Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
GARRISON—TWO YEARS LATER
The barracks smell like sweat and detergent. Same as always. I sit on the edge of my bunk, elbows on my knees, staring at the scuffed floor while the guys argue over something stupid—fantasy football, I think. Or maybe it’s about whose turn it is to clean the shared bathroom.
Could be either. Could be both.
“Garrison.”
I don’t look up.
“Garrison,” Carter repeats, louder this time, like I’m hard of hearing instead of just not interested.
I drag my gaze up slowly. “What.”
He grins at me from across the room, leaning back in his chair like he’s got nothing better to do than be a problem. “You even alive over there?”
“Barely,” I mutter.
A couple of the guys snort.
“Man’s been like this all week,” Torres adds, tossing a sock at me. It lands near my boot and stays there. “You finally break a woman’s heart or something?”
That gets more attention. A few heads turn. A few grins spread.
I lean back slightly, bracing my hands behind me. “That would require me actually talking to women.”
“Exactly,” Carter shoots back. “Which is why this is concerning.”
Laughter ripples through the room.
I shake my head, but there’s no heat in it. “You all talk too much.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Torres says, waving a hand. “Deflect all you want. But I’ve known you how long now?”
“Too long.”
“Exactly. And in all that time?” He points at me like he’s making a case in court. “Not once have you talked about a girl. Not once.”
“Maybe I don’t kiss and tell.”
That earns a chorus of exaggerated groans.
“Please,” Carter scoffs. “You don’t even kiss.”
More laughter.
I force a smirk, because that’s what they expect. “Keep talking, Carter. I’ll make you regret it on the next run.”
“Threats,” he says, holding his hands up. “Classic avoidance behavior.”
“Or,” Torres cuts in, eyes narrowing slightly like he’s onto something, “maybe there is someone.”
That quiets things down just a notch. Not much. Just enough.
Carter leans forward, interest piqued. “Oh, I like this theory. Who is she, Garrison?”
“No one,” I say flatly.
Too fast. Torres catches it. Of course he does.
“Yeah,” he says slowly, grinning now. “There is someone.”
“Drop it.”
“Oh, no shot,” Carter says immediately. “We’re not dropping this. Not after years of nothing. You owe us this.”
I huff out a breath, dragging a hand over the back of my neck. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“Name,” Torres presses.
“No.”
“Just a first name.”
“No.”
“Initial?”
I stare at him. He grins wider.
“Come on, man,” Carter says. “We’re your brothers. You can trust us.”
That almost makes me laugh. Because if they knew—
If they had even the slightest idea—I’d never hear the end of it. Not in a million years.
“She’s not… someone I can talk about,” I say finally, choosing my words carefully.
That gets a reaction.
“Ooooh,” Carter leans back, dragging the word out. “Forbidden.”
Torres barks out a laugh. “You into married women now, Garr?”
I shake my head, jaw tightening just slightly. “No.”
“Boss’s daughter?” Carter throws out.
My chest locks. For a split second—
Just one—I feel it.
That night. The garage. Her hand on my chest. Her lips on mine—I shove it down hard.
“Wrong,” I say, forcing my voice to stay even.
They’re watching me now. Really watching. I can’t help but relive the best moment of my life even though it was two lonely years ago.
Torres tilts his head. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah,” I say, sharper this time. “I’m sure.”
He holds my gaze for a second longer.
Then shrugs. “Alright, man. Relax.”
Carter isn’t as quick to let it go. “So what is it then? Long distance? Girl back home? Secret wife we don’t know about?”
I let out a dry laugh. “Yeah. Secret wife. You got me.”
“Would explain a lot,” he mutters.
The tension breaks just enough for them to start talking over each other again, the focus shifting away from me like it always does. I lean back against the wall, letting their voices blur into the background. But the silence inside my own head? That’s louder than anything.
Because they’re wrong. About all of it. It’s not a secret wife. It’s not long distance. It’s not some casual thing I can laugh off and forget. It’s Willow. And I’m screwed.
My jaw tightens as I stare at the ceiling, the faint hum of the lights buzzing overhead.
I can still feel it. That kiss. God, I can still feel it.
The way she looked at me before it happened. The way her hand rested against my chest like she belonged there. The way everything in me lit up the second her lips touched mine—
Like something I didn’t even know I was missing finally clicked into place. It definitely wasn’t supposed to follow me here.
But it does. Every damn day.
“Yo, Garr.”
I blink, dragging myself back to the present. Carter’s looking at me again, eyebrow raised. “You spacing out on us?”
“Just tired.”
“Sure,” he says, clearly not buying it.
I don’t care.
Because I’m not about to explain this. Not to them.
Not to anyone. Especially not the part that matters most. The part where I went back to David’s house the next morning.
The part where he didn’t even let me step inside.
The part where I stood on his front porch like a stranger while he looked at me like one.
“You’re done,” he’d said.
Just like that. Thirty years of friendship. Gone in a sentence.
