Ray’s brows lifted slightly. “Brittany,” he said, like he was testing the name. “That’s a big comparison.”
“It’s not the same,” Pierce said immediately. He turned his head, eyes narrowing as if he could argue the past into submission. “I loved Brittany, sure. I did. But looking back…” He exhaled, almost angry at himself. “She loved the status. The attention. Being a SEAL’s wife on paper. She played supportive while she wanted it, and the second it got hard, and it didn’t benefit her, she showed her true colors.”
Ray’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes held understanding. He had seen it. The whole team had.
“But Charley?” Pierce continued, the words coming more easily now, like saying them out loud finally gave them shape. “Charley’s real. She doesn’t pretend. She doesn’t need the spotlight. She understands what this life is because she’s lived it from the other side. She’s lost people to it. She gets the sacrifices without me having to explain them. And she still chooses to be here.”
Ray’s mouth tugged at the corner, amusement beginning to creep in.
Pierce noticed and frowned. “What?”
Ray took a slow sip of his beer, eyes glinting. “Nothing.”
“No,” Pierce said, narrowing his eyes. “Say it.”
Ray set the bottle down on the railing. “So you’ve fallen in love with her.”
Pierce opened his mouth immediately, ready to deny it, to snap back with something sarcastic, to shove the words back into Ray’s face.
But the denial caught in his throat. Because he had basically already said it out loud.
He stared at Ray, then looked away.
Ray’s grin widened. “Ohhh,” he said, delighted. “That face. That right there is the face of a man who just realized he’s done for.”
Pierce scoffed, but there was no real bite in it. “Shut up.”
Ray laughed, the sound cutting through the heaviness like a blade of light. “What? I’m just saying. A Navy SEAL saves a damsel in distress on the high seas—”
“It was not the high, rough seas,” Pierce muttered, rubbing his forehead. “It was calm that day.”
Ray waved a hand, as if the details didn’t matter. “Same thing. Your tragic hero arc is in full swing.”
Pierce shook his head, but despite everything, a rough chuckle slipped out. It felt strange in his chest, like he hadn’t laughed in hours.
Then he sobered again, gaze dropping to the beer bottle in his hand.
“I do love her,” he admitted quietly. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.”
Ray’s grin faded into something steadier. He nodded once, a soldier’s promise. “We all will. You know that.”
Pierce held Ray’s gaze. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
The back door opened again.
Jessica stepped out, arms folded loosely as she looked between them. “Hate to interrupt the brooding and the romance novel banter,” she said dryly, “but Charley’s aunt and uncle just arrived.”
Pierce straightened immediately, the humor evaporating as responsibility snapped back into place. He set the beer down untouched and nodded once.
And as he followed Jessica back inside, Pierce’s mind was already on one thing—getting Charley through tonight, keeping her surrounded by people who cared, and making damn sure whoever had targeted Calvin Henderson didn’t get the chance to come for her next.
As Pierce entered the kitchen, the room looked exactly as it had a few minutes ago—same table, same familiar faces—except now two new people were standing near the counter, and the entire energy of the house shifted with their presence.
Charley’s Uncle Glen and Aunt Bea.
Charley had talked about them often enough that Pierce felt like he already knew them in a way, but seeing them in person—the worry written plain on their faces—made something tighten in his chest.
Bea was a little on the taller side, her hair pulled back, her eyes bright with a mix of fear. Glen was taller, broader through the shoulders, with a posture deceptively calm, like the kind of man who had learned long ago to keep his emotions locked down until he was alone.
