It had taken a lot longer for him to believe the words than it had to tattoo them onto his skin.
Carson’s expression shifted like he knew exactly where Pope’s mind had gone. After all, he did read his file.
“Much like the military, Black Heart Security can’t predict every outcome with one hundred percent accuracy. But you’re not in the military here. You’d need to take action on your own, not simply follow orders. We’d expect you to make quick choices and live with them.”
Pope’s jaw tightened. There it was—that catch he’d been waiting for. Could he do what they were asking?
In Baghdad, he hadn’t ignored protocol. He’d called for medics, followed procedure and watched a man die in front of him anyway. That kind of failure stayed with a man.
And if he made the wrong call here—if he missed something or hesitated because he second-guessed himself—Summer and Ben would pay for it.
He couldn’t take risks with their lives.
He couldn’t afford to leave her safety in someone else’s hands either—even the men he trusted.
“Do you feel ready for this?” Oaks hadn’t said much until now, but when the man spoke, every vet who walked into the Black Heart therapy program listened. Oaks Malone founded the program, and they all showed him reverence.
Oaks continued, “If you can only handle the job when you have a successful op, then we’ll pass on considering you.”
The room silenced, and Pope sat with that for a long minute.
He’d built his life on being the man who didn’t fail. The one who made the call, took the shot, read the threat, got people out. When that stopped being true, he hadn’t known what was left.
He drew a deep breath. “A surgeon has to keep going even when a patient dies.” He locked gazes with Carson. “That doesn’t mean he forgets what happened. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t review every damn thing he did. But if he’s good with a scalpel, if he can still save the next patient, then he keeps working.”
The words resonated from a place deep inside him that he hadn’t tapped into in a long time. Too long.
Colt was still now. Oaks too. Carson leaned back in his leather desk chair, a new gleam of respect in his gray eyes.
Pope dropped his voice, and his next words cost him. “I know losing one person can’t be the reason I fail the next.”
He’d never said that out loud before.
Hell, maybe he never believed it himself. Maybe he’d just been shaken.
Carson studied him for a beat. “You’ll have to graduate the program first. Which means getting Rhae to approve.”
He inflated his lungs. Their last session hadn’t gone very well, but he only had to prove he was fit for returning to life outside the program.
And just maybe when Summer looked at him, she wouldn’t see a man who had nothing to offer. Maybe she’d see boyfriend material.
“I want in.” The words rang so damn true that his spine prickled.
Carson gave him a stiff nod and pushed a folder toward him. “For now, we plan.”
The four of them went over how to guard Summer without her feeling cornered. Pope would take night watch over her house. He’d also be hanging out at the bar when she workednights so he was close enough to track who paid too much attention to her.
He’d rotate guard duty with others on the team to allow for breaks to stay sharp.
“We’ve got a rookie coming on board who’ll be useful. Name’s Heath Hawk,” Colt added.
Pope lifted a brow. “Ex-military?”
Oaks nodded. “Among other things. He’ll run backup for you and help cover some shifts until you’re both up to speed.”
Colt issued a low sound. “Damn, this is a sweet first gig. I don’t remember my first job being assigned to hang out at the bar.”
Oaks snorted. “Pretty sure yours involved some fancy schmoozing of a travel concierge—who is now in your bed every night.”
