Chapter 7 #2
Leave it to Riley to cut straight to the existential stuff.
She did that routinely. He smiled as he thought about all the conversations they’d had.
He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he looked forward to every text, even when he couldn’t answer.
Sometimes after missions, he had a hundred or more texts from her when he was able to join their secure connection.
She sustained him in ways he couldn’t explain.
They were completely honest with each other.
It was a rule they’d decided on early. He set down the gun he'd been cleaning and considered the question.
What was he afraid of? Death didn't scare him.
It was an occupational hazard. Pain was temporary.
But … his real fear, the thing that had tortured him since he was a teenager, sprang front and center.
Talon: Failing someone who's counting on me. You?
The truth hit him even as he typed it. It wasn't abstract fear—it was specific, personal.
The Siege had ingrained it into his DNA.
So, the thought of letting Riley down, of not being there when she needed him or of failing to protect the people who trusted him to bring them home safe … Fuck, it was real and smothering.
Riley: Being helpless again.
The words made his chest tighten with familiar rage—not at her but at the situation that had taught her what helplessness felt like.
She'd been anything but helpless when he'd found her.
Scared, hurt, traumatized, yes, but not helpless.
She'd fought to survive, fought to stay sane, fought to trust him enough to let him help her.
Talon: You're not helpless, Riley. You're stronger than you know.
She was the strongest person he'd ever met, and he'd met some tough people in his line of work. But Riley's strength was different—quieter, more resilient. She bent but didn't break.
Riley: How can you be sure?
Talon: Because I've seen you fight. And you're still fighting.
Every day she chose to get up, to try again, to push past the fear. Well, that was fighting. Every text she sent, every small victory she shared, every moment she chose connection over isolation—all of it was courage in action.
Talon stared at the questionable food options in the Istanbul airport. He was jet-lagged and slightly nauseous from the smell of whatever they were cooking at the food stand. His phone buzzed, and instantly, the day got brighter. Riley sent a happy face emoji. Just that, nothing else.
Talon: Delayed in Istanbul. Airport food is questionable at best.
He found himself sharing these mundane details with her more and more—not just the philosophical late-night thoughts, but the ordinary frustrations and observations that made up his days. It was soothing, almost normal to include her in these things.
Riley: What are your options?
Talon: Something that might be chicken, something that's definitely not, and vending machine candy.
He could practically hear her laugh in his head. Of course, it was imagined. He didn’t know what her laugh was like, but in his mind, it was a soft, genuine sound.
Riley: Candy for dinner, it is.
Talon: You're a bad influence.
The best kind of bad influence. She made him remember that life didn't always have to be about missions and objectives and life-or-death decisions. Sometimes, it could be about choosing candy over questionable airport meat and finding joy in small ways. A lesson he’d failed to learn for so many years.
His Grandpa Frank had tried to talk to him about it.
His parents had, too, but he’d blocked the idea of a normal relationship.
Talon blinked and looked at his phone. But this wasn’t a normal relationship, was it?
It was safe because of the physical distance between them.
Yet the emotional distance … well, that had disappeared.
Riley: I try my best.
She did. God, she tried so hard at everything—recovery, independence, connection, even making him smile from thousands of miles away.
March
Riley: Therapist says I'm making excellent progress.
Talon was in a tactical planning meeting with his team when the message came in, but he read it immediately anyway.
Progress. The word made something warm and proud expand in his chest. Hell, yeah, she was making progress.
He could tell in their conversations and the way she’d taken charge of her life and recovery.
Talon: That's great news. How do you feel about it?
He'd learned to ask that question. Riley was brilliant at downplaying her own achievements. She focused on what she still couldn't do instead of celebrating how far she'd come. He wouldn’t let her do that.
Riley: Proud, I think. It's been hard work.
Proud. Jesus, finally. She was finally letting herself feel proud of what she'd accomplished. Talon had to excuse himself from the meeting because he couldn't focus on extraction routes when Riley was having breakthrough moments.
Talon: The hardest work usually is.
Riley: When do you come home next?
