"I'm sorry I'm not better at this,"she texted one night after going dark for a full day during the Miami operation.
"Better at what?"
"Staying in touch. Being present. You're always there and I keep disappearing."
"Mara. You're running operations. Saving people. I'm sitting in a hospital room doing PT and watching bad TV. I have all the time in the world. You don't. I get that."
"Still feels shitty."
"It's not. I'd rather get a message from you at midnight after a long day than nothing at all. I'd rather know you're thinking about me even when you're busy than have you feel guilty for living your life."
She saved that message. Read it when the guilt crept in. When she'd been dark for hours and knew Logan was probably wondering if she was okay.
She knew she was falling for him. Knew it was probably a bad idea. Knew that whatever this was, it existed in a bubble that couldn't last forever. Knew that the imbalance in their communication was only going to get worse as operations ramped up. Knew that Logan deserved someone who could give him more than scattered messages between missions.
But she couldn't make herself stop. Couldn't make herself pull back or put distance between them or do any of the smart, tactical things she'd normally do.
Logan was different. Talking to him felt easy in a way nothing else in her life did. He got the dark humor that came from doing hard things in bad places. Understood the weight of making life-or-death decisions. Could match her wit and push back when she tried to deflect with jokes. Made her laugh even when she wasexhausted. Made her feel seen in a way that was both terrifying and addictive.
Week three, he sent her a photo of his arm. Free of the cast, signatures still visible but fading."Bulldog drew a dick on it. I'm twenty years into my career and apparently nothing changes."
Mara saw it six hours later during a break between briefings. Laughed so hard she had to explain herself to Nadia, who'd heard from across the compound. She sent back a photo of the sunrise over the bayou."This is what I'm looking at. Significantly more peaceful than dick drawings."
His response came immediately."Significantly more boring too."
"You're ridiculous."
"You like it."
She did. That was the problem. She typed back a quick agreement and then got pulled into another meeting. Didn't check her phone again for four hours. Found three more messages from Logan waiting.
The banter came easily when she had time for it. One morning he texted her a photo of terrible hospital scrambled eggs with the caption "Living the dream."She saw it during her 0600 briefing. Didn't respond until 0930 when she had a break. Sent back a picture of fresh beignets from the kitchen with"Thoughts and prayers for your breakfast situation."
He replied with"That's just cruel"followed by three crying emojis.
She read it an hour later between reviewing intel reports. Smiled. Made a mental note to respond properly when she had time. Got pulled into an emergency situation with one of the residents before she could.
By the time she remembered, it was 1800 and she had twelve unread messages from Logan. Most of them justupdates. Thoughts. Random observations. The mental stream of someone with nothing but time.
"Sorry,"she texted."Long day."
"All good. You eat yet?"
"Not yet. About to."
"Go eat. Talk later."
And she did. But later turned into 2200 because there was always something. Always another crisis or briefing or problem that needed solving. By the time she finally had time to actually talk, to engage properly instead of sending quick responses between crises, she was exhausted.
But Logan was still there. Still awake. Still wanting to talk.
"Thought you might have crashed,"he texted when she finally responded.
"Almost did. But I wanted to talk to you first."
"I'm honored."
"You should be. I'm running on about four hours of sleep."
