47. BRAXTON
Daria was tucked against me, one leg slung over mine, her breath steady and warm against my chest. The light filtering through the window told me it was morning, but I wasn’t ready to move. Not yet.
It had been two days since we’d arrived in Tacoma, and we were already falling into a rhythm with those whose lives were entwined with ours. We had spent almost every moment helping with the wedding. It was a happy distraction for Daria, as she adjusted to her new life here. Last night, I’d made love to her, just as I did most nights. Neither of us, it seemed, could get enough of the other.
I liked waking up before her. It gave me time to study her without making her feel awkward. As I traced slow circles across her back, just under the curve of her shoulder blade, I scrutinized the wound from where I’d removed the toxin-filled capsule. The skin on the back of her arm had mostly healed, but it had left a fairly nasty scar. There were lots of scars across her body—some old, some new—marks from people who I’d love nothing more than to murder. That wasn’t in the cards, but I wished I could. I would spend the rest of my life trying to heal the scars unseen.
She was the strongest person I’d ever known—fierce in every sense but still capable of softness when it mattered. Every day, another layer of her was peeled back, revealing something new that knocked me sideways. I was amazed not just by the way she’d survived hell, but how she refused to let it define her.
After hearing about Angel and Conan’s baby, my mind kept drifting. I started thinking about what our child might be like someday—if we were ever lucky enough to have one. Would they have Daria’s fire? Her impossible resilience? Those eyes that saw through bullshit like glass? Or maybe they’d be quieter, stubborn like me. The idea of building a future with her—something lasting—hit me harder than I’d expected. I wanted to be a good husband. A good dad, someday. But, having grown up without good parents, I wasn’t sure I knew what that looked like. That left me guessing. And deep down, that terrified me.
For a few minutes longer, I watched Daria sleep, memorizing the way her features relaxed when the nightmares didn’t reach her. On the yacht, there had been nights when she had sat straight up in a panic—gasping, heart racing, reaching for the knife under her pillow that wasn’t there, before I could soothe her back to a more comfortable sleep. It worried me to think about her not having me there to ensure her safety.
On other nights, when she didn’t practically fly out of bed, her body would tense and her hands would clench into fists. I’d hold her, whisper something soft, and she’d eventually settle. Last night had been one of the calmer ones. But I could still see it in her. Whatever she’d seen, whatever she’d survived, it was buried deep but always there, always humming just beneath the surface.
When I asked her about it, she would say she was fine, said that being with me—starting over—was enough. Maybe she was right. Perhaps love, safety, and sunlight were enough to quiet the ache those scars left behind. But I also knew that trauma didn’t vanish just because you moved to a new continent.
She shifted against me, stretching a little before her eyes opened.
“Morning,” I said, brushing a strand of her hair back and kissing her forehead.
She blinked slowly, then tucked herself closer to me. “Is it already time?”
“Almost.” I smiled. “Atticus and I are heading to the airport to grab Nik, and then we’re meeting up with the rest of the guys at Conan’s to get ready.”
She hummed. “That’s right, and I’ll be spending the day with the girls. I can’t wait to attend an American wedding. It’s all so romantic.”
“It’s great that you, Sam, and Angel have hit it off so well and that you get to be here for this special day.”
Daria pulled back just enough to smile at me. “They’re great. I like them both. They’re not fake. They’ve been through hell too. It’s easier being around women who get it.”
“I figured you’d say that.” I rubbed her arm gently. “Will you be all right without me for a few hours?”
“I survived a Russian prison and Yakov Malinov. I think I can handle a bridal party.”
I laughed. “Fair enough. Just a heads-up—Bethany will be there too.”
“Bethany. That’s the maid of honor, right?”
“Yes. She’s one of Sam’s coworkers. Loud, no filter, cusses like a sailor, and probably drinks more coffee than anyone I’ve ever met. Great nurse, great person. But…she’s a lot.”
Daria smirked. “I’d rather deal with someone who’s loud and blunt than someone who plays nice and hides a knife behind their back.”
“See? I knew you’d fit into life in Tacoma just fine.”
I leaned down and kissed her, slow and soft, then pressed my forehead against hers.
“I still can’t believe I get to call you my wife.”
She ran her fingers down my chest. “You say that like you won the lottery.”
“I did.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away.
For a few more minutes, Daria lay with her head on my chest, brushing her fingers along my ribs in slow, gentle lines. I could’ve stayed there all morning with her nestled against me, her breath steady, her body calm.
“This wedding’s going to be so beautiful,” she murmured. “Samantha told me they kept it small so they could make it everything they wanted. It’s just you and Conan standing with Atticus. Angel and Bethany for her.”
