Ghost nodded once.
Rogue tipped his beer toward him. "What about Carver?"
"He's the first recruit," Ghost said.
The energy at the table shifted, grew quieter.
"I thought he was retiring," Rachel said softly.
"He is," Ghost confirmed. "Full honors, a quiet exit, but he called this morning. Said he's heading to Wyoming for a while. Wants some space. But he thinks... he thinks he'll take me up on the offer when he's ready."
Rachel looked at him, letting it land. Ghost Division was in full swing, Ghost had already been recruiting.
The guys drifted off the patio toward the stretch of grass beyond the fire pit. Torch tossed a football to Falcon, who caught it one-handed and grinned. Predator shouted for teams. Rogue started trash-talking before the sides were even picked.
Rachel stayed at the table with Emily, watching them go.
63
Ghost didn't join the first play. He stayed near the edge of the lawn, arms crossed, watching the scramble as Torch called positions. But his attention kept pulling toward the patio.
Rachel sat with Emily, her hair falling in loose waves across her shoulder, the bottle of lemonade balanced on one knee. She was smiling at something his sister said, her shoulders relaxed in a way they hadn't been three weeks ago. The bruises on her had faded to faint yellow-green shadows, barely visible unless you knew where to look. He knew where to look.
She hadn't spoken much since dinner started. Just smiled, nodded, gave the guys space to reconnect. She didn't push her way into conversations or demand attention. She just existed there, comfortable in her own skin.
Ghost had spent years training himself to stay sharp. To keep moving. To never fully relax because relaxation got you killed. Butwatching her now, bare feet tucked under her chair, laughing at something Emily said, his pulse stayed steady. The constant static in his head went quiet.
He hadn't expected that. Hadn't realized how much he needed it until she was there.
Torch called the play. Frost made the grab and broke left, cutting across the grass.
Ghost watched the route for one more beat, then moved.
He hit the grass fast, cut the corner, and intercepted Frost mid-stride. The ball came clean out of the air into his hands. Frost shouted. The rest of the guys erupted.
"You've been standing still for twenty minutes!" Rogue yelled, laughing. "Where the hell did that come from?"
Ghost didn't answer. Just tossed the ball to Torch and fell into formation.
The game wound down as the sun dropped lower, painting the yard in orange and gold. Ghost's shirt stuck to his back with sweat, his muscles loose and warm. He'd forgotten how good it felt to just play, no objectives, no stakes, just movement for the sake of it.
Torch called it after the last touchdown. "Alright, I'm done. Time to eat."
The team drifted back toward the patio in clusters. Ghost hung back, letting them pass. He looked back at Rachel.
She was leaning back in her chair, legs stretched in front of her, the hem of her dress fluttering just above her knees. Emily sat beside her, still talking.
Ghost crossed to them. His T-shirt clung to his chest, still damp. His jaw itched with stubble he hadn't bothered shaving this morning. He passed behind Emily's chair and stopped behind Rachel, one hand brushing her shoulder before settling there. The skin under his palm was warm from the sun.
"You good?" he asked quietly.
Rachel tilted her head back enough to catch his eyes. "Better than good."
He let his thumb graze the edge of her shoulder, careful where the fading bruises still marked her skin. "Come here."
She stood. Emily didn't comment, just gave Rachel a knowing look.
Ghost took her hand and led her toward the house.
