Chapter Three
Dale woke early. He always did.
Years of deployments and early briefs had wired his internal clock to beat the sun.
But this morning, he didn’t move immediately.
Not yet. Ty’s arm was heavy over his stomach, his breath even and warm against Dale’s side.
Oren was curled into Ty’s back, one hand resting across Ty’s hip like it belonged there.
Dale smiled into the half-light of dawn.
He couldn’t help it. There was something so peaceful about the sight.
He let himself enjoy it for a few long minutes, memorizing every detail—the tangle of limbs, the quiet, the safety.
This was what he’d never dared dream about—connection.
Something real. Something that could last.
Eventually, he slid out from under Ty’s arm and padded barefoot to the end of the bed, grabbing his jeans and black t-shirt from the floor.
He dressed quietly in the half-dark, not wanting to wake the two men still wrapped in sleep and each other.
Slipping out of the barracks with a final glance back, he made the short walk across the compound to his suite.
It was quiet—too quiet—but familiar. He stripped off, took a quick shower, then changed into his standard training gear—black cargo pants and a tight-fit tee.
After lacing his boots, he headed out toward the main building.
Marsh and Bateman stood near the edge of the courtyard, speaking in low tones. As he approached, they turned. Bateman looked unusually serious.
“You’re up early,” Marsh said.
“So are you,” Dale replied. “Something wrong?”
Marsh rubbed the back of his neck. “Could be nothing. But we’ve picked up drone traffic. Low-range stuff, not military grade. Someone’s running patterns near the Ridge.”
Dale’s expression sharpened. “Recon?”
“Feels like it. Like someone’s watching, logging comings and goings.”
“You thinking this has anything to do with Eli?” Dale asked, but Marsh was shaking his head before he’d even finished asking the question.
“No, the Colonel was the only person dumb enough to think he could take Eli from me.” Eli had escaped a violent, controlling relationship with Colonel Adrian White, fleeing New York to find sanctuary. Here at the Ridge, he not only rebuilt his life but the man he was always meant to be with. Marsh.
Bateman shook his head. “True. If Eli had enemies left, we dealt with them when we took down the Colonel. This doesn’t feel like that—it’s off somehow.
Doesn’t have the weight or structure of a military op.
And honestly, I don’t even know if it ties back to the Pathfinders.
Lately, we’ve had a parade of federal alphabet agencies around the Ridge.
Could be one of them, or something they’re stirring up. ”
Marsh added, “And we’ve got no hits on local chatter, nothing in the usual dark channels. I’ve put out feelers.”
“Let me know what you find, or if there’s anything I can do to help,” Dale said. The hairs on his arms were prickling, tension winding between his shoulders.
Bateman crossed his arms. “And what about you? You okay?”
Dale looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re not usually this ... quiet. You’re usually all swagger and sarcasm in the morning. You look like a man who didn’t just get lucky but caught feelings while he was at it.”
Dale didn’t smirk. Didn’t deflect. Just exhaled and shrugged. “It wasn’t quite like that, but maybe I did. Maybe it’s different this time.”
Marsh’s brows lifted. “Serious, huh?”
Dale nodded. “It could be. If we don’t fuck it up.”
Bateman clapped him on the shoulder. “Then don’t.”
Marsh’s voice dropped a little. “You think this drone shit is connected to either of them?”
Dale thought for a moment. “I don’t think so, man,” he said honestly. “And as for me, the only people I really piss off on a regular basis is you guys.”
Bateman’s frown deepened. “Could be a vendetta. We’ve made more than a few enemies.”
“Maybe,” Dale agreed quietly. “But this kind of surveillance takes time, planning. Whoever it is, they’re invested.”
“We’ll tighten patrols around the perimeter,” Marsh said. “Coordinate with security to rotate patterns irregularly. Make the Ridge and the people who live here harder to track.”
“I’ll reroute trainee access, too,” Bateman added. “Keep traffic to the public zones minimal until we’ve got a read.”
“You do that,” Marsh said. “And if this gets worse, we pull everyone tighter. No solo assignments. We learned that lesson the hard way.”
