18. I’m the Lucky One #2
“Mom, I get it. You needed Matt last night.” Kid’s level-headed. I respect that.
We spend the morning on the couch, watching a few episodes of Yellowstone and playing Yahtzee. Melina makes BLTs for lunch, and damn, I could get used to her cooking.
When Spencer gets home, he’s eager to kick a ball around, so I run drills with him in the yard. Earlier, I’d cleared the poison-laced meatballs and cleaned up Arrow’s vomit. Melina protested, but there was no way I was letting her risk exposure.
Just before six, Mel’s phone rings. Her eyes widen as she answers and puts it on speaker. “Hello?”
“Hi, Ms. Roderick, this is Dr. Evans from King Animal Hospital.”
“Yes, hi,” Melina answers quickly. “How’s Arrow?”
“I’ve got good news,” he says. “Arrow’s made real progress today. His kidney values are improving—no seizures, no vomiting. He even ate a little. At this point, I’m comfortable discharging him as long as he stays calm and rested.”
Melina exhales sharply, tears brimming. “Thank you. That’s the best news I could’ve hoped for.”
“He’s been a trooper,” the vet goes on. “You’ll need to watch him closely, but he’s on the mend. Just keep an eye out for lethargy, seizures, or trouble breathing. Otherwise, I expect a full recovery.”
“When can we pick him up?” she asks.
“Any time before eight,” Dr. Evans replies. “We’ll go over his discharge instructions then.”
“Perfect. We’ll be there soon.”
She hangs up, eyes shining as she turns to me. “We’re bringing him home.”
We pick up Arrow that evening. He’s weak but perks up the second he sees us, tail thumping against the floor. Melina drops to her knees, hugging him tight. I cover the bill without hesitation, and this time she doesn’t protest—just gives me a small, grateful smile.
Back home, we curl up on the couch with Arrow nestled between us, soaking up every bit of attention. Melina’s shoulders relax as the hours pass, but I see her mind still turning.
Finally, she says, “Matt, I don’t think I can leave him tomorrow night.”
I understand, prepared to support her, when Harper steps in.
“Mom, Arrow’s fine. If anything changes, I’ll call, but you have to go to the gala.” She grins. “You deserve to be the belle of the ball. You deserve to wear the fuck out of that dress. How often do you get to attend a black-tie event?”
Melina laughs, shaking her head. “Harper—”
“Nope. Not taking no for an answer.”
I watch them, amused. I love their dynamic—the banter, the way Harper cusses without Melina batting an eye. Reminds me of home. My sisters were the same. Sharp, confident, unfiltered at home, respectful everywhere else.
“Fine,” she concedes. “But I’m calling Alex. Maybe you and Spence can take Arrow and stay at his place tomorrow night.”
“Deal,” Harper says, rolling her eyes but smiling, anyway.
“Who’s Alex?” I ask.
“Declan’s best friend,” Harper answers.
Melina nods. “They’ve been inseparable since fifth grade. He’s like one of my own. I consider him family. He’s got an apartment across town.”
My gaze flicks to Harper before I can stop myself.
She catches it immediately and groans. “Ew, no. He’s like my brother.”
Melina snorts. “Yeah. And if it ever was more than that, Declan would literally murder him.”
I grunt. “Fair enough.”
After everyone’s settled and Arrow’s sleeping peacefully, I head home for the night. Stepping into the quiet, a strange pull lingers—like I’m leaving something behind. It’s hard to walk away from that house.
***
“You sure about this tux thing, boss?” I ask, walking into Callahan’s office, eyeing the box of medals on his desk. “Dress blues are a hell of a lot better than a monkey suit.”
He shoots me an amused expression. “We’ve been over this, Mason. You’re not a Ranger anymore. You represent Aegis now—suits and tuxes, not uniforms.”
“Come on,” I protest. “At least let me look like I earned the damn award.”
He shakes his head. “You will—in a tux.”
