Chapter 3
When Mallory had been assigned to our SEAL Team, she’d always gone above and beyond what was required of her, no questions asked.
She’d been good. When Briggs had retired and opened a private security business that catered to high-profile clients, I don’t think Rush, Thatch, or I had been surprised when he’d asked Mallory to come work for him upon her retirement too. She’d deserved it.
Again, she was good.
And whenever people had doubted, mocked, or tried taking advantage of her because she was a woman, she’d always let them know she wasn’t the girl to be underestimated.
Tonight’s security detail was different . . . and I had a feeling it was my fault.
I’d felt it from the moment we’d slid into the company SUVs we used for events like these—this storm slowly building and building as she’d silently seethed from the passenger seat beside me.
Not quite the Mallory we all knew, but definitely not the dispassionate Mallory from these past months either.
She and I were personally guarding a foreign dignitary, and even though we weren’t so close to him that we would be overheard if we spoke in the low tones Shadow usually used at these events, it would’ve been hard for anyone to miss when that storm finally broke.
Mallory turned on me and snapped, “Just tell me why,” far too loudly.
I swallowed a curse when a handful of people turned at the demand, but the reminder of where we were died in my throat when my attention shifted to her—to all that stunning beauty and the pain and accusation in her eyes.
Fighting every instinct that begged me to pull her aside and talk to her in a way I knew I couldn’t when there were other people around, I forced my stare back to the dignitary and all the other people in the room.
When I found Briggs’ murderous glare directed at us from where he and Thatch were guarding the main interior door, that curse finally slipped free.
“Gray—”
“What are you talking about?” I asked under my breath.
“Don’t do that,” she seethed, her voice easily carrying across the room. “Don’t pretend.”
“Monroe,” I hissed in a hushed plea for her to lower her voice, but couldn’t help but respond to her claim. “I’m not pretending. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Anger and betrayal wove through the devastating emotion already in her eyes as she stared me down. Her chest rose and fell faster and harder before she abruptly faced forward, every one of those shields locking into place when she muttered, “Forget it.”
My lips automatically parted to beg her to talk to me—to explain—before I could force them shut because we were on a detail. We were supposed to be guarding someone with our lives.
And yet, I was seconds from dragging her away from the positions we needed to maintain because she was talking to me.
It didn’t matter that she was mad. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know what she was talking about. This was the closest she’d been to herself in three months, and I needed her back.
But just as my hand twitched in her direction, Rush suddenly appeared inside the room, relieving Briggs so he could head this way.
Another curse tumbled from my lips.
“Monroe—” My eyes widened when she started away from me. “Mallory.”
I watched as she faltered before striding purposefully toward Briggs, meeting his anger head on. Then, after listening to whatever he muttered, she quickly stole through the room and out the door.
As soon as Briggs made it to my side, taking her place, he ground out, “When I told you to break through her exterior, I didn’t mean during a detail.”
I didn’t bother telling him I hadn’t been, because I was sure that’s what tonight was—a result of me goading Mallory this morning at the office.
“Don’t fire her,” left me on a plea instead.
Briggs drew in a slow, steadying breath—never a good thing with him—before mumbling, “After tonight? She’s pushing for it.”
I gave a subtle dip of my head, knowing he’d see it even though he wasn’t focused on me.
“This shell of a Monroe that’s been around these past months isn’t someone I would’ve ever hired,” he continued, voice low enough that I could barely make out the words. “Already told you it’s messing with my team. But what just happened? That messes with my company.”
“I’m aware.”
Minutes passed before he muttered, “She was yelling at you after treating you like a stranger for months.” His next thoughts practically hung in the air between us, but he still said, “Try telling me again whatever’s going on with her isn’t because of you.”
A muscle in my jaw flexed at the implication in his words, but I forced myself to focus on my job as I took another sweep of the room and the people within it.
“If you’re asking if we hooked up, the answer’s no,” I began, matching his tone. “If you’re asking if either of us tried something with the other, the answer’s still no.”
“You’re avoiding the real answer,” he said in a way that heavily implied he still thought I’d done something, and it stung more than I could explain. “Tell me what happened, or this is your last detail too.”