“She worked hard to make it perfect,” I said, running my fingers through her hair. “They chose the Point Defiance Pagoda because it would work rain or shine, but Sam, of course, was hoping for sun. Looks like she got her wish. It’s supposed to be clear all day.”
“I’m glad,” Daria said. “She told me she wanted the ceremony outside. With the water behind them, the fall leaves, and lots of fresh flowers—it’s going to be stunning.”
I smiled at the image. “With that red hair of hers, she’ll look like fire against all the green and gold.”
Daria propped herself up on one elbow. “Did you know they picked today because it marks one year since their first date?”
“Yep. They went to the park and then up to our cabin.”
I chuckled at the memory.
“What’s so funny?”
“Well, Conan and I had no idea that Atticus had taken her up there. We decided at the last minute to drive up that night and go fishing the next morning. When we walked up onto the back deck, we caught them going at it hot and heavy. Oh, God, that freaked Sam the fuck out. I still don’t know how Atticus ever got another date with her after that.”
“Oh, that’s funny. I guess we’ve never been bothered by anyone catching us.” She laughed. “Poor Nikolai; I think we’ve scarred him for life.”
She leaned in and kissed me.
I let the moment linger before I sat up against the headboard. “Before we get up and start the day, there’s something I want to say.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “What’s with the serious face?”
I hesitated. “You had another nightmare last night. I didn’t wake you—just rubbed your back and held you until you calmed. But it’s not the first time, and…I don’t know. It’s killing me to watch you suffer like that, even if you sleep through it. I see the way your face twists up; I hear the sounds you make. I just—I want you to know it’s okay not to be okay. You might want to get a therapist.”
A faint smile pulled at her lips. “It’s in your nature to worry, to carry people’s pain.” She reached out, her fingers tracing my jaw. “But, Braxton, I’m strong. I’ve lived most of my life under the thumb of a man who taught me to never show weakness. I served a government that valued silence over truth, brutality over grace. That life carved scars into me, sure—more inside than out—but I’m here. I’m free. And this new identity, this clean slate you and Nik gave me…it’s the first time I’ve ever been able to breathe.”
I held her gaze, listening.
“My heart still aches for Ukraine. That won’t change. But right now, I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I have a future—one I want to experience with you. So don’t fret. Don’t carry my pain like it’s yours. I’ll tell you when it gets too heavy. I’ll ask when I need help. Until then, just keep holding me and loving me through the dark parts.”
I placed my hand on the back of her neck and kissed her forehead. “God, I love you,” I whispered. “I love you so much it hurts. When I think about you in pain…it’s like I forget how to think. You’re everything, Daria. Fate did one thing right—putting you in my path.”
She smiled and leaned her forehead against mine.
Reluctantly, I swung my legs off the bed. “All right, I’ve gotta shower and get moving. Nik’s not the most patient, as you well know.”
“Knowing him, he probably hasn’t slept in two days.”
“Exactly why I’m not letting Atticus pick him up alone.”
I looked back at her once more—still curled in the sheets, hair wild from sleep—and kissed her shoulder.
“You sleep a little longer, and I’ll see you at the wedding,” I whispered. Her eyes were already falling shut, a soft smile curving her lips.
The lawn leading down to Commencement Bay from the Point Defiance Pagoda looked like something out of a dream. Lush green stretched in every direction, edged by towering trees just beginning to blush with the colors of fall—burnt orange, deep gold, and crimson. The air carried that crisp edge only early October could bring, and the late afternoon sun cast everything in a warm amber glow. Beyond it all, the bay gleamed, stretching into the distance, the light catching the ripples and turning the water to molten silver.
Rows of black chairs formed a perfect aisle, each one flanked by floral arrangements set low in antique urns—bursts of rust-colored dahlias, creamy garden roses, deep crimson roses, and soft sage eucalyptus spilling over the edges. The path to the altar was bordered on both sides with dense rows of petals, framing the aisle in fire. I could smell the flowers from where we stood. Real fragrance, not the fake kind. They’d flown in the best flowers from Ecuador and the Netherlands, which probably cost more than my car. At the end of the aisle, a wooden arch curved over the altar, draped in cream-colored silks and buried in more flowers—layer after layer of fall foliage. More rust-toned dahlias, magnolia leaves, soft green ruscus, and ivory roses were tucked in and overflowing. Atticus had said he wanted it perfect for Samantha, and damn if he hadn’t delivered. It looked like something out of a fairy tale, only better—because it was real.
The pagoda rose behind us, its green-tiled roof and sharp angles giving it an almost sacred feeling. It was peaceful. Timeless. The string quartet sat just to the left of it, their bows rising and falling in unison as they played softly. People chatted quietly in their seats. A few were still trickling in, but most were settled. The sky above had gone golden, and the bay beyond glimmered in the soft, fading light.
