Chapter 44 #3
He leaned against the table, arms folded, posture loose by habit, but inside everything was coiled too tight. This wasn’t fear. He knew fear. Fear was clean. Sharp. Useful.
This was something else.
“This is big,” he said finally, his voice even, careful. “Hell of a promotion. Something you goddamned deserve.”
She stopped pacing and looked at him. Really looked. Like she was bracing for impact. “It is.”
He nodded once. He trusted himself to do that much without cracking. He didn’t trust himself to say more yet.
Ottawa meant distance. Command meant permanence.
It meant a future that didn’t line up with his life at all.
Not because he was gone too much, but because her work, work she deserved to do, would place her somewhere out of his reach.
She would be here, in Canada, rooted in a role that demanded her presence, her authority, her loyalty.
He would go back to Virginia Beach. Back to the Teams. Back to a life that had no overlap with hers beyond time stolen in between deployments.
He already knew that wouldn’t be enough.
What he wanted with her was something he hadn’t ever thought would be possible, a woman in his life who was everything he never knew he could have.
There was no arguing that away. No compromise to be found. There wasn’t an equivalent position waiting for her where he lived, and even if there were, he wouldn’t ask her to give up what she’d earned. Being a Mountie already made relationships difficult. Ottawa made it final.
He was locked in too. Not just by contract, but by brotherhood.
The Navy wasn’t something he was passing through. The SEALs weren’t a phase he’d outgrow. Leaving them wasn’t an option without losing a part of himself he wasn’t sure he could sacrifice. They were the one constant that had never wavered, never lied to him, never left him guessing.
Except now his heart was involved.
Beating for a woman whose future didn’t have a place for him in it.
“You don’t have to decide right now,” he said. “That’s what Desjardins said, right?”
“Yes.” She hesitated. “But I wanted you to know.”
That hit harder than the promotion.
I wanted you to know.
He pushed off the table and crossed the space between them before he could overthink it. Stopped just short of touching her. He didn’t trust his hands yet.
“I’m glad you told me,” he said quietly. “I’d have been pissed if I found out some other way.”
A ghost of a smile touched her mouth. “Hmm, a pissed off Kelly Gatlin. That’s almost too delicious to resist, goading you. It would be really fun to make it up to you.”
He laughed softly, finding nothing but joy in this woman’s sassy teasing. “The IOU’s are stacking up, lady. You already owe me for breakfast.” His mouth curved, then stilled. “This is… good. For you.”
She searched his face, her own expression softening with a fragile, unmistakable hope. “But?”
There it was. The opening. The moment where he could say it. The words crowded his throat, hot and dangerous and alive. I love you.
They scared the hell out of him.
He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaled slowly. “But it complicates things,” he admitted. “I’m already…more invested than I planned to be.”
Her breath caught. Just a little. He saw it. Missed nothing.
“So are you,” he added, softer.
She didn’t deny it.
He stepped closer this time, close enough to feel her warmth, to smell her shampoo, to feel the pull that had been wrecking his discipline since the first time she’d looked at him like she saw him.
“I don’t know how to want you halfway,” he said, the words rough, scraped straight from his chest. “I don’t know how to do this carefully. I just know I want…more. Of you. Of this.”
Her hand came up, resting lightly against his chest, right over his heart. He felt the contact like a live wire.
“Kelly—”
He shook his head once, gentle but firm. “I’m not asking you to choose. Not now. Not ever.” A beat. “I just need you to know where I stand.”
Her thumb brushed against his sternum, a grounding touch. “Where do you stand?”
He held her gaze. Let himself be seen. “Right here,” he said. “With you. Even if I don’t know what that looks like yet.”
Something in her eyes softened, went bright and wet at the same time. She leaned in, resting her forehead against his, breathing him in.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He huffed a quiet breath. “Don’t give me too much credit. I’m doing my best not to fuck this up.”
That earned him a small, shaky laugh. She kissed him then, thoroughly, and it loosened some of that tight knot.
When she pulled back, he caught her hand, holding it for a beat longer than necessary.
“Whatever happens,” he said, voice low and steady now, “You changed my life, Blair. I’m never going to look at it the same, and that guy in the mirror thanks you, too.”
She squeezed his fingers. “I know.”
That was the problem.
Because knowing it made him want to survive everything that was coming next and terrified him of what it would cost if he didn’t.
A knock interrupted them, and it was a good thing because he wanted to kiss her in the worst way.
He stiffened to attention as Lieutenant Commander Lindstrom pushed the door open. “Oh, good. I’ve been looking for both of you.” He gestured toward the hall. “Could you both join me in TOC for a quick discussion.”
“Of course,” Blair said, moving in front of Breakneck as he placed his hand at the small of her back. She leaned into him just slightly, and his chest unraveled just a little. They entered TOC and saw that Carver and Jones were present.
“I’ve just been informed that the DEA has some leads on the stash house. That would put a nice cherry on top of this cartel dismantling sundae.”
“Yeah,” Carver said. “A dying flunky gave us some leads. We don’t think they’ll amount to much with the cartel on the run, but it’s worth a look-see.”
“The only problem is. The team is committed to the Mounties to transfer the prisoners to your more secure lock-up, and Petty Officer Locklear is overseeing the loading of equipment as we break down the TOC for transfer back to the States. So, no ISR,” Lindstrom said.
Jones nodded. “Understood. I don’t think we need ISR. Like Carver said, the cartel is on the run, and whatever resistance there is, it will most likely be minimal.”
“Doesn’t mean they don’t still need backup,” Lindstrom said.
Breakneck felt the shift in the room before he even heard the words. “Going behind my back again, Carver?” He just remained neutral. Iceman’s jaw clenched. “Backup for what?” Iceman asked, his eyes like a blizzard. His master chief’s gaze settled on Carver, a look so cold it could freeze lava.
