19. The Math Isn’t Mathing #2
He shakes his head as he pulls me close again. “I'll have to remember that.”
We dance through a few more songs, the heat between us simmering just below boiling, his nerves forgotten for a while. But when the DJ announces the start of the awards ceremony, I feel Matt’s hold tighten—the anxiety creeping back in.
“You’ve got this. I’ll be right here, cheering you on.”
His gaze softens, all that controlled strength melting as he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” I whisper, my body still tingling from his touch.
Matt and I take our seats as the lights dim and the MC’s words echo across the room.
“Tonight, we gather not only to support a worthy cause, but to honor extraordinary men and women whose service and sacrifice have made our world a safer place.”
He reads through names I don’t recognize until a familiar one stills me.
“Our next honoree is Logan Bishop, former Army Ranger and Delta Force operator, recipient of the Bronze Star and Defense Meritorious Service Medal, among others—recognized tonight for exceptional bravery and leadership in high-risk operations.”
Applause swells as Bishop rises. He crosses the stage with quiet assurance, accepts the award with a simple nod. His humility says more than words.
The MC continues, “Jackson Mercer, former Navy SEAL, awarded the Silver Star and Bronze Star, honored this evening for outstanding valor and unwavering dedication under fire.”
Mercer stands, carrying himself with the casual confidence of a man who’s seen too much, a flicker of something heavier as he steps to the podium.
“This… this feels strange,” he admits, voice rough.
“Getting recognition for a job that cost so many good men their lives… the medals don’t mean half as much as the brothers I lost wearing the same trident I did.
They’re the reason I’m standing here. I’ll carry them for the rest of my life. This award belongs to them. Thank you.”
Once the applause fades, the presenter goes on, “Next we have Matthew Mason, Army Ranger and Delta Force veteran, recipient of numerous commendations including the Bronze Star, Purple Heart, and Defense Meritorious Service Medal—recognized for exemplary courage, sacrifice, and distinguished leadership. "
Matt rises slowly, giving my hand a squeeze before making his way to the stage. Pride blooms in my chest as I watch him accept the award. He takes a breath.
“To my team—Callahan, Bishop, Hale, Demo, Brooks, Steele—you’ve become family. Fighting alongside you has already meant more than I can put into words. It’s an honor I don’t take lightly.”
Then his eyes find mine, and my lungs stutter. “And to someone who reminded me that strength isn’t about shouldering the weight alone—it’s about who you let shoulder it with you. Thank you.”
The room erupts as Matt joins Bishop, Mercer, and the other recipients. They stand tall together until the final honoree is named, then return to their seats.
When Matt reaches me, I lean close. “I’m so proud of you.”
He smiles at me brightly. “Thank you for being here.”
“Always,” I murmur, my heart overflowing.
“I’ll grab us a couple drinks,” Matt murmurs, squeezing my hand. “Wait here?”
“Of course.” I smile as he disappears into the crowd toward the bar, where the line is already forming.
I push out my chair, deciding to slip to the ladies’ room. The table is mostly empty now, cluttered only with napkins and half-drained glasses.
I’ve just slung my clutch over my shoulder when a voice comes from behind me.
“Melina, isn’t it?”
I turn, startled to find Mercer standing a little too close.The first thing I notice is his eyes. Icy blue, completely captivating. His gaze drifts over me, smooth and unhurried. Not obvious, but enough.
Everything about him feels effortless. The relaxed set of his shoulders, the natural charm that flows from him.
He isn’t commanding like Matt. Mercer holds himself with a different air of confidence—casual, restless energy—like a guy who doesn’t take much seriously.
Well, maybe except for pissing people off.
“We haven’t officially met.” He extends a hand, grip firm and self-assured. “Mercer.”
I take it, offering a polite smile. “Congratulations on your award. Well deserved.”
His expression softens. “Thanks. That means more than you probably realize.”
From the way Matt and Bishop have spoken about him, I should feel uneasy. Guarded. But there’s something disarming in his presence, an easy energy that pulls instead of pushes.
“I must say, you’re causing quite a stir tonight.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Am I?”
“Absolutely. Mason is punching way above his weight. You know that, right?”
I arch a brow. “That so?”
Mercer’s smirks, glinting with mischief. “I mean, the math just isn’t mathing.”