“I didn’t—” I’d started.
“I don’t care,” he cut me off. “I don’t care what you think happened, what she thinks happened, or what you were about to do. It ends. Right now.”
My hands curl slightly at the memory.
“You stay away from her,” he said, voice low, deadly serious. “You don’t call. You don’t text. You don’t look at her. You don’t exist in her world anymore. You understand me?”
Yeah. I understood him. Because I would’ve said the same thing if I were him.
“Say it,” he demanded.
The words tasted like ash.
“I swear.”
And just like that—It was over. I close my eyes briefly now, back in the barracks, the noise of the guys still bouncing off the walls.
I swore. And I meant it. Because David isn’t just some guy. He’s family. He’s been there through everything. And I won’t be the reason his world gets messed up.
By now most of the guys have settled into their usual routines—cards, phones, half-watching some game on the TV mounted crooked on the wall—but I’m still on my bunk, staring up at the ceiling like it’s going to give me answers.
I drag a hand over my face, exhaling slowly, but it doesn’t help. Nothing does. Not the noise, not the exhaustion, not the drills that push my body to the edge until my muscles shake.
Because the second everything goes quiet—She’s there. Her lips. I close my eyes, and it’s like I’m back in that garage all over again.
Soft.
That’s the first thing I remember. Soft and warm and careful, like she knew exactly what she was doing to me and didn’t want to scare me off.
I swallow hard, my chest tightening. I’ve kissed women before. Plenty. But nothing—nothing—has ever felt like that.
It was something deeper than just a kiss. I shift on the mattress, restless.
The worst part?
It wasn’t even a real kiss. Not really.
It was barely anything. A brush. A moment.
And yet—
I can still feel it. The way she leaned into me. The way her breath hitched just slightly. The way her hand pressed against my chest like she could feel my heartbeat going out of control.
My jaw tightens.
Five more minutes. That’s all it would’ve taken.
Five more minutes and—I cut the thought off, but it’s too late.
Because my mind goes there anyway. The way I almost pulled her closer. The way I was about to deepen the kiss. The way my hand had just started to settle against her waist—
I sit up abruptly, planting my feet on the floor, elbows braced on my knees.
“Get it together,” I mutter under my breath.
This is exactly what I can’t do. I can’t think about what could’ve happened. I can’t think about what I wanted to do. Because that road doesn’t end anywhere good.
Across the room, Carter glances over. “You good, man?”
“Fine.”
He studies me for a second, like he doesn’t believe it, then shrugs and goes back to whatever game he’s half-paying attention to.
I lean back again, this time keeping my eyes open, staring at the ceiling like I can force my brain to stay here.
The door swings open hard enough to hit the stopper with a loud crack. Every head in the room turns.
Commander Hayes strides in, his expression all business, eyes sweeping over us in a way that instantly shifts the mood. Conversations die. Cards lower. The TV might as well not exist.
“Listen up,” he says.
We’re already moving—sitting up straighter, attention locked in, instincts snapping into place.
“There’s a hurricane forming off the coast,” he continues. “Tracking toward Tidehaven.”
A couple of guys exchange looks.
Torres mutters, “Another one?”
Hayes ignores it. “Forecast has it strengthening fast. Expected to make landfall within forty-eight hours.”
Carter lets out a low whistle. “What are we talking?”
Hayes’s jaw tightens.
“Category five.”
That gets a reaction.
Not loud. Just a subtle shift. Because that’s not nothing. That’s serious. But still—
I lean back slightly, crossing my arms, not nearly as concerned as I probably should be. We’ve done this before. Too many times to count. Storms that look bad on paper, then veer off at the last second.
Evacuations that turn into overreactions. Long hours prepping for something that never hits.
Torres shakes his head. “Man, they always say that.”
“Doesn’t mean we don’t prepare,” Hayes snaps.
“Yes, sir.”
Hayes looks around the room, making sure he has all of us. “We mobilize at 0600. Gear up. Be ready for deployment.”
A chorus of “Yes, sir” follows.
He nods once, sharp and decisive, then turns and leaves as quickly as he came.
The door swings shut behind him.
The room exhales.
“Category five,” Carter mutters, leaning back in his chair. “That’d be a first.”
“It won’t hit,” Torres says confidently. “They never do.”
“Yeah,” someone else adds. “Watch it turn into a tropical storm overnight.”
A few chuckles. I don’t say anything. Because I’m thinking the same thing. It’s just another storm. Another drill. Another reason to stay busy.
And honestly?
That’s fine with me. Because the busier I am—The less I think about her. I push off the bunk, grabbing my gear bag from under the bed.
“Already packing?” Carter asks.
“Figured I’d get a head start.”
He smirks. “Or you just need something to do so you don’t sit there staring at the ceiling like a lovesick idiot.”
I shoot him a look. “Careful.”
He laughs. “Yeah, yeah.”
But I don’t argue. Because he’s not entirely wrong.