Lake stands and approaches me. He smooths his hand down my shirt and wraps a hand around my tie. “I’m right here with you, Grady. I love you so much that I couldn’t imagine not waking up every morning to your beautifully grumpy face. You’re my everything.”
I swallow hard, the words sinking in deep, like a warm drink. I don’t have words for how much that means to me. How muchhemeans to me.
“I have an idea.” He cups my cheek, fingers stroking my beard. “Why don’t we walk together?”
“What?”
“Why does one of us have to be waiting at the end? Neither of us are a bride. And we get to get married—the second time—the way we want to, not the way that tradition or society demand. Let’s walk down the aisle together. I want to do everything with you, and that includes that part.”
“God, I love you,” I breathe out. Threading my hands through his hair, I drag him into a deeper kiss. He curls a hand around my side and tugs my tie, tilting his mouth to change the angle.
“I’d love to continue this,” Lake murmurs, “but I have to go shower and then head to work.”
So do I, but this is a much better idea. “Yeah.” He doesn’t protest when I kiss him again, getting my fill before reluctantly letting him go.
Lake kisses the corner of my mouth and then skips backward. He holds up a hand, wiggling his ring finger, the gold flakes glittering from the sun coming through the kitchen window. “I’m not going anywhere, we’re already married, remember?”
The words are flippant, a joke to help ease the tension. Somehow, it does help. Having him here, in our house, sharingour life together. He can’t change his mind if we’re already married, obviously.
Hades lifts his head, looks around, and then stands. He takes off after Lake, realising that his person has left the room.
The rest of the morning is like most. It doesn’t involve any arrests, which is always a slow morning, and Quinn is way too chipper for a Monday. A witness for a case decides not to show, and when we call him, he says he had a last-minute nail appointment, and it was too important to miss. I threw the phone at Quinn at that point and made him handle it before I strangled someone through the line. We need him to help us solve a murder, but what’s that against him getting his nails done? Priorities.
Everything changes right after lunch.
Quinn frowns, staring down at his phone. His brows furrow, and he hesitates before messaging back. When he stands, I raise an eyebrow.
“What’s wrong? We need to go somewhere?”
“No, I just need to make a phone call.” He grasps the back of his chair, leaning on it. “It was Peyton; his old team has just been called in for an emergency deployment.”
“Is that a problem for him?” It’s been almost three years since he left the military; this has to have happened before.
“It’s a form of pre-survivor’s guilt, I suppose. His brother took his place. If something happens to Daniel, he’ll blame himself.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Logic doesn’t govern these things.” He claps me on the shoulder before leaving the room.
I bet he’s just doing this so I have to write up this report by myself, the sneaky bastard.
A few minutes later, something makes me look up, and I freeze. Lake is standing there, at the doorway to the bullpen. The look on his face can only be described as devastated. He’s stillwearing his military uniform, a sheen of sweat on his forehead like he ran here.
I know in an instant why he’s here. He flies the spec-ops team all the time during their training missions. He’s familiar with them, and he works with them.
I’m standing in an instant, and he’s stalking across the room, and suddenly, he’s in my arms. He doesn’t say a word, just buries his face in my chest. I snake an arm around the back of his neck and the other in his hair, cradling him.
“When?” I ask.
“A few hours,” he answers, voice muffled. He doesn’t seem surprised that I know.
It’s hard to let go, and for a long few minutes, I don’t, ignoring the hustle and bustle around us. Eventually, I take his hand and tug him out of the room and up some stairs to a quiet unused conference room.
The second we’re in the room, I push him against the door, covering his mouth with my own. He makes a small sound of desperation and arches into me, reaching up to twine his arms around my neck, leaving no space between us.
He plays with the strands of hair reaching my nape, and I rotate my hips against him. He moans, so damn responsive and perfect.
We need to talk, discuss what’s going on, but all I want to do is feel him and be with him in this quiet, dark room. Even Lake seems to sense this, silent as we touch and reacquaint ourselves with each other. I trace familiar paths across his neck and hiking his shirt up to kiss down his chest. He tastes sweet and salty, an intoxicating combination.