Dale nodded, appreciating the weight behind the words. Marsh wasn’t just looking out for the Ridge. He was looking out for their team, their family.
“Go on,” Marsh said. “Your classes will be waiting.”
Dale turned to leave, but Bateman stopped him. “Hey. Ty and Oren. That’s real, huh?”
Dale paused. Usually, this would be the moment he threw out some cocky line or rolled his eyes. But instead, he said, “Yeah. It’s real. Feels like the kind of thing worth fighting for.”
Bateman raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press. “Then fight smart.”
Dale gave a tight smile and headed to the gym.
His morning classes were already filling up, trainees stretching and sparring on the mats.
He moved through the drills on autopilot, half his mind on their form, the other half replaying the conversation with Marsh and Bateman.
Drones, surveillance, the faint scent of trouble circling the Ridge.
By the time the last session wrapped, the sun had dropped low, washing the yard in amber light.
He dismissed the trainees, then lingered, leaning against the ropes as the shadows stretched longer.
There was an itch between his shoulders he couldn’t shake.
Not danger exactly, but the sense that the day wasn’t quite done with him.
That’s when the idea took hold. A night exercise. Not for the rookies—for the three of them. Ty. Oren. Himself. They needed to see what they could do together when it counted, when the only thing between them and failure was trust.
He keyed in the training schedule and locked the gym. If the stars aligned, he’d still be feeding a builder and an engineer later—with wine, garlic bread, maybe even a plan for breakfast. But first ... he had a date to plan.
****
Oren had left the barracks early, slipping out of bed with a reluctant sigh when the morning light crept through the window.
Waking up wrapped around Ty was new, but far too easy.
Too addictive. Ty had stirred, groaning when Oren rolled him onto his back, but that groan had turned into a moan when Oren pressed a slow, deep kiss to his lips.
They’d made out like teenagers, heat rising fast between them.
Ty’s hands gripped Oren’s waist, pulling him close as their mouths met in hungry, unrestrained kisses.
Oren moaned low in his throat when Ty flipped them, settling between his thighs.
Their hips rolled, grinding against each other, breathless and needy.
“God, you taste good,” Ty murmured between kisses, voice husky. “Been wanting this since day one.”
Oren’s fingers threaded through Ty’s hair, tugging just enough to earn a growl.
He kissed him again, deeper, harder, until his brain swam.
Then he pulled back slightly, brushing his nose against Ty’s.
“You know,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion, “I wouldn’t have been ready for this back then.
Still too deep in my father’s bullshit—his preaching, his hate.
I thought if I even looked at a man the wrong way, I’d burn in hell.
” He kissed Ty again, gently this time, then rested their foreheads together.
“But I’m not that guy anymore. I’m not his son. I’m me. My own man.”
Just before they passed the point of no return, Oren pulled back, chest heaving. He looked Ty in the eye and said, “Dale.”
Ty, flushed and gorgeous, eyes dark with need, smiled and nodded. “Yeah. I know.”
Oren reached up and brushed his fingers along Ty’s jaw, his voice low. “Not that there’s anything wrong with this, us, what we just did, but the start of the three of us—it should be the three of us.”
Ty leaned into the touch, his smile softening. “Agreed. But for the record? You can wake me up like that on any damn day of the week. Oh, and I still want that name.”
Oren rolled his eyes. “What for?”
“I’m not going to beat him up,” Ty said with an innocent look, “I just think we might have to do a little background search, that’s all.”
Oren thought about that. It made sense. “It was Carson Rourke, a contractor working over on East Ridge.”
Ty smiled, but didn’t say anything more, and they lay tangled for a moment longer before Oren kissed his forehead and slipped out, promising to see him later. There was work to be done.
By the time he hit the construction site, the sun was just warming the horizon. The air smelled of dew-wet dirt and fresh-cut lumber. The kind of peaceful start to a day he usually liked. But something felt—off.
First, one of the new survey tablets was missing from the trailer.
He checked twice, even asked the two newest workers if they’d seen it, but no one had.
Then he noticed the toolbox near the south wall was half open.
Tools out of place. Not how he’d left it the night before.