I sigh. “Fine. But don’t blame me if I look ridiculous.”
Steele strolls by, grinning when he spots the medals. “These for us?”
“Yep,” Callahan says, handing him a box. “You got a problem with the tux, too?”
Steele smirks. “Hell no. James Bond style.”
“Traitor,” I mutter.
“Hey,” he fires back. “Just because you’re scared to wear something without camo doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”
Bishop leans on the doorframe. “Did I hear tuxes? Been waiting to see Mason in a bow tie.”
“Not you too,” I growl.
“Ladies love a tux,” he shrugs. “And Callahan’s paying. Win-win.”
Steele elbows me. “See, Mason? Might even get you laid tonight.”
I glare at him, but a grin slips out. “You two don’t even have dates.”
Hale steps in just in time to catch that. “Speak for yourselves. My girl’s already impressed—and she hasn’t seen the tux yet.”
Callahan tosses him his box, clearly enjoying my misery. “That’s three against one, Mason.”
I grab mine with a shake of my head. “Fine. But if any photos leak out, I’m holding all of you responsible.”
Callahan leans back, laughing. “I’ll hang one in the office. Just for you.”
At home, I shower, shave, and get ready. I do look sharp. I adjust the bow tie, fastening the mini medals to my lapel. Each one is a reminder of what it cost to earn them.
Polished black shoes finish the style, stiff and foreign compared to my boots. One last glance in the mirror—then I’m out, heart ticking faster than I'd prefer.
A few minutes later, I’m on Melina’s porch. I knock, and when the door opens, the air punches out of me.
Her gown clings like a second skin—rose-colored, slit high, legs for days. Jesus Christ.
My gaze drops to the swell of her cleavage, and my brain goes straight filth—shoving that dress down, taking her nipple between my teeth, sucking until she’s moaning my name. The thought alone has me throbbing.
I drag my eyes back up, but it’s useless. She’s sin wrapped in elegance, and I want her so bad it hurts.
Her smile curves into a wicked grin. “You’re staring, Matty.”
“Yeah,” I rasp. “Hard not to.”
She laughs softly, eyes bright with amusement. “Come in for a sec, I need to grab my purse.”
When she turns to shut the door, my heart slams against my ribs. The back of her dress—or the complete lack of it—steals whatever control I had left. It’s the sexiest, most sinful thing I’ve ever seen.
Before I can stop myself, I step in close, fingertips tracing the length of her spine. Goosebumps rise under my touch, and she shivers, a soft gasp slipping out.
I lean down, my voice low and rough. “You’re so fucking beautiful I can barely think straight. Out of my league doesn’t even come close.”
She turns slowly, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “I don’t know,” she murmurs, fingers trailing lightly along my chest. “You are wearing that tux.”
I shake my head, dragging down her body again. “I’m definitely getting in a fight tonight.”
Her brow arches, amused. “Is that so?”
“Soldiers are horndogs. Every single one of them is gonna be picturing you out of this dress.”
She rolls her eyes, brushing it off. “You’re being dramatic.” But I don’t miss the faint flush rising in her cheeks.
Before I can argue, her fingers trail up, tracing the medals on my lapel. Her playful expression softens when she brushes the first one, looking up at me. She doesn’t have to ask.
“Bronze Star,” I murmur.
She nods slowly, moving to the next. Her touch hesitates, her brows pulling together as realization sets in.
“Purple Heart,” I say quietly.
Her lips part, but no words come. Instead, her fingers drift lower, brushing another.
“Commendation Medal, with Valor.” I give her a faint smile. “Long story.”
She lingers there, then finally looks up. Her blue eyes are raw, reverent. Her voice barely above a whisper.
“I am in awe of you, Matthew Mason,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”
My throat tightens. The way she’s looking at me—it isn’t pity, isn’t about the medals. It’s me she sees. Just me.
I cup her face, thumb brushing her cheek. “Melina,” I murmur, rough. “I’m the lucky one.”