He gives a short nod. No hesitation.
That’s all I need.
From Ghost, that’s not approval. That’sbackup.
“So what do we call her?” Viper grins. “Future Mrs. Havoc? Cupcake?”
“Her name’sSage,” I growl.
Saying it feels like carving something into stone. Feels like the start of a storm.
That’s when Mercenary wanders in from the back, wiping grease off his hands. Roy’s built like a wrecking ball but moves like he’s in church.
“Who’s Sage?” he asks.
“Havoc’s woman,” Viper sing-songs.
Roy raises a brow. “Since when do you have a woman?”
“Since Idecided,” I snap. The words come out hard, faster than I mean them to. The room goes quiet.
I square my shoulders. The weight settling over me isn’t new. It’s the same one I carry every time I lead men into fire.
“I want something, I take it,” I say, voice even. “Doesn’t mean I forget her choice matters. She’ll come to me on her terms.”
My eyes flick to Viper. “But when she does? She’snotwalking away.”
Viper lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Our stone-cold prez caught feelings.”
“You say one more word,” I mutter, “and you’re cleaning the bathrooms with your toothbrush.”
My mouth twitches. They laugh because they can. Because they know me. And because beneath the bullshit, they know the truth.
The last time I felt something this real, it didn’t make it out of a warzone.
I’m not losing this one.
Not to fear.
Not to her past.
Not tomine.
Chapter 3
Sage
“Youcame,”Thomassayswith a sly grin, scooting his chair closer so I have to slide sideways to avoid tripping over his orthopedic shoes.
“Of course I came,” I reply, setting a tray of cinnamon rolls down on the table in front of him. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Two days after I met Havoc, I’m back at the community center. It’s not one of my teaching days, but it’s craft day in the main hall, and I promised to bring treats and help out.
If I’m honest, I needed the distraction. I barely slept. The low thrum of engines haunted the edge of my hearing, and I could still feel his gaze like a weight on my skin, even though I knew he wasn’t there.
“Regret? Spending time with us old farts is good for the soul,” Thomas declares. “Did you hear about Margaret’s grandson? The one that plays football? He’s single.”
“I’m busy,” I remind him. “And we’re not matchmaking me. We’re making centerpieces out of pinecones.”
