2. Henry
Henry
“I’ll have another when you’re ready,” I say, my thirst for a nice cold beer bringing me back to the bar once more.
I’m not the kind of guy who drinks to excess, that’s never been me.
I like to stay in control. It might be because of my work as a Night Ops Guard, but I’ve seen some good men die from not being able to control themselves around the booze, and I certainly don’t want to be one of them.
These were good men, some of the bravest and fiercest operatives any man could have the honor of serving alongside.
But after too many tough missions with the Guard, I saw them fall into a spiral of drink and drugs, sadly unable to pull themselves out in time.
Shit . That’s just the life of a Guard though.
We know what we’re signing up for—and even if we don’t, we sure as hell find out pretty damn quickly once training is done and we’re out on a real life operation.
Men like Cole, Hunter, the list goes on.
These are men that I would trust my life with.
And they would feel the same about me too.
Well, I hope they would! But nothing can change the fact that some of our missions are so intense, dangerous, and at times morally grey that I can see why it’s all too much for some men.
I guess I’m one of the lucky ones who can handle it.
But that doesn’t mean that I can’t let loose a little from time to time. In theory, I could be anywhere in the world right now. I could be partying on a beach, having fun with some boys on a tropical island somewhere, whatever… I’ve been paid for the mission and am on leave. The world is my oyster.
But…
I’m back in Sunny Ferns, on my own, and generally just getting in some much needed rest and relaxation. Sunny Ferns is as close to a hometown as I’ve got. Growing up, we moved around a lot. I mean, I’m talking every few months sometimes.
Pretty quickly I figured that I was never going to stay in any one place for too long. I became adept at making friends quickly at every new school—and I also became pretty damn good at spotting who the bullies and assholes were too.
I’ve never been someone to back down from a fight, and that’s always been the case. One thing I hated more than anything was arriving at a new school and seeing the jocks or older kids targeting one of the dorkier kids and making their lives a misery. No, that was never going to fly.
So I learned how to step in and make myself the target when required. Sure, I got plenty of shit for that. But it was always worth it to see a bully with a bloody nose, or worse…
Anyway. That was then. And this is now.
One beer down and with another on the way, and I’m thinking that I sink another two or three and then head back to my place.
It’s not much, but it’s a little cottage by the beach that I use when I’m on leave.
And having spent arguably the best six months of my childhood in Sunny Ferns, I was always going to head back and make a little base for myself here when I had enough money.
I’m not exactly a millionaire, but the Guard pays enough money for me to have saved enough for a humble abode.
Some guys love to hit the casinos after a mission, but that’s never been my thing.
Again, I guess you could say it’s all about being in control for me—you might even say that control is my love language.
I’m a Daddy, that’s for sure.
Except, of course, I’m missing the one thing that a Daddy really needs to feel complete.
And that’s a boy to call his own. Still, maybe it’s for the best. I don’t want to complicate things too much right now.
I know that each and every time I go for a mission I’m putting my life at risk.
Most of the boys I’ve met are way too conservative and traditional to even consider being with a man like that.
I don’t blame them either.
To be honest, I sometimes wonder if I’m crazy for being a Guard in the first place.
There have been Littles in the past. Sweet boys.
The kind of boy who would say that they were cool with me doing what I do, but then when the reality hit it was a whole other thing.
I soon came to realize that these rebellious boys liked talking a good game but when it came to the everyday reality of dating a Daddy like me, it was something else entirely.
“Thanks,” I say, taking my fresh beer from the bartender. “I need this.”
“Damn, don’t we all,” the bartender replies, a rueful smile on his face as he picks up my scrunched up bills from the bar and goes about his business.
“Now wait a minute…” I mutter, my eyes suddenly drawn to the boy sitting over in the corner booth. “He’s a hot one.”
I allow myself a wry smile as I watch the boy sip on his beer. He’s cute, but has this whole surfer vibe going on. I like it.
“Now that’s not good,” I say, quickly picking up on the fact that the boy in question is looking uneasy—and that’s putting it mildly. “That’s not good at all.”
I’m going to keep an eye on him.
It could be nothing. Or it might just be something.
Either way, this Daddy ain’t leaving a single thing to chance…
I lean back against the bar, the cold beer sweating in my hand, my eyes locked on the boy in the corner booth.
“ Hmm ,” I ponder. “If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck…”
He’s trying hard to look like he belongs, but every fidget, every glance toward the door screams he’s running from something—or someone.
His denim jacket’s too big for his frame, like he’s hiding in it, and those sunglasses perched on his head aren’t fooling anyone .
Least of all me. I’ve seen fear before.
Hell, I’ve felt it, deep in my bones, on missions that should’ve been my last.
My mind drifts back to that damn jungle op six weeks ago. The one that nearly broke us all. Cole, Raze, and me, sent to pull a politician’s daughter from a cartel’s grip.
Clean job, they said. In and out.
Yeah, right…
The helicopter’s blades thrummed like a war drum, cutting through the humid night air over the Colombian jungle. Cole, strapped in beside me, checked his rifle, his jaw tight.
“This cartel’s got more firepower than Intel said,” Cole muttered, his voice thick with suspicion.
Raze, across from us, grinned like a maniac, his shaved head gleaming under the cabin’s red light.
“More fun for us, then,” Raze said, loading a grenade launcher. I rolled my eyes, adjusting my tactical vest. “Focus, Raze. We get the girl, we get out. No heroics.”
The politician’s daughter, Elena, was barely twenty-one, kidnapped from a charity gala in Bogotá. The cartel wanted ransom—ten million, or her head.