It’s the way he says it. Flirty, but not aggressive. Enough to catch my attention without setting off alarms. “You sure you’re not just trying to stir the pot?”
“Maybe a little. But really, I just wanted to say hello. You’re smiling like you don’t have a single thing to prove. That kind of confidence is hot.”
His candor knocks me off balance. I school my features quickly, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing it landed.
Mercer sighs dramatically, glancing at the DJ booth as the next song starts. “Jesus. Who hurt this guy? Somebody get him a therapist and a beer.”
Laughter spills out, and the smile that follows is genuine, unguarded.
His smirk softens into something real. “See? Knew I’d get you to laugh.”
Before I can respond, the atmosphere shifts. Relaxed ease disappears the moment Matt steps into the space beside me, his posture tense.
His tone is low, edged with steel. “Something funny?”
Mercer doesn’t flinch. “Oh, I’m hilarious,” he replies before tipping his chin toward me. “But if you keep smiling at me like that, sweetheart, Mason’s gonna get all murdery.”
Matt goes still, a live wire ready to snap.
Mercer exhales like the whole thing is mildly entertaining. “Good to see you, Mason.”
“Wish I could say the same.”
I swallow, hyperaware of the tension crackling between them. Then Mercer does something unexpected—he takes my hand, bowing to brush a reverent kiss across my knuckles. Heat rushes to my cheeks.
His voice drops, silk and sin. “If I may, you are absolutely ravishing in this dress tonight.”
Matt’s fists clench so tight I swear I hear his knuckles crack. His stare pins Mercer with lethal intensity. I’ve never seen him this openly hostile.
Mercer chuckles as he releases my hand, eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Well,” he says, stepping back. “It was an absolute pleasure, Melina.” His gaze cuts to Matt. “And I do mean that.”
Matt looks a breath from lunging when Bishop appears, gripping Matt’s shoulder, anchoring him. “Why don’t you find your seat, Mercer?” His demeanor is composed, but the authority hits.
Mercer holds his stare a beat longer, then nods, a faint smirk returning. He rakes one last look over me before strolling off without another word.
“Matt?” I whisper, laying a palm on his chest. His heart hammers against my palm.
He doesn’t even glance my way, locked on Mercer’s retreat like a predator tracking prey. “Cocky fucking bastard. Thinks he can put his hands on you—say shit like that—”
Bishop cuts in sharply. “Calm down, Mason.”
He shrugs him off. “Don’t tell me to calm down. You saw what he did.”
“I saw him fishing for a reaction,” Bishop counters evenly. “And you’re giving it to him.”
Matt’s arm snaps around me, possessive, yanking me flush against him. His voice is rough, a dangerous promise. “I will burn this entire world to ash before I let anyone else touch you.”
I cradle his face in my palms, tilting him toward me until those whiskey-dark eyes finally meet mine. “Are you with me, Matty?”
His gaze flickers, the fury giving way to something rawer, softer.
“Good.” I pull him close, my mouth claiming his. His answering breath is strained, grip bruising, but the storm in him begins to break.
When I finally draw back, Bishop chuckles and slips away.I look up at Matt. “Better?”
His jaw ticks once before he kisses me again—slower, claiming, like I’m the only thing tethering him to earth.
Together, we return to our seats as dessert is served—chocolate mousse with raspberries and crème br?lée.
I take a small bite, savoring the sweetness. Steele has already demolished his mousse and is eyeing Bishop’s dessert.
“You gonna finish that?” he asks, spoon hovering.
Bishop stares, scandalized. “The fuck, man? You had your own.”
“Tiny,” Steele mutters.
I smirk. “Perhaps they should’ve brought you a trough.”
Anna bursts out laughing. “Oh, you’ll fit right in here. You’re officially cleared to tease Steele mercilessly.”
“I already do,” I reply, drawing laughter from around the table.
A young server slips in, setting a cream-colored envelope in front of Matt. “For you, Mr. Mason,” he says before vanishing back into the crowd.
Matt barely glances at it, muttering a distracted, “Thanks,” as the others keep bantering.
Curiosity tugs at me. The envelope is plain but elegant, his name written in neat black ink—Matthew Mason. It looks official, maybe a note from Callahan, some final congratulations.
At last, Matt picks it up and tears it open without much thought. Several small items slide out. My breath stutters when I see what they are—Polaroid photos.
And just like that, the color drains from his face.