Conan shifted beside me for the fifth time, rolling his shoulders like the fabric of his suit might loosen up if he just fidgeted enough. The rust-colored jacket pulled snug across his chest and arms. It looked not quite uncomfortable, but it was clearly built for someone who spent a little less time in the gym. Ink curled out from beneath his cuffs and collar—black lines wrapping around his hands and creeping up his neck, impossible to miss even under the suit and dress shirt. His tie sat a little crooked, the knot slightly off-center. His hair had grown out again—long enough now to tie back. A few strands had already slipped loose. I caught his eye and grinned. He scowled and muttered, “Don’t even say it.”
Atticus, standing next to us, appeared ready to pass out.
He kept adjusting his sleeves, then his vest, then his sleeves again. His suit—black with a tie and vest to match ours—was cut perfectly to his frame. His jaw clenched as he scanned the path in front of us like he was hoping Samantha might suddenly appear just to end his suffering.
“Don’t worry; she’ll be here soon enough,” I whispered.
“Remind me again why we didn’t just elope?” Atticus whispered back. “I’ve faced trauma patients with less adrenaline than I’ve got running through me right now.”
“Because you always want to give Samantha everything she’s ever dreamed of.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, inhaling roughly.
There was laughter next to us as some people found their seats. Nik walked up, cool as ever, in dark slacks and a jacket, and slid into the chair beside Daria. She said something to him, and he nodded once, his expression unreadable. Daria’s hand found his shoulder, and she leaned in to whisper something else before she turned to face forward again.
Then, the opening notes of Canon in D rose from the quartet, and everyone in attendance fell silent.
Angel came into view first, graceful and careful in her rust-colored gown. Her bouquet matched the flowers lining the aisle. When she spotted Nik, her eyes lit up. She didn’t smile—not fully—but the expression in her eyes said everything. Bethany followed, glowing in her matching dress, all smiles as she made her way toward the altar.
They took their places opposite us, bouquets lowered, hands clasped. Bethany gave Atticus a wink, and for a second, he remembered how to breathe.
Then the bridal chorus began, and the entire crowd rose to their feet.
I looked down the aisle, my chest tightening with my own nervous energy. Beside me, Atticus stood completely still, holding his breath for that first glimpse of Samantha.
And then—there she was.
She stood alone at the top of the aisle—back straight, chin high, radiant. Her dress was lace from shoulder to toe—short sleeves, a fitted waist, and a train that swept the ground behind her. Sunlight caught the soft waves of the deep red hair that spilled down her back. What lit up her face wasn’t makeup—it was joy, unmistakable and real.
She walked herself down the aisle, on no one’s arm. Just her—strong, beautiful, and unshakable. When I’d asked her about it, she’d told me that the only man she needed to start her married life was Atticus.
Her eyes locked onto his, and she smiled softly.
Atticus stared like he couldn’t believe she was real.
“She’s beautiful, brother,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer, but I saw him blink fast, trying to hold it together. The guests let out soft gasps, and a few whispered oohs and ahhs as the photographers moved quietly along the edges, snapping pictures of each moment.
When she reached the altar, Samantha handed her bouquet to Bethany and turned to Atticus. He took her hands like he might never let go.
“I’ve been waiting my whole life for this moment,” he whispered. “For you.”
She beamed up at him, and for that second, it was just the two of them. The rest of us could’ve disappeared.
They deserved their moment.
They’d fought hard for it.
The quartet stopped playing as the officiant, Colton Davidson—an old friend from Atticus’s Navy days—stepped forward. He smiled at both of them before he greeted the guests. The quiet murmurs faded. Atticus shifted slightly and swallowed hard. He kept his eyes locked on Samantha as he gently rubbed her fingers with his thumb.
“We gather today in celebration,” Colton began, “of Atticus and Samantha, two souls who, through life’s greatest challenges, have found a bond powerful enough to heal, strengthen, and overcome.”
He paused, glancing at each of them. Samantha beamed up at Atticus. His face visibly relaxed at the sight.
Colton continued, “Love, true love, is not only found in moments of joy but forged in times of pain, grief, and vulnerability. Atticus and Samantha stand before us today, a testament to the strength of compassion, trust, and unwavering support. They have written vows for one another—words they will now share with you.”
He turned toward Atticus. “Atticus, would you like to go first?”
Atticus inhaled deeply, smiled at his friend, and then faced Samantha fully.
He cleared his throat. “Sammich—” he said, his voice coming out a little tight. Bethany giggled, and Atticus shot her a quick glance and began again.
“Samantha, the first time I saw you, I knew I was in trouble. You entered my ED like a lightning bolt—confident, smart, fiery. I didn’t know how to handle you. I tried to stay distant, professional. But I couldn’t resist the challenge.”
