Chapter 32 Picasso
THIRTY-TWO
PICASSO
Inside the lodge, the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and stale woodsmoke.
The rough-hewn logs of the walls, worn smooth by years of seasonal storms and long winters, cradled the space.
A large stone fireplace dominated the main room; its blackened hearth bore the marks of decades of use but now sat cold, promising warmth yet to come.
Fortunately, dry wood was stacked nearby, and the kitchen cabinets were surprisingly stocked with cans of beans, bags of rice, jars of preserved fruit, and even a dusty bottle of cooking oil.
The team moved methodically through the lodge, shedding their soaked gear as steam rose from damp fabric into the cool air.
The floor quickly became a collection of sodden jackets, boots, and packs.
Reef and Grizzly quickly had the substantial log fire roaring within minutes, sending dancing light and much-needed warmth across the main room.
As Falcon began a methodical sweep of the lodge's sturdy structure, checking the integrity of the windows and doors against the storm’s escalating assault, the team also made mental notes of sleeping arrangements. The lodge boasted several small bedrooms and a large open loft.
"Looks like a few bunks here, as well as the couches in the living area," Grizzly observed, peering into a side room.
He grinned, glancing at Picasso and Gabriella.
"And oh, hey, look at that. King-size bed in the master suite.
Someone's going to be real cozy tonight.
Picasso, Firecracker, I figure you two will want to call dibs on that one, right? "
Picasso just shot him a dry, flat stare that promised future retribution, while Gabriella merely rolled her eyes.
Their priority, however, was the elderly couple.
Hurricane and Falcon carefully helped Elias and Martha to two sturdy couches positioned closest to the radiating warmth of the fireplace.
They rummaged through the bedrooms, quickly finding clean pillows and thick, wool blankets, layering them over the emergency blankets already wrapped around the couple.
"Just try to relax now, Martha. Get some rest," Gabriella murmured, tucking a blanket snugly around the elderly woman.
Elias, already slumped back against a pillow, sighed deeply, the tension finally easing from his frail body.
Wrapped in their multiple layers and nestled on the comfortable couches near the flickering fire, Elias and Martha drifted into restless sleep, their steady breathing a quiet rhythm against the soft crackling flames.
Picasso and Gabriella slipped away from the bustle, finding a rare moment of solitude by a window overlooking the dark woods. The warm glow of the fire cast shifting shadows across their faces as they settled into the calm, the noise outside fading into the background.
They eventually settled onto a worn wooden bench by the fireplace, knees nearly touching.
For the first time since Mexico, the constant pressure and noise of the outside world seemed to recede.
Here, bathed in flickering firelight, it was just them, two quiet survivors speaking softly amid smoke and shadow.
“This is better than an airport bar, I guess,” she murmured, voice worn but steady with exhaustion.
He managed a faint smile, one that reached his eyes despite the fatigue. “Significantly.”
Her green eyes met his, playful yet tired. “So, ‘switched planets,’ huh? That’s your version of an apology?”
Picasso sighed, running a hand over his face. “It’s my version of…I don’t know. Trying. I’m good at controlling variables. You…you’re a wild card.”
She chuckled softly. “Is that what you told Commander Bennett?”
He grinned—a rare, genuine flicker of amusement. “No. I told her we needed mountain warfare refresher training. But between Falcon sweet-talking her and Reef doing what Reef does best, I’m pretty sure they bribed her with Tootsie Rolls.”
Gabriella laughed, a warm, clear sound that eased some of the tension.
He leaned toward her, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face and planting a soft kiss on her forehead. “I heard your call the other night. Just before it cut out…‘Different planets.’”
Her shoulders sagged, the weight of the admission visible. “I meant it. This life eats you alive. Leaves no room for anything else.”
“For me, it always did,” he admitted, voice low and raw.
“I built walls so high nothing could get in. Or out. I convinced myself it was protection. For me, for the team.” He caught her gaze, eyes glistening in the firelight.
“But those walls started to feel like a prison. And you…you found a crack in them. You reminded me what it means to be human.”
She reached for his hand, fingers tracing gentle circles over his knuckles. “And you,” she said, voice soft and sure, “remind me that some chaos needs a steady hand. Burning bright isn’t burning out. Sometimes, the strongest move is knowing when to let someone else hold the flame.”
He slipped his fingers through hers, squeezing gently. The connection settled in his chest—warmth where there’d been only cold for so long. He leaned in, brushing a lingering kiss to her temple.
“I don’t know what ‘normal’ looks like for us, Gabriella. My world is deployments, fight or flight. Yours is disaster zones and endless chaos. They don’t line up on any calendar.”
She squeezed his hand, resting her head against his shoulder. “No. They crash. But maybe that’s our normal. A wild, unpredictable road. And maybe we’re just better at navigating it together.”
Picasso tightened his grip, lips twitching with a smile. “It won’t be easy.”
“Nothing worth fighting for ever is.” Gabriella met his gaze, her eyes steady and fiercely alive even in the dim firelight. She spoke quietly, “I get it. You can’t tell me everything; there are things that have to stay locked down. I understand that. I don’t expect the full picture.”
She lifted her face then, courage shining like a beacon. “But promise me one thing: no more ‘Can’t. Duty.’ When you say those words, I want you to tell me why. I’ll listen, whatever it is. And I’ll do my best not to call you from places where the signal drops.”
Her words pierced through the walls he’d built around himself, each one a fragile bridge reaching out to him. He let out a slow breath, a small flame of hope flickering in the depths he thought long extinguished.
“Promise,” he said, the word soft but resolute, carrying the weight of everything they’d both been afraid to admit.
Before the fire’s glow dimmed, he brushed a soft kiss across her lips, light, tentative, full of everything they hadn’t yet said aloud.
Gabriella smiled against him, the exhaustion and fear fading, just for a moment, in the quiet warmth between them.
He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. Her damp hair smelled of pine and rain, and something uniquely Gabriella. He hadn’t felt this grounded, this utterly there, since the tent in Mexico.
“I promise,” he whispered into her hair, a vow not just to her, but to himself. “No more different planets. Just us. Wherever the storm takes us.”