even more weirdly domestic than ever.
The others were scattered around the open space. Voodoo pretended to read on the couch but was mostly watching Grace with the same quiet intensity I felt. Alphabet sat by the big window with his laptop open, fingers flying while Goblin snored at his feet, tail twitching every now and then.
And Grace…
Grace stood near the fire, arms folded, wearing one of my hoodies that swallowed her frame. She was staring into the flames like they were telling stories she wanted to hear.
We were settling back in. Slowly. Awkwardly. Carefully. Base had always been a retreat for the four of us—a place to breathe, to reset, to be something close to human again. But now it was hers too. Had been hers for a while, even if she never said the words out loud.
The trick was making sure she felt it.
Voodoo looked up at me from the couch, eyebrows raised as he asked without words whether I was going to say something to her or just keep hovering.
Hovering. The thought resonated with my internal disgust and I resisted the urge to grunt. I didn’thover, despite the number of times he or Lunchbox brought it up.
Alphabet snorted faintly and I spared him a withering look that didn’t make him do anything more than grin. He was already focused on his laptop again and missed it. Or maybe he just ignored it.
We were all making time to be out here. In the past, we returned to Base, debriefed, treated any injuries, then retreated to our various corners and?—
And nothing.
Alphabet did his work. Voodoo would read or research. Sometimes, he went out hiking as did Lunchbox. I—trained. It was what I had and what I did. I made sure they had what they needed and I trained.
The night before, we’d all gathered in here with popcorn, drinks, and slices of cake, which made Grace laugh, to watch a movie. Lunchbox had whipped up the cake because our beautiful girl had complained about the lack of chocolate to go with the popcorn.
We had chocolate bars, but she wanted those for the hot cocoa she made. A treat she’d introduced me to a couple of days before. I’d never been a fan of the stuff, but for Grace? Well, I’d drink it every day if she made it.
No, this time, coming back to Base had revealed differences in all of us. We spent more timetogetherwithout working. Movies. Games—though it amused me to discover that Grace was quite good at first person shooter games. Something that Alphabet absolutely delighted in.
Lunchbox was teaching her to cook and she’d only set fire to the stove top once. Voodoo took her down to the gym and dancing two days after we’d gotten back. I’d never envied my team before. Yet, here I was, envying them their ease with her.
They didn’t call what they were doing hovering. I resisted another snort. I didn’t want to draw her attention to our focus. Not while the firelight played over the soft curves of her face and highlighted her in this soft golden light. We were all watching her, but they found ways to play with her, and I hadn’t.
Maybe she wasn’t as aware of it as we were, but there was a lost air about her that made her seem so infinitely fragile. After everything—the interrogations, the rescues, Dvorak’s twisted game play, the dead-end leads—Grace needed space. Except she didn’t always know how to ask for what she needed, and we didn’t always know when to give it. So we watched. And waited. And stayed close.