She smiled, and her fingers curled tighter around his.
His voice grew tender. “Samantha, before you, I was convinced I knew exactly who I was and my place in the world, that I had no room for love. I’d become bitter and burned out. But from the moment you scrunched up your freckled nose at me and accused me of forgetting my manners, I was lost to you. You didn’t just break down my walls. You reduced them to rubble and made it impossible for them to be rebuilt. I thought I was too old, too scarred, too stuck in my ways to love. But you saw through it all. You made me laugh. You made me see things differently. You showed me what it meant to choose someone fully, even when it’s hard—especially then.” He paused and cupped her cheek in one hand. “I promise to protect you fiercely, to support your dreams without hesitation, and to love you openly every day for the rest of our lives. You saved me, Samantha, and I am yours completely.”
The sincerity in his voice hung in the air. Samantha blinked back tears, her lips trembling slightly as she squeezed his hands.
Colton smiled softly, turning to her. “And Samantha, your vows.”
She swallowed hard, her chin trembling as she took a breath.
“Atticus, before I met you, I never thought anyone could truly understand my scars. I thought I had to be strong for everyone—for myself, for my friends, for every patient who ever looked at me like I could help them. But when I met you, I realized I didn’t have to do it alone. You saw all of me—my strengths, my flaws, and my vulnerabilities—and you never flinched. You’ve held me through nightmares and cheered on my successes.”
Atticus blinked fast. A tear fell anyway.
“You never treated me like I was broken. You never asked me to change. You saw all the parts of me I tried to keep hidden. You were there in my darkest hour, and I don’t mean the hospital bed. I mean the moment I thought I could never feel safe again. You gave me back my fire. You made me believe in forever.” Samantha bit down on her lip. “Atticus, I promise to love you with everything I am, to remind you every day that you are not alone, and to stand beside you through every high, every low, and every ordinary Tuesday in between. You are everything I never let myself hope for.”
Tears now slid down Atticus’s cheeks—tears I had never seen him shed. Bethany openly dabbed at her own eyes, her face flushed with emotion.
The officiant spoke again: “May the rings you exchange today remind you of this moment, your promises, and the bond you share.”
I reached into my pocket and pressed Samantha’s band into Atticus’s palm, and Bethany carefully placed Atticus’s ring into Samantha’s hand before they turned back to each other.
Atticus slipped the band onto Samantha’s finger with gentle reverence. Her hands trembled slightly as she returned the gesture, smiling through tears.
I couldn’t help but glance over at Daria. I twisted the band she’d placed on my finger only a few days ago. She tilted her head and smiled at me. God, I was a lucky man. All of us brothers were. Life may have broken us as children, but the women who’d found us had mended our hearts.
Colton lifted his hands and looked warmly at both of them. “Atticus, Samantha, you have declared your vows before those who love and support you. With the exchanging of these vows and rings, it is my honor and privilege to pronounce you husband and wife. Atticus, you may kiss your wife.”
Atticus didn’t hesitate. In one sweeping movement, he pulled Samantha close, dipping her dramatically before kissing her passionately. Cheers erupted from the guests. Samantha laughed joyously, wrapping her arms tightly around Atticus’s shoulders as he righted her. They turned, glowing with happiness, and the crowd rose, clapping wildly.
Suddenly, music blared through the speakers—“Shut up and Dance with Me” by Walk the Moon. Angel handed Samantha her bouquet. Atticus and Sam broke into matching grins, moving up the aisle together in a playful dance. Samantha threw her head back, laughing as Atticus twirled her, and they both danced back along the aisle toward the reception in the pagoda.
Bethany followed, singing loudly and waving her bouquet over her head as she danced her way up the hill. Conan grabbed Anastasia’s hand, spinning her playfully forward, their laughter mingling with the music as they followed Bethany.
I stepped forward, meeting Daria’s amused gaze. Grinning, I took her hand, pulling her from her seat and spinning her into my arms. “Come on, sweetheart,” I whispered, leaning in for a quick, tender kiss. “Let’s dance.”
“Sure thing, Boy Scout,” she laughed, pulling me against her. “Show me your moves.”
We danced our way toward the pagoda, joining the others.
The warmth of family and friends surrounded us. In that moment, everything was right—each of us was finally home, finally at peace, and finally ready to embrace whatever life had in store.
Mission Shift is the third installment in a series of standalone romances featuring a trio of brothers who must each confront their inner demons, risk everything, and surrender to a love they never saw coming. Look for them in their respective books, Night Shift , Day Shift , and Mission Shift , as part of the Broken Heroes trilogy.
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Books in the Broken Heroes stand-alone series
Night Shift
Day Shift
Mission Shift
The End