"She's serious. About her work, about animal welfare, about doing things right." I'm pacing now, gesturing even though he can't see me. "You should have seen her at the consultation. She knew more about K9 program standards than half the handlers on base. Didn't back down when they questioned her, just pulled out research and made them look stupid for doubting her."
"She sounds solid."
"She is."
"Bring her with you when you come back."
The words hit me like a punch. "What?"
"To Texas. To Iron Creek. We could use a vet. Hell, we could use a good vet. Someone who actually understands working dogs and isn't trying to treat them like house pets." He's warming to the idea, talking faster. "Think about it—in-house veterinary care, behavioral consultations, training protocols. She'd be perfect."
My brain short-circuits.
Callie. In Texas. Working with Iron Creek K9. Living in Iron Creek near Wade and Jake and our parents. Building a life withme that doesn't involve deployment schedules and countdown clocks and wondering which assignment will take me away next.
A future that's permanent. Together. Real.
"Dean? You still there?"
"Yeah." My voice sounds distant. "Yeah, I'm here."
"Just think about it. Talk to her. See if she'd be interested."
"I'll think about it."
We finish the call with promises to touch base before the re-enlistment deadline, and then I'm standing outside the barracks with my phone in my hand and my head full of possibilities.
I could see it. All of it.
Callie moving to Texas. Her practice, but bigger. Better resources, challenging cases, the kind of work she clearly loves. Me at Iron Creek, training dogs, building something real with my family. Both of us together at the end of the day instead of counting down to the next goodbye.
It makes perfect sense.
We could make it work. I know we could. She's practical, ambitious, loves a challenge. Moving to Texas to run veterinary operations for a growing K9 security company would be exactly the kind of opportunity someone like her would appreciate.
And she likes me. Really likes me. Last night proved that.
I'm already imagining the conversation. How I'd lay it out—my options, my feelings, the future I can see so clearly now. She'd probably ask questions, want details about the business and the logistics and how it would all work. She's thorough like that.
But once she saw the potential, she'd understand. She'd see what I see.
Right?
Back in my room, I pull out the re-enlistment papers that have been haunting me for weeks.
They don't feel heavy anymore.
The choice is obvious now. Don't re-up. Go home. Build a life that doesn't involve distance or deployment or wondering if I'll ever find something worth staying for.
I found it. Her.
Now I just need to tell her.
I don't text. This conversation needs to happen in person.
Tomorrow night. I'll take her to dinner, lay it all out, show her the future I can see so clearly.
She's going to love Texas. The business, the dogs, the life we're going to build.
