“That’s not something to brag about,” he mutters, laughing into his glass.
“Depends on how you look at it.” I grin.
“Is she the kind who’ll be into that surprise reunion thing?” he asks, tilting his head.
“She’s the kind that’ll either kiss me or kill me.”
Sebastian raises his glass again. “Either way, it’s gonna be entertaining. I have to hear how it goes.”
“You’ll be the first to know,” I promise, then pause. “Maybe.”
He smirks, “Spoken like a man who’s missed a good lay.”
Steam curls around me as the hot water crashes down in steady beats against my skin. The jet’s shower is a luxury I never thought I’d experience soon. Military showers are ten seconds of freezing water and prayers, not this rainstorm-from-heaven shit.
Sebastian's voice cuts through the sound of water like an unwanted alarm.
“Try not to flood the cabin, pal. You’re not in a jungle anymore.”
I chuckle, loud. “Give it five more minutes and I’ll start singing.”
“Oh, God no,” he groans from the other side of the door. “Spare me the trauma.”
I step out, grabbing the heated towel from the warmer—of course it’s heated, this is royal-level pampering. Tossing it over my shoulders, I push the door open and see him scrolling through something on his phone, glass of something dark in his hand.
I whistle. “This how you travel all the time?”
He smirks. “It has its perks. But honestly? I miss the desert grit sometimes.”
I roll my eyes. “You miss sand in your ass crack? You’re broken.”
“I meant the simplicity. But sure, that too.”
We share a grin, unspoken understanding hanging between us. The war might’ve scarred us, but it stitched us together too.
An hour later, we land.
The airstrip smells like money, private jets, chauffeurs, glinting cars, and a silence that’s too clean. Sebastian’s driver is already waiting with a slick black car, and next to it is a rugged matte grey beast of a vehicle that has my name all over it.
He slaps the hood. “Your ride, brother. Drive safe and don’t crash it if your online girlfriend ditches you.”
“Har har,” I mutter, tossing my duffel in the back.
Sebastian grins. “I’m serious, though. Keep me posted. And if you go radio silent for more than twenty-four hours, I’m assuming she tied you up in a basement.”
I raise a brow. “Kinky.”
He pulls me into a brief hug. “Welcome home, man.”
“Thanks,” I say, sincerity coating the word. “See you after your Melbourne bow-and-wave bullshit.”
He salutes me with two fingers, then vanishes behind his tinted window like the royal pain in the ass he is.
The drive is quiet. Peaceful. Almost too peaceful. I’m not used to the silence—no hum of comms, no thump of boots, no sharp bark of orders. Just the low hum of tires and the occasional thought that cuts a little too deep.
Amanda’s street appears before I even realize it. My hands grip the steering wheel tighter. It’s not nerves. I don’t get nervous.
But there’s something…off.
