The packs are heavy—forty pounds each, standard Guard training—and we’re sweating in minutes, our boots crunching pine needles, our breath steady but feeling the exertion.
The climb’s a grind, but it’s good, the burn in my legs pulling my focus from Miles, from the flash drive, from the cartel mess threatening to swallow us.
As the peak comes into sight, the trail narrows, the trees thinning to reveal a rocky outcrop with a view of the valley below.
I feel the old competitive edge kick in, my blood pumping, and I break into a sprint, my pack bouncing. Cole and Max curse, their footsteps pounding behind me, and we’re neck-and-neck, pushing hard, our grunts mixing with the wind.
We hit the peak, collapsing onto the rocks, chests heaving, the valley sprawling beneath us in a sea of green and gold.
“Too close to call,” Cole pants, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Bullshit,” Max says, grinning. “I had you by a step.”
I laugh, catching my breath.
“Tie it is, you sore losers,” I laugh, loud and long, the sound probably carrying for miles around.
We sit for a moment, the silence heavy with camaraderie, the kind forged in blood and missions. But my mind drifts to Miles, and I can’t hold it in anymore.
“I’m in deep with him,” I say, my voice low. “Miles. It’s not just the mission. I’m ready to do whatever it takes to keep him safe, even if it puts my place in the Guard at risk.”
Cole’s eyes narrow, but there’s no judgment, just understanding.
“Shouldn’t come to that, man,” Cole says. “You’re one of us, always will be. But if it does, I’ve got your back. We’ll make it right.”
Max nods, his usual grin gone.
“Same here,” Max says. “You don’t get kicked out, Travis. Not on our watch.”
I swallow hard, their loyalty hitting me like a punch.
“Thanks,” I say, staring out at the valley. “I just… he’s different. Worth it.”
Max claps my shoulder, lightening the mood.
“Alright, enough sappy shit,” Max smirks. “Last one back to the cabin’s a double-chump!”
And with that, he’s off, sprinting down the trail, and Cole and I laugh, chasing after him, our packs bouncing, the forest blurring past.
Back at the cabin, we’re sweaty, breathless, and grinning, but the living area’s a disaster—blankets strewn across the floor, toy planets scattered, a makeshift “spaceship” of couch cushions toppled over.
Miles, Richie, and Billie are in their rompers, giggling in a pile of stuffed animals, their astronaut game clearly out of control.
Miles’ eyes light up when he sees me, but there’s a spark of arousal in them as he takes in my shirtless chest, slick with sweat, my muscles tight from the hike.
I feel a jolt of heat, his gaze igniting something primal in me.
“Boys,” I say, my Daddy voice firm but playful, “This mess better be tidy by the time we’re done showering.”
Cole and Max echo me, their tones matching mine, and the boys pout but nod, scrambling to start cleaning.
Miles’ eyes linger on me, his cheeks flushing, and I chuckle, leaning close.
“Looks like we both need a cold shower, Little.”
Miles giggles, biting his lip, and I head to the outdoor shower area with Cole and Max, the cool water a relief against my heated skin.
But my mind’s on Miles, his arousal, his trust, and the fight ahead.