Hell, not even where he’d left it. No way would he leave his tools out like that.
Then there were the boot prints. Subtle, but wrong.
The treads didn’t match their company issued boots.
They weren’t steel capped, they were more like what the trainees wore.
That one he could chalk up to a trainee wandering somewhere he or she shouldn’t be.
That was very possible, but unease coiled in his gut.
That’s when his day turned to shit. Carson appeared out of nowhere. He just strolled in from the west gate like he belonged there. Hardhat tucked under one arm, coffee in hand, and that same slick smile stretched across his face.
“Morning, sunshine,” he said, gaze skating too slow over Oren’s frame. “Hell of a day to build something.”
Oren kept his expression neutral. “You working this site today? Thought you were assigned over at East Ridge.”
“Swapped with a buddy. I like the company better over here.”
Oren turned back toward the layout plans, willing himself not to respond. Not to rise. Hoping that by ignoring the fucker he would leave.
Carson stepped closer. “You just going to ignore me then? You think you’re better than me and the rest of the crew?”
Oren tensed, and rose to his full height, keeping on his toes, ready to move if he needed. He had no idea why his body felt the need to ready itself for fight, but he wasn’t going to second guess it. “You need something, Carson?”
“Just looking for a friendly conversation. Or not.” He leaned in slightly.
“Heard you had a rough time overseas, is that true? POW and all that? Bet it left some scars. Inside and out, right, Oren? I bet they sliced you up pretty good and had you begging to die. Did it hurt? All that blood, it had to have hurt like a motherfucker.”
Oren froze, the breath driven straight from his lungs.
His hands clenched, jaw locking as a wave of dread surged through him.
His entire being was hurled back in time—dust and blood and pain, the suffocating silence of a cell and the endless drip of water against stone.
The chill of a concrete floor beneath his skin.
The phantom sting of hands that held him down.
For one paralyzing moment, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear anything but echoes from a nightmare.
Oren registered, as if from a great distance, that Carson smiled, sipped his coffee, and walked off without another word.
But the world had gone muffled, his awareness shrinking into a tunnel of horror.
The bastard had dragged him right back into the worst of it, and even as Carson’s footsteps faded, Oren was trapped—paralyzed—reliving a memory soaked in fear, pain, and the metallic tang of blood and betrayal.
The chill stayed in Oren’s spine long after he was gone.
He stared after him, unsettled. That wasn’t just locker room gossip.
Carson had known too much. And the way he’d said it—casual, knowing, invasive—it made Oren’s skin crawl.
As the bastard disappeared from view, Oren felt the tremors in his hands and the sweat slick on his brow.
He had to force himself to breathe. Slowly, methodically, he began to run through grounding techniques—naming five things he could see, four he could touch, three he could hear.
It was something his therapist had drilled into him, and it took longer than he liked, but eventually the ringing in his ears dulled.
The tremors ebbed. Only then did he return to his day, shaken but resolute.
Later, when he was walking back toward the trailer to check the inventory logs, he caught sight of Carson again, talking to another worker. His tone was easy, friendly, but his eyes—when they flicked to Oren—held something darker. A challenge, maybe. Or a warning.
He didn’t like it.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, jolting him. Dale.
“Hey,” he answered, trying to keep his voice steady.
“You okay? You sound weird.” Perceptive.
“Just a long day,” Oren replied, forcing a smile he knew Dale couldn’t see.
“Thought we might go on a date tonight—start with a little night mission and then I might cook again tonight. You, me, and Ty.”
Oren exhaled, grounding himself in the sound of Dale’s voice. “Yeah. That sounds ... really good.”
“Cool. Come dressed for action first.”
Oren chuckled. “Copy that.”
When the call ended, he stood there for a long moment, staring out across the site.
The sky was blue, the Ridge was quiet, and everything felt wrong.
He made a decision then and there. Tonight, he’d talk to Dale and Ty about Carson.
About what he’d said. About the boot prints and the tablet and all the little things he didn’t want to believe meant something.
He wouldn’t keep secrets. He’d tell them once he’d figured it out in his head.