Home. The word was subjective. His parents’ house wasn’t his home anymore.
The apartment he had was just a shell, but she didn’t want to know that shit.
When was he returning to the States? God, he wished he could call her.
But that would ultimately put her in danger.
He was Black Ops, and he’d gained access to this secure connection for texting through his connections at Guardian.
He wanted to call, but … He couldn’t without endangering himself, his team or her.
So … When do you come home next? One week, but he couldn’t tell her that.
He was never going to pigeonhole the team.
They were lives he would never jeopardize.
Talon: Two weeks, if nothing hits the fan. Why?
Riley: Just wondering.
Right. Like he was “just wondering” when her next therapy appointment was or “just wondering” if she’d eaten properly or “just wondering” if she were having nightmares. They were both terrible liars when it came to each other.
It was 0300 in whatever godforsaken time zone he was in, and Talon couldn't sleep.
The latest mission had been a success, but it had also involved some close calls that had left him thinking about mortality and meaning.
It was the kind of philosophical spiral that usually led nowhere good.
So, he distracted himself by texting Riley.
Talon: 0300 philosophy hour: Do you believe in fate?
He'd never been one for fate or destiny or any of that mystical bullshit.
But lately, he'd been thinking about the odds of being in exactly the right place at exactly the right time to find Riley.
The statistical improbability of their connection.
The way she'd become necessary to his life without him even realizing it was happening.
Riley: Depends on the day. Do you?
Talon: I used to think everything was random. Now I'm not so sure.
Riley: What changed your mind?
You, he wanted to type. Meeting you, talking to you, falling for you without touching you or even meaning to. But that felt like too much, too honest, and definitely too vulnerable for a text message.
Talon: Meeting certain people at exactly the right moment.
Riley: Must have been some people.
Talon: Yeah. She really is.
She. Singular. One person who’d changed everything about how he saw the world, how he saw himself, how he saw the future.
One person who’d made him believe in something bigger than missions and tactical objectives.
Fuck, he hoped he wasn’t hooking his cargo up to a situation where she didn’t feel the same way as he did.
His gut told him they were on the same page, but he hadn’t asked and wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to ask.
April
Riley: Drove to the beach today. First time since before ...
Talon's breath caught. The beach. She'd driven herself to the beach. He knew how big this was. She'd been talking about wanting to go to the ocean for months, but the anxiety had always been too much.
Talon: How was it?
He was proud of her. He was so fucking proud that he wanted to call her and tell her, but they'd never spoken on the phone, and he didn't want to push the issue.
Riley: Scary at first. Then peaceful. Stayed for hours.
She'd stayed for hours. Talon found himself smiling so hard his face hurt. She was reclaiming pieces of herself, one moment at a time.
Talon: What did you do?
Riley: Just sat and listened to the waves. Remembered what it felt like to be calm.
The image of Riley sitting peacefully by the ocean, finally feeling calm again, made his chest tighten with emotion. He felt pride and affection and something deeper, something that felt dangerously close to … yeah, no. That was stupid thinking.
Talon: That sounds perfect.
Riley: Wish you could have been there.
The words hit him like a physical blow. She wanted to share that moment with him. Not just tell him about it but actually share the experience.
Talon: Me, too.
More than she could possibly know. He wanted to see all her wins, this one in particular.
He could imagine her face when she first saw the ocean, the exact shade of contentment in her eyes, the way the wind moved her hair.
He wanted to be there for all the big moments and the small ones, the victories and the setbacks, everything.
"You're doing it again," Jug said, dropping into the seat across from Talon in the Tokyo hotel bar.
"Doing what?" Talon asked, not looking up from his phone.
"Texting your girlfriend and smiling like an idiot."
"She's not my girlfriend."
"Right. What's the smile about, then?"
“None of your business, Jug. Do I ask what you and Shelly text about?”
“Shelly is my wife. You just said Riley wasn’t your girlfriend. Big difference.”
Talon looked up. “Jug?”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck off.”
“Nope, and I love you, too, Skipper.”
Talon rolled his eyes before returning to his phone.