Faye appeared with our burgers, set them down, and disappeared again.
Lacey picked up a fry but didn't eat it. "What happened?"
My hands fisted on the table. "We were overseas. Routine patrol that turned into an ambush." The words came harder now. "My best friend—Cody Wakefield, kid from Oklahoma with a laugh that could shake a room—he got hit. I tried to get to him, tried to pull him out, but—"
The dust. The noise. The way his blood looked too bright against the sand. I could still feel his vest in my hands, the weight of him as I dragged him toward cover. Still heard myself screaming for a medic even though I knew—even though I could see in his eyes that he knew—it was already too late.
I stopped. Swallowed the memory down where it lived most days.
"He didn't make it," Lacey said softly.
"No. He didn't." I focused on my burger, not seeing it. "And I couldn't save him. Wasn't fast enough, strong enough, good enough. Just—failed. I hear him joking about the barbecue he was gonna make when we got home. See his face light up when he talked about his little sister's graduation. All the things he didn't get to do because I didn't move fast enough."
Her hand covered mine on the table. "It wasn't your fault."
"Logically, I know that." I turned my hand over, lacing our fingers together. "But knowing it doesn't make the guilt go away."
"No," she agreed quietly. "It doesn't."
We sat there for a moment, her hand warm in mine. She didn't try to fix it or tell me I was wrong to feel what I felt. Just held my hand and let the weight of it sit between us.
"That fear—of failing someone I care about—it's cost me before," I said finally. "Had a girlfriend few years back. She wanted marriage, kids, the whole thing."
Lacey waited, not pulling her hand away.
I traced a water ring on the table with my free hand. "She was great. Smart, kind, deserved someone who could give her a future. But I couldn't commit." The words tasted bitter. "She pushed for it, and I kept pulling back. Couldn't give her what she wanted when I was terrified I'd fail her. Fail to protect her, fail to be enough." I looked at Lacey. "She got frustrated. Left. Found someone who could give her what she deserved."
"And you don't blame her."
"No. I don't." I squeezed her hand. "She made the right choice."
Lacey was quiet for a moment, and she worked through something I could see playing out behind her eyes.
"So what's changed?" she asked quietly, her eyes searching my face. "Has anything really changed?"
The question hit like a punch to the gut. Direct. Honest. Exactly what I should have expected from her.
I leaned forward, needing her to understand. "I don't want to be a lonely warrior anymore."
"What does that mean?"
"Means I've got my deputies, my fellow veterans, my family. But it's not the same as having a good woman by my side." I lether see the truth. "I need someone who understands. Someone strong enough to walk with me, not behind me."
Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "You think that's me?"
"I see someone who's built a life on her own terms. Someone who doesn't need anyone." I leaned forward. "I'm hoping you'll be brave enough to want someone anyway. To let me in without losing yourself in the process."
She was quiet for a long moment. I could see her working through it, deciding whether to believe me.
Her eyes went glassy. She set down her coffee cup carefully. "Gage—"
"You don't have to say anything." I picked up my burger, giving us both an out. "Just—think about it."
We ate in companionable silence after that, the heaviness lifting into something easier. She told me about Mrs. Stubblefield's Chihuahua who'd gotten into her lipstick collection and shown up to his appointment looking like he'd been to a salon. I told her about Dell accidentally pepper-spraying himself during training.
By the time we finished, I felt lighter than I had in years.
Lacey set down her napkin. "I should head out. Sundays are my catch-up day for everything I don't get done during the week."
