“I didn’t have to search. I knew early what I wanted to do. Doing something that improves the lives of others, others that might never realize what their life could have been without protection … it’s always fit.”
She makes a pleased sound in the back of her throat, one that settles low in me before I can stop it.
“Well, you do have broad enough shoulders to lift the weight of the world,” she adds lightly, “figuratively and literally.”
I shake my head, a quiet huff escaping me as I hook the toe of my boot under the stool, anchoring myself in place. Holding ground has always come easily. It’s everything else that’s starting to feel dangerous.
Because beneath the teasing, beneath the easy banter, something else is taking shape.
The need to understand her. To peel back the layers. To connect.
It presses against the discipline I’ve lived by for years, bending it, reshaping it into something sharper and far more personal—something that feels less like duty now, and far more like desire.
Her eyes flit over my shoulder and she smiles gently. “Hi, Michael.”
“President Trent,” I say without turning away from her.
She’s in jeans that fit her perfectly and green top that compliments her eyes. In just the right moments, I can catch a sliver of her cleavage or a strip of her lower back. I shouldn’t look. She’s fifteen years younger than me, simply doing her job, but looking and not commenting seems to be the most control I can muster.
“Hey, you ready for your break? I cover for you.” Melissa asks.
Hailey glances at me, then nods. There’s an invitation in her eyes, maybe even a request, but Michael standing next to me keeps me rooted to the spot. He’s a reminder of reality before I can get swept up in another conversation that I won’t want to end, one that becomes more than a scratch along the surface.
Melissa slides him a beer and drifts off to talk with a few of the others, leaving Michael studying me with quiet intent.
“You’re here more than usual,” he says mildly. “I’d wager something… or someone has caught your attention, Captain Holt.”
“Not something,” I answer, honest without volunteering more.
He considers that, then nods once. When his hand comes to rest on my arm, it’s not a reprimand. It’s steadier than that.Familiar.
“I like to think I know people, Weston,” he says gently. “I won’t make assumptions. But I will say this—not everyone is as fragile as you believe.”
My shoulder tightens under his touch.
“And not everyone needs saving,” he continues. “Protecting someone is honorable. It’s what you’ve done your whole life.” His gaze holds mine, kind but unyielding. “But letting yourself care? Letting yourself be happy? That takes a different kind of strength.”
I look away.
“You’ve trained men and women to face fear,” he adds quietly. “You’ve carried responsibility longer than most. At some point, you’re allowed to want more than duty.”
“I know what happens when emotions get involved,” I say darkly.
Michael doesn’t flinch.
“So do I,” he replies. “And I also know what happens when a man convinces himself he doesn’t deserve joy.”
My eyes flick to his and hold.
“I’ve seen too many old guys in here who realize too late that work isn’t as fulfilling as they once thought and that loneliness isn’t noble,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to see you become one of them.”
“I’m not fifty and hopeless,” I defend. “And everyone walks a different path.”
“Some have the same scenery even if they don’t fully overlap,” he answers with a shrug. “Just keep that in mind with your frequent visits.”
I almost roll my eyes, but instead, head out, leaving cash for my soda. Conversations I look forward to and a woman that is somehow always more than I expect and a familiar comfort at the same time isn’t a promised love connection.
***