Elena’s father, a senator with more enemies than friends, hired the Night Ops Guard when the Feds stalled.
Our job: infiltrate, extract, vanish.
We fast-roped into a clearing near the cartel’s compound, silencers on, moving like ghosts. Elena was in a basement, bound but unharmed.
Cole took point, his massive frame clearing the way while Raze and I flanked, neutralizing guards with precision.
We had Elena out in ten minutes, sprinting to the extraction point where our chopper waited, piloted by a grizzled vet named Hicks—now this is a Guard who has truly seen it all, which makes the whole thing worse…
Then it went to hell.
A rocket-propelled grenade screamed from the trees, slamming into the chopper’s tail. The blast threw us to the ground, Elena screaming as flames lit up the night.
Hicks was gone—nothing left but twisted metal.
“Move!” I roared, hauling Elena over my shoulder.
Cole and Raze covered us, their rifles spitting fire as cartel gunmen closed in. Bullets zipped past, tearing through leaves. My lungs burned, but I kept running, Elena’s weight nothing compared to the dread in my gut.
We trekked three days through that jungle, dodging patrols, wading through swamps, Cole’s navigation skills keeping us alive.
Raze’s jokes kept us sane, even if I wanted to punch him half the time.
Elena, tougher than she looked, never complained, clutching my hand like I was her lifeline. On day three, we hit a Guard rendezvous, a Black Hawk waiting to whisk us to safety.
Elena’s father met us in Miami, tears in his eyes.
“My miracle, you’re all heroes,” he said. “Trust me when I say you will be rewarded fully. Heroes like you deserve the very best.”
I didn’t feel like a hero. Far from it. Not with Hicks’ death on my conscience, not with the fresh scar above my eyebrow from a near-miss bullet. In all my time as a Guard, I’d never felt so low coming out of a successful mission…
I snap back to the bar, the jukebox’s twang pulling me out of the memory.
My grip on the beer bottle’s too tight, knuckles white.
That mission was why I’m here in Sunny Ferns, licking my wounds, trying to remember who I am when I’m not a soldier.
But this boy—this surfer dude with the nervous eyes—he’s pulling me back into the game way sooner than I’d ever want.
However, I can’t look away.
That’s not who I am.
He’s staring at his phone now, his face pale, lips parted in shock. Whatever he just read hit him like a gut punch. His hand shakes as he sets the bottle down, the clink loud in the quiet bar.
He’s not just spooked anymore—he’s terrified.
My Daddy instincts flare, that need to protect, to control the chaos, surging through me. I’ve seen that look before, on Elena, on civilians caught in crossfires.
Whoever’s got him this scared, they’re no small-time threat. Every bone in my body is telling me that this is the real deal. I’ve been here too many times, seen too many things to not know when my gut is telling me to act.
He slings his bag over his shoulder, moving fast, like he’s about to bolt.
His eyes dart to the door again, and I catch a glimpse of something poking out of his bag—a stuffy, maybe a walrus, its tusk worn from years of love. A Little? I can’t say for sure. But it seems too much of a coincidence. I mean, how often do I see boys bring stuffies to bars?
My chest tightens. I’ve always known I’m a Daddy, but finding a Little who can handle my life? Damn near impossible. Yet here he is, scared and stubborn, stirring something in me I thought I’d buried.
I set my beer down, the decision made before I can overthink it.
He’s halfway to the door, his sneakers squeaking on the sticky floor.
I move, cutting through the bar with long strides, my boots heavy against the wood.
The bartender glances up, but I wave him off. This isn’t about trouble—not yet. It’s about making sure he’s okay.
“Hey,” I call out, keeping my voice low, steady, as I close the distance. He freezes, his hand on the door, his shoulders stiff. Up close, he’s smaller than I thought, barely five-foot-four, with freckles dusting his nose and a defiance in his blue eyes that makes my blood hum. “You okay?”
He spins, his gaze snapping to mine, sharp and wary. “I’m fine. Just leaving.” His voice is all edges, like he’s daring me to push.
I don’t back off, but I keep my hands in my pockets, non-threatening. “You don’t look fine. You’ve been checking the door every five seconds.”
His cheeks flush, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. “Mind your own business,” he says, trying to sidestep me. I shift, not blocking him, just enough to keep his attention.
“Name’s Henry,” I say, calm, deliberate. “I’m not here to hassle you. But you’re spooked. I know the signs.”
His eyes narrow, searching mine, and I see the war inside him—fear fighting pride.
That stuffed walrus peeks out again, and I wonder what kind of Little he is, what he needs to feel safe.
My Daddy side wants to pull him close, set rules, shield him from whatever’s got him running.
But he’s not mine, not yet, maybe not ever.
“I don’t need a hero,” he says, lifting his chin, his voice trembling just enough to betray him. “I’m Bodie, not that it’s any of your business.”
“Didn’t say you did need a hero, Bodie ,” I let a smirk tug at my lips, testing him. “But trouble’s got a way of finding people who run alone.”
He flinches, and I know I’ve struck gold. The bartender yells, “Closing in ten!” and the locals start moving, but I don’t budge. He’s clutching his bag like it’s a lifeline, and I feel it—the pull to step in, to be the Daddy he doesn’t know he needs.
“I’m leaving,” he says, pushing past me, his shoulder brushing mine. “Don’t follow me.”
I let him go, but as he steps into the night, I’m already moving, my boots crunching on the gravel behind him.
Not too close, not crowding, but there.
He’s in trouble, and I’m not letting him face it alone.
Not on my watch.
That’s simply not how a Night Ops Guard Daddy goes about his business…