Hank (Copper Moon #1)

Chapter 1

"Only a few more minutes." The words came out rough, his throat dry from the recycled air and silence.

Brian shifted in the passenger seat, his massive frame cramped even with the seat pushed all the way back.

A soft snore escaped before he settled again.

In the back, Colby muttered something unintelligible, probably giving orders in his sleep like he did at the firehouse.

The acrid smell of cold French fries mixed with Brian's cologne, something expensive he'd probably charmed off some woman, had been Hank's only company since they'd crossed the Kentucky state line.

His right thigh burned, the familiar ache spreading up into his hip.

Thirteen hours behind the wheel was pushing it, but he'd wanted to drive.

Needed to. The closer they got to Copper Moon, the more his body hummed with anticipation, and something else.

Fear maybe. Or the weight of knowing everything rode on this weekend.

The truck crested Miller's Hill, and Hank's breath caught. This was the moment. His father's voice echoed in his memory: "Watch now, son. Nothing prettier than Copper Moon at night."

He reached over, his calloused fingers finding Brian's shoulder. The muscle beneath was solid as rock, even relaxed. "Hey, you're gonna miss it."

"Hmm." Brian's hand came up, scrubbing at his face. His tactical watch caught the dashboard light, 0058 hours. Old habits. "What..." A yawn cut him off, arms stretching until his knuckles brushed the roof.

"Buddy. Wake up, we're here." Hank rolled his shoulders, vertebrae popping in sequence. The sound made him feel older than forty-three. His neck protested as he turned it side to side, but the pain faded as Miller's Hill delivered its promise.

Brian straightened, suddenly alert, that SEAL training never really left. "Holy shit."

"Yeah." Hank's voice came out reverent.

The bay spread before them like hammered copper, the full moon painting the water in shades of rust and gold.

Each wave caught the light differently, creating a living canvas that shifted and breathed.

The town below looked like a jewelry box, windows dark but edged in copper light, the marina's masts cutting dark lines through the glow.

"Colby, get up, time to go to work." Brian's voice held mischief.

The reaction was immediate and violent. Colby shot upright, hand reaching for something that wasn't there, eyes wild. "What? Holy crap, don't fuck with me like that, ya jack asses."

Their laughter filled the truck, but it died as they descended into town.

Main Street was empty, shop windows reflecting the copper light like mirrors.

The Copper Moon Resort sat at the end of the road, directly across from the beach.

Hank's chest tightened. Tomorrow, this sleepy paradise would transform into controlled chaos, with motorcycles, mechanics, racers, and thousands of spectators. Tomorrow, everything would change.

Tonight, it was theirs.

He pulled the truck and trailer to the far end of the hotel parking lot, noting the empty spaces. By tomorrow afternoon, there wouldn't be room to walk between vehicles. His hands trembled slightly as he killed the engine. Exhaustion or anticipation, he couldn't tell anymore.

"Okay, guys, let's check in and see if we can get a few hours of shut-eye." He pushed open the driver's door, the humid beach air hitting him like a physical presence. Salt, seaweed, and something else, possibility, maybe. "I'm getting up early to warm Julie up before we start timing her."

Brian stretched again, his back cracking loud enough to echo. "Every time you call the bike Julie, it freaks me out just a little."

"Thirty years, Brian. Thirty years you've known about Julie, and you're still not used to it?" Hank's fingers found his right thigh, massaging the knot that had formed during the drive. The muscle spasmed once before releasing.

Colby climbed out, steadying himself against the truck. "You should be used to it by now." He looked toward the water, visible between buildings. "Place hasn't changed much."

"Some things shouldn't change." Hank grabbed his duffel from the truck bed, the weight of it familiar.

Everything he needed was in that bag: racing leathers, tools, and the photo of his grandfather with the original Julie.

The bike was named after his grandmother, the only woman who could make the old man smile like that.