I bit back another curse and rubbed at the bridge of my nose before forcing my hand down. It was better than rubbing at my aching chest in front of him or anyone else.
With a defeated shrug, I found myself whispering the words I’d kept locked inside for three months. “We apparently eloped in Aruba, and now she can hardly look at me.”
I waited for the shock or questions. Instead, Briggs slowly glanced my way, doubt, disappointment, and frustration etched in his features, before facing ahead again. “After all this time, I expected our friendship and this job to mean more to you.”
“Briggs—”
“We’re moving,” he mumbled as our charge made a nearly imperceptible hand movement at his side. A sign to let us know he was ready to leave.
I swallowed back the explanation as we pushed in closer to the dignitary, while Briggs relayed to the rest of the team that we were leaving.
Rush slipped back out of the room to check the hall as we made our way over to the main interior door. But as we escorted the man from the room, down the halls and stairs, and out of the building, it was all I could do to remain focused.
I’d just told someone.
Not just someone . . . Briggs. The perpetually angry one in our group. Our boss.
And instead of feeling lighter for finally getting it off my chest, I felt sick. I wasn’t sure if it was due to Briggs’ obvious disbelief, or because it felt wrong telling someone about the event that had managed to devastate Mallory Monroe.
We’d witnessed more death than I cared to remember.
We’d lost members of our SEAL team—people who were like family.
We’d done things none of us had ever repeated, all for the sake of protecting people and our country.
And throughout all of that, I’d never seen her as shaken or as vulnerable as I had on that morning in Aruba.
I’d also never seen her so mad at me.
We fought like crazy but were practically inseparable. I knew I got on her last nerve, but I never doubted that the next time I turned around, she’d be right there. Until now.
If I hadn’t already known how absolutely in love with her I was, her absence these past three months would’ve informed me. As it was, the ache in my chest was now a constant, familiar friend that twisted deeper whenever she did something to avoid me or talked to me with that air of unfamiliarity.
Once we made it outside, I automatically scanned the area before narrowing in on where our identical SUVs idled at the curb.
I started veering toward the one for the dignitary when I was abruptly shoved toward the one in front.
Briggs slowed to seethe, “Until this is fixed, y’all are desk only.”
“Briggs—”
He sharply nodded at the awaiting SUV, already walking to catch up to the rest of the group. “Go.”
I watched my team for a few seconds longer before heading toward the first car, dread filling each step all while my heart slammed against my ribs, desperately reaching for the person behind the wheel, because I knew who it would be, and all I wanted was a chance to talk to her.
But after these months—after the wholly uncharacteristic and shocking scene a handful of minutes ago—I didn’t know what to expect from her next.
“You’re with the charge,” Mallory said as soon as I slipped into the passenger seat.
Stiff. Formal. Withdrawn . . . but the tension radiating from her and pressing against me like a warning betrayed what she was trying so hard to portray.
“So were you,” I reminded her. “And I was released. Drive before we get fired.” When she hesitated, I gestured toward the street. “We’ve already been taken off all future details. Drive.”
Silence filled the car as we drove, thick and uncomfortable. Each time I tried figuring out how to break it, nothing ever felt right, and the weight of my unspoken words only added to the strain hovering between us.
This wasn’t me . . .
I never thought before I spoke. Then again, it usually worked out for me. I either had people rolling in laughter, had women falling at my feet, or put my own foot in my mouth. If it was the latter, I’d apologize and charm people into forgiving me. It was how I’d always been.
Except, I didn’t know how to apologize for something I had no memory of, and she’d been an equal part of. And Mallory Monroe was the one woman I’d never been able to charm. But again . . . I didn’t know this Mallory, and I didn’t know how to navigate what was going on between us now.
Panic surged in my veins when I realized we’d already dropped the foreign dignitary off at his hotel and were almost at the garage where we stored the vehicles for our high-end clients.
The first opportunity I’d had to talk with Mallory one-on-one in three months, and I’d wasted over thirty-five minutes of it.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” I blurted out.
Nearly a minute ticked by as we entered the garage before she sighed. “So you’ve said.”