Carver’s smile was pure good-old-boy. “A little mission to cripple the remaining cartel.”
“You and Jones want to run down these leads?” Iceman asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
“Yeah, Master Chief. We could really use you and the kid as backup. You know, for old times’ sake.”
Breakneck’s jaw tightened. Old times’ sake. The words were a goad, a thin veil over the dislike rolling off the DEA agent in waves. He could feel Iceman’s stillness beside him, a predator coiling to strike.
“Yeah,” Iceman said, his voice dangerously flat. “Because we’re such pals.”
Carver shrugged, a dismissive gesture that grated on Breakneck’s nerves. “But if you don’t want to come. We can handle it.”
He looked at Breakneck, a silent, unreadable command passing between them. “Let’s jock up, junior,” Iceman said, turning on his heel without another word to Carver.
Iceman stopped at Blair. “Can you monitor comms until Locklear gets back?”
She nodded. “Of course. Maybe we should wait until the team is available.”
“We could possibly lose the element of surprise, and they clean out their cash and are long gone,” Jones said.
Blair’s mouth thinned. “All right. But any sign of significant firepower, then you back off and call it in.”
“Of course,” Carver said. “We’re not cowboys.”
Still reeling, Breakneck headed toward the armory. The entire op, the meeting, the smug look on Carver’s face, it was all just static in his head, a distant, muffled roar. The only thing that felt real was the cold dose of reality with Blair’s promotion and the memory of the bathroom.
He’d had women in bathrooms before, a string of hollow, desperate encounters that always left him feeling more alone than before, staring at a reflection he loathed.
But this…this had been the complete opposite.
It was never just sex with her. It was his surrender in increments.
He had laid every raw, ugly piece of himself bare, and she hadn’t flinched.
She had seen him, all of him, and met his vulnerability with her own.
The words they’d exchanged, the terrifying, magnificent truth of them, had rewired something fundamental in his brain.
He felt stripped down and remade, exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked and everything to do with the fact that she now held his heart in her hands.
The armory was a sterile, orderly space, the smell of gun oil and steel a familiar comfort. As Breakneck checked his rifle, he felt Iceman’s heavy gaze on him.
"Something wrong?" he asked, without looking up from his work.
Iceman’s voice was a low rumble. "Not that I can put my finger on."
A smirk playing on his lips, Breakneck suggested, "Maybe you just hate his guts."
"I'd like to drive his face into the nearest wall," Iceman admitted, his tone so matter-of-fact it was chilling. He paused, then added with a heavy sigh, "But he has a point. Putting that stash house out of commission would cripple the remaining cartel. Make our jobs easier."
Breakneck nodded, slapping the magazine into his rifle with a sharp click. "Then let's go cripple a cartel."
After Iceman left, the armory fell into a quiet rhythm of metal on metal.
Breakneck grabbed two mags and stuffed them into his vest, the movements automatic, his mind still miles away, lost in a job offer and the steam and vulnerability of the bathroom.
He turned and found Boomer leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, a knowing look on his face.
“I guess you were busy last night,” Boomer said, his voice a low, teasing rumble. “You didn’t sleep in your bed. But I’m guessing you were pretty comfortable.”
Breakneck just stared at him, the playful jab hitting a little too close to home.
“I’m fucked here, Boomie,” he admitted, his voice rough. He leaned back against the counter, the cold steel a stark contrast to the heat in his chest. “Out of my element. I don’t know which end is up.”
Boomer chuckled, a warm, sympathetic sound. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’ve been with Taylor for a while now, and I’m still waiting for that feeling to go away.”
Fuck me. The simple, honest statement made him wonder what it would mean to have her in his life permanently. He wasn't alone in this. He wasn't losing his mind.
“I’m American. She’s Canadian. We’re countries apart,” Breakneck continued, the rationalizations tumbling out, the excuses he’d been building to protect himself.
“She got a promotion and if she decides to take it…. I can’t be the one to hold her back.
” He took a hard breath, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
“The last time I looked in a mirror, all I could see looking back was Derrick.”
Boomer’s gaze was warm and knowing. “And now?”
Breakneck’s voice broke a little, the admission tearing itself from his throat. “Now I just see me. All because of her.” He closed his eyes, the weight of it crushing him. “What should I do?”
“I think you’re forgetting something,” Boomer said softly.
“I’m American. Taylor’s German. She did get a freaking good offer for promotion at the Hague.
She turned it down for Ansel. For me. But mostly for herself.
” He paused, letting the words sink in. “Why don’t you tell her how you feel and let her make the decision? We both know what you want.”
“Then live with it?” Breakneck asked, the fear in him like a live thing, a cold knot in his gut. What if she doesn’t choose me?
“Yeah,” Boomer said, his expression unwavering. “From what I’ve seen, she’s over the moon for you. She hung in there when you were being a colossal a-hole.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Breakneck headed toward the exit but slowed when he caught Jones’s voice, low and sharp.
“Do we need the kid?”
“What are you talking about? Yes, we need him. We can’t hold off attackers with one operator,” Carver snapped. “Did you do what needed to be done?”
After a moment, Jones replied, “Yes.” The word was edged with something that wasn’t quite anger. “It’s done. Let’s finish this. The farther I get from you, the better.”
Trouble in paradise?
Break had never fully trusted the dynamic between Carver and Jones. Partners, sure. But lately there’d been friction. Fracture.
He stepped into the open. Jones’s gaze landed on him and held for a second too long. He jerked his chin toward the SUV. Resigned.
Break stopped. “You want me to accidentally get Carver in my sights?”
Jones’s eyes flared. For a split second, something unguarded flickered there, temptation, maybe. Then he barked a laugh and shook his head. “Dammit, kid. Get in the car.”