They walked toward the hotel entrance, Hank's limp more pronounced now that he thought no one was watching. But Colby noticed, Colby always noticed. His friend fell into step beside him, close enough to catch him if the leg gave out but not so close as to wound his pride.

The lobby hit them with aggressive air conditioning and the smell of lemon cleaner trying to mask something floral.

Fresh flowers, birds of paradise, and something purple Hank didn't recognize, sat in crystal vases.

But it was the cookies that made his stomach growl.

Chocolate chip, fresh enough that he could see the steam rising.

"Damn, those cookies smell good." Brian's stomach joined the chorus, growling loud enough to echo.

"You're a garbage can, Brian. You haven't stopped eating since we left Kentucky," Colby griped, but there was affection in it.

"Don't worry about it, I'm a growing boy." Brian's whole demeanor shifted, shoulders squaring, that megawatt smile clicking into place.

Hank followed his friend's gaze to the reception desk.

The girl behind it couldn't have been more than twenty-five, with blonde hair piled in a messy bun that probably took an hour to look that effortless.

Pretty in that beach town way, sun-kissed and glowing.

She noticed Brian immediately. They always did.

"Here we go," Colby muttered.

Hank stepped ahead of Brian, cutting off his approach. The girl's eyes tracked Brian even as she addressed Hank. "Hi, welcome to the Copper Moon Resort. Do you have a reservation?"

"Hank James." He pulled the folded confirmation from his back pocket, the paper soft from his nervous handling during the drive. But she was already typing, pink-polished nails clicking against keys.

The printer hummed to life. She swiped two key cards, stopped, and looked directly at Brian. The blush started at her chest, visible above her resort polo shirt. "How many keys do you need?"

Brian moved in for the kill, all six-foot-four of him leaning against the counter. His biceps flexed, accidentally on purpose, showing off the tail end of his SEAL trident tattoo. The temperature in the room seemed to rise ten degrees. "Three, darlin', unless you'd like to make yourself one too."

Her hand fluttered to her throat, fingers playing with a small necklace there. The key card machine beeped three times while she tried to remember how to breathe.

She spread a map on the counter with shaking hands, using a pink highlighter to mark their route. "You're in building C, room 247. It's a suite with a view of the beach." Her voice cracked slightly. "I'm April. I'm here until eight if you need... anything."

"Thank you." Hank grabbed two key cards and the paperwork, leaving one for Romeo. "See you in the room, Brian."

Colby laughed as they walked back to the truck. "I watch him do his thing all the time, and I'm still amazed by it. It's damned effortless for that son-of-a-bitch to get laid."

"Natural talent." Hank hefted his bag, trying not to favor his right side. "Though at our age, you'd think he'd slow down."

"Brian? Slow down? The day he slows down is the day they put him in the ground." Colby grabbed his own gear, tactical bag perfectly organized. "You okay? That leg's bothering you."

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit. But we'll pretend I believe you." Colby held the door as they entered the hotel. "Big day tomorrow."

"Yeah." Hank's free hand found the key card in his pocket, running his thumb along the edge. "Everything changes tomorrow."

They found their room, a decent suite with three beds and a balcony overlooking the beach.

Brian would get the pull-out when he finally finished his hunt.

Hank chose the bed nearest the balcony door, needing to hear the water.

Colby took the one with the best sight lines to the door, always tactical, always ready.

Hank sat on his bed, unlacing his boots slowly. His fingers found the scar tissue along his thigh, pressing into the damaged muscle. Tomorrow, he'd need to be at one hundred percent. Tomorrow, thirty years of family history would ride on his shoulders.

"Hey." Colby's voice was quiet. "We're gonna do this. Your grandpa would be proud."

"Yeah." Hank lay back, still fully clothed except for his boots. The sound of waves carried through the glass door. "He would be."

Within minutes, exhaustion won. But just before sleep took him, Hank could have sworn he smelled copper on the ocean breeze, like the moon itself was blessing their arrival.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

Tonight, he just needed to believe they were ready for it.