Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
PASTEUR
Life was good and getting better all the time.
Louis stood on the outskirts of his group, watching, absorbing, feeling everything in a way he never had before. His friends were changing—finding something deeper, something lasting—and he couldn’t help but wonder if fate had carved out the same path for him.
He let his gaze drift over them. Memphis had stumbled into love while they were deployed in the Mediterranean, a whirlwind romance that had solidified into something real. Orion had taken a reckless leap, marrying a stranger, and somehow, against all odds, it had worked. Louis had been the one to tell him to fight, to stay in the Navy, to become someone’s guardian angel here on earth. And then there was Trophy—the one they all thought was beyond saving—who had met someone during Fleet Week in New York City. Louis had stood beside them, spoken the words that made them husband and wife, and watched the impossible unfold before his very eyes.
The world had a funny way of making things happen. Maybe that’s why he believed so strongly in the idea that good begets more good. It wasn’t just a saying to him—it was a truth buried so deeply in his soul that he couldn’t let it go. But belief was one thing. Witnessing it, over and over again, was something else entirely.
His eyes flicked toward the other single men in their group, his mind turning over the possibilities. Who would be next? Shellac? Tic-Tak? Ohio? Moonbeam?
Him?
The thought caught him off guard, curling through his chest with a mix of yearning and hesitation. He swallowed hard.
Of course, he wanted love—something real, something permanent, something that wouldn’t slip through his fingers like sand. But he knew the truth, too. He had seen it play out on the piers, in the barracks, in the haunted expressions of men who came home from deployment only to find their world in ruins. The divorce rate in the Navy was brutal. Orion had learned that the hard way. Others had, too. Would he be any different? Or would he give his heart away only to have it torn apart?
Louis exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his face as if he could wipe away the exhaustion that clung to him like a second skin. The weight of his thoughts pressed against his chest, heavier than the silence he carried in his heart. He was still searching—searching for peace, for purpose, for something to anchor him in the vast uncertainty of his life.
Still trying to hold onto his faith.
Still looking for a sign.
But what if he was so desperate for answers that he missed the truth staring him in the face? What if the thing he had been chasing all this time—the belonging, the connection, the love—wasn’t in some far-off place waiting to be discovered?
What if it had been here all along?
A slow ache built in his ribcage, something unspoken, something terrifying. The possibility of it was both exhilarating and suffocating. Louis had never been a man to ignore a calling, but maybe… maybe he had been too afraid to listen.
His thoughts were jarred back to reality by the chaotic symphony of voices around him—his brothers-in-arms caught up in Trophy’s ridiculous but well-intended scheme. The man was dead set on throwing a baby shower for his wife before her delivery, and in true Trophy fashion, he had chosen a theme so absurd it could only end in disaster.
Knights of the Round Table.
Except their “round table” was a battered folding one draped in cheap green tissue paper and gaudy pink-and-blue tinsel. The room was a mess of thrown-together decorations—paper crowns, plastic swords, and a haphazard collection of what Trophy called “authentic medieval garbage.”
Louis shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips as the conversation devolved into the usual playful jabs.
“Ohio, anyone ever tell you that you have a gift with the English language?”
“Gift- ed ,” Tic-Tak corrected smoothly, winking at Orion, who snorted.
“Short bus,” Shellac added, slapping Moonbeam’s hand in a high-five.
“Dude licks the windows…” Orion fired back, grinning.
“Eats paste,” Memphis chimed in.
“Crayons, too…” Louis added, unable to resist, his words teasing but warm. The laughter that followed was unrestrained, filling the space between them like an unspoken promise—this, here, was home.
“Maaaan, I hate you guys sometimes.”
“If you can dish it out,” Moonbeam reminded him with a knowing grin, “you can take it too.”
“Meh.” Ohio shrugged and then, in a move that defied any semblance of common sense, let out the ridiculous Godzilla roar again. The noise was met with a chorus of laughter, a mix of exasperation and fond amusement, as Jeremy, Orion’s six-year-old, brightened with excitement.
“Shhhh!”
The room fell into a hushed anticipation as the telltale sound of footsteps echoed up the stairs. The plan was simple—surprise Stephanie, Trophy’s wife, with an entrance grand enough to rival any medieval coronation. It was, in Louis’ opinion, an absolutely terrible idea. But Trophy, in all his reckless certainty, had insisted it would be fine.
Louis wasn’t convinced.
As the others scrambled into position, slipping plastic buckets over their heads as makeshift helmets, Louis exchanged a glance with Ohio. Uncertainty flickered between them, the same unspoken question in both their eyes.
Then the door opened.
Stephanie stood in the doorway, and the moment stretched. Louis took in the sight of her—her face flushed, her body visibly exhausted, the weight of pregnancy pressing down on her like a burden she could no longer carry with ease. And yet, even in the discomfort, there was something unwavering in her gaze, something that made Trophy look at that pregnant woman like she hung the moon.
Love.
Raw, undeniable, absolute.
Trophy loved his wife and they could all see it.
Louis swallowed – he wanted someone of his own someday.
“What’s going on?” Stephanie asked, her brows drawing together.
“Well, princess… this is your coronation.” Trophy’s voice was rich with pride and devotion, with something so unshakable that it made Louis’s chest tighten.
“My what? And what’s that smell?”
“Paint!” Jeremy announced enthusiastically, thrusting his foam sword into the air. The ceiling fan promptly slapped it back down, sending it smacking into Ohio’s face.
Laughter erupted. Louis dodged the recoil just in time, watching as Tic-Tak nearly choked on his drink, spraying Moonbeam in the process.
“Shoulda put your bucket on,” Orion taunted as Ohio groaned, rubbing his nose in disbelief.
But Stephanie wasn’t paying attention to any of them anymore. Her gaze sharpened as she turned to Trophy, suspicion creeping into her expression.
“What does he mean by ‘paint,’ Lance?”
Before an answer could come, the sound of approaching footsteps shifted everything. Stephanie turned toward the doorway, her posture stiffening for half a second before a sharp, joyous shriek filled the air.
“Oh my gosh… when did you get here?”
Louis watched as she rushed forward, embracing someone, her laughter unrestrained, her joy pouring into the room like sunlight breaking through a storm. The weight in his chest lifted just a fraction as the noise and movement swirled around him. He stood at the edges of it, feeling both part of the moment and somehow set apart.
“My princess is upgrading to ‘Queen’ soon,” Trophy declared, his voice thick with pride. It was a strange thing to witness—the man who had once been the squadron’s biggest flirt was now utterly devoted, his focus narrowed to the woman carrying his child. Stephanie let out a soft laugh as he fussed over her, urging her into a chair with a touch so gentle, so reverent, that it made something in Louis’s chest ache.
She looked exhausted, the weight of her pregnancy shifting awkwardly as she moved, and Trophy was there—always there—ready to catch her if she faltered. “Now, sit down and put your feet up. Do you want some punch? I got the strawberry-pineapple stuff you love for you.”
Louis swallowed hard, pushing down a rush of longing he couldn't name. That kind of love—the kind that eclipsed everything else—seemed like a language he had never quite learned.
And then he saw her .
Stephanie’s friend.
She wasn’t just beautiful—she was luminous in a way that stole the air from his lungs. The kind of beauty that wasn’t just about how she looked but about the way she carried herself, with an effortless grace that made his pulse stutter. He fought the urge to stare, but when she turned, meeting his eyes—heaven help him.
Whoa, mercy.
Heat crawled up his neck, and he dropped his gaze, his heart pounding against his ribs like it had been caught in a freefall. He wasn’t a man easily shaken, but something about her unraveled him in a way that made him unsteady on his feet.
Stephanie’s laughter pulled him back, and Trophy gave the signal. The orchestrated moment was at hand, a playful charade that, beneath the surface, held a deeper truth—this was family, forged not by blood but by battle, by loyalty, by love.
“Here we go, fellas…” Tic-Tak grinned, stepping forward first, dropping to one knee like a knight before his queen. The tip of his fake sword hit the floor as he announced, “I, Sir Tic-Tak of the Squadron, do hereby swear my fealty to Queen Stephanie…”
Behind Louis, Ohio muttered, “Do we gotta say all that crap?”
Louis smirked, leaning in just enough to whisper back, “Shut up and learn something, Ohio.”
As the pledges unfolded—some dramatic, some lighthearted—Louis smiled, and then it was his turn. He stepped forward, kneeling before Stephanie. The room, the noise, the chaos—it all fell away.
It was just the two of them now.
“I, Sir Pasteur of the Squadron, promise to be a friend to you both, sharing the word of God’s love with your child. I am truly honored that you’ve asked me to stand in as the baby’s godparent.”
The words felt heavier than he expected, settling deep into his bones. He had always known faith, even when it wavered, and he had his doubts. It had been his anchor in the storm, his compass when everything else felt uncertain. But this… this was different. This was someone choosing him. Trusting him.
Stephanie’s breath hitched, her eyes glistening as she whispered, “You are practically family. You married us, and we are honored to have you as the baby’s godparent, my friend.”
Family.
The word lodged in his throat, too big, too powerful. He glanced at Trophy, whose usual mischief had softened into something real, something steady.
Louis nodded, pressing his lips together to keep from saying something too raw, too exposed. Then, he stood, stepping back, letting the moment settle in his chest like a truth he hadn’t quite grasped yet.
As Moonbeam knelt before Stephanie, her expression changed—something flickered across her face, and then?—
Chaos.
“Hang on. Could someone get me a towel?” Stephanie’s voice cut through the laughter, sharp with urgency.
“A towel?”
“Oh no…”
“Uh oh…”
“Why’s she need a towel?”
The room seemed to still for a heartbeat. Then?—
“Cause her water broke, you dolt. You fly an airplane – how do you not know stuff like this?”
“Because I’m not pregnant or getting anyone pregnant anytime soon.”
“Never say never…”
Louis barely heard the exchange, his body already tensing, instincts kicking in. But not for Stephanie—no, his focus was elsewhere. His gaze landed on her friend once more.
“Towel?” Stephanie’s face contorted, a sheen of pain breaking through the urgency. “I hate to cut this short, but we’re leaving.”
“Yup! I’m on it,” Trophy declared, scanning the room. But Louis barely noticed.
Because she moved.
The beautiful woman who had caught his eye—who had captured something in him he couldn’t name—stepped forward, her presence commanding without effort.
“Go,” his blonde beauty instructed, her voice unwavering, calm in the storm. “We’ll handle this and meet you at the hospital in a bit. I’ll get a ride from someone who knows the direction.”
That confidence—sharp, effortless—shot through him like a lightning strike. His throat tightened as he swallowed hard, heart hammering against his ribs. Sexy. Oh man, this woman was incredibly sexy with all that strong confidence that seemed to grace her.
“Go. We’ll take care of everything and lock the door behind us. Take care of your wife,” Orion promised, his words shifting the energy in the room.
And just like that, everything changed.
The quiet pilot, usually so composed, touched his wife’s abdomen with a reverence that spoke louder than words. A silent, resounding declaration.
“Orion, your wife