Chapter 15
TWO WEEKS LATER…
Patch sat on the porch of his cabin in his favorite rocking chair, drinking a little tequila and reading a book. He loved this cabin, nestled against the slow-turning water that had once served as his only friend. Now, it was a sentinel. A quiet, watchful companion.
It was nearly dusk, and the cypress trees had begun to cast long shadows over the bayou’s surface. Spanish moss swayed in the warm air. Dragonflies hovered near the water’s edge. The hum of frogs and insects filled the air, soft and rhythmic like a heartbeat he hadn’t known he’d missed.
For the first time in years, Patch wasn’t waiting for some evil darkness to lunge out from the shadows and swallow him whole. There were no enemies on the horizon. No threats crawling through the trees.
Just quiet.
And yet… not peace.
Not yet.
Because she wasn’t here.
They talked. Every night, like clockwork.
Her voice cut through his world’s static like it always had—sharp, warm, deliberate.
She never said where she was exactly, just that she was handling it.
That it was almost done. That she was okay.
That she was coping with it all. Dealing with the fallout that had been her life’s work.
But she wasn’t giving him everything.
Savvy never did anything halfway, especially not walking away from the 73. He’d told her to take the time. To finish what she started. And that if she wanted to come back, she wouldn’t need permission.
And if she wanted him there, all she had to do was ask.
She’d already had his heart.
He just hadn’t known what she’d do with it.
So when the gravel crunched and the low rumble of a Jeep cut through the fading evening silence, Patch didn’t move at first. He just listened.
And when the vehicle came into view—his Jeep, the one she’d “borrowed”—he felt something shift in his chest.
She stepped out slowly. Sunglasses on. Ponytail high. Boots dusty.
But what made his breath catch?
The two suitcases she yanked from the back seat.
She stood at the edge of the clearing for a beat, like she was waiting to be sure this was real.
Then she walked—deliberate, no hesitation—up the steps and onto the porch where he waited—still in his favorite chair—book resting in his lap while he downed the last of his tequila, wondering to himself if she were a mirage.
She set the suitcases down with a small thud and pulled off her sunglasses, eyes locked on his like magnets finding their true north.
“Shit,” he mumbled, setting his novel on the railing. “I thought I was seeing things. I should’ve gotten those… you didn’t call. You said you’d call before you…” He let the words trail off. He wasn’t a man of many words, but normally he could string them together in a coherent thought.
“I didn’t call,” she said softly, voice touched with nerves she rarely showed. “Because I wanted to surprise you, but I’m also not sure I should’ve. We did say communication was the key to our success.”
Patch didn’t speak. He had no freaking clue what to say.
He didn’t move. His muscles were frozen. As if they’d forgotten what it was like to be around her.
“Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“Damn thrilled,” he managed as he sucked in a breath. “Do you have to go back soon?”
She looked down at the bags. “I managed to wrap most of it up in two weeks. I gave sworn testimony to what seems like everyone under the sun, including the president. That was weird.”
“You met with the president of the United States?”
She nodded, laughing. “Most surreal moment of my life, but thanks to that meeting, things moved very quickly. We made sure every damn thread of that mess was tied off. Vance cut a deal—he’s out, gone, never allowed to touch a command chair again. The 73 has been officially dissolved.”
“Wow.” Still, he didn’t move. He just stood there like he was at the seventh-grade dance with boys on one side of the gym and girls on the other.
“And Gunner?” Her voice dipped low. “He’ll rot. Maximum security military prison. No chance for parole. All his men were rounded up. Every single one. No loose ends.”
Patch’s jaw clenched. Not from anger—just the sheer force of holding back everything he felt.
Everything he didn’t know how to say, especially when it came to Gunner.
That man had saved his life—literally—only to take away the people he loved most in the world.
It was something he could never quite reconcile in his brain.
He’d gone as far as to reach out to the therapist he’d spoken to a while back because even he could admit that fucked with his mind.
“I’m not Director LaSalle anymore,” she continued. “But I’m not out of the game completely. Turns out—my skills are in high demand with the Brotherhood Protectors right here in the bayou. They offered me a spot. I accepted.”
Finally, Patch moved. One slow step toward her. “What are you saying?”
“I choose you, Patch. I choose us. I want to be right here, in this flipping swamp with you.”
That did it.
He closed the distance in two strides and pulled her into his arms like he’d been dying of thirst and she was the only water that would do.
“You came back to me,” he murmured into her hair.
Her arms wrapped around his waist, squeezing tight. “I never should’ve left.”
He leaned back to look at her, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You had to finish it. You had to be the one to shut it down. We both know that.”
“I didn’t want to just end it,” she whispered. “I wanted to make sure there was something left on the other side worth holding on to.”
Patch kissed her—slow, deep, steady. The kind of kiss that said she was always worth waiting for.
When they finally parted, she rested her forehead against his. “Do I still have a place here?”
He smiled—big. So big his cheeks hurt. “You’ve got the only place here.”
Savvy looked toward the horizon, where the sun dipped low over the bayou, turning the water gold.
“I want a life, Patch. Not just after-missions and scar tissue and empty medals. I want mornings here. Coffee on this porch. Mud on our boots. You yelling at the gators when they get too close to the tomatoes.”
He chuckled. “What tomatoes?”
She grinned, eyes shining. “The ones I plan on planting.”
He reached down, grabbed one of her suitcases, and slung it over his shoulder. “Let’s get you settled in, partner.”
She stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. “This time, I’m not going anywhere. You sure you’re ready for that?”
Patch stepped closer again, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been ready since the moment I saw you again in South America.”
They walked into the cabin together—no hesitation, no fear. Just two people who had burned down the past and built something stronger in its place.
And outside, the bayou sighed.
Home. At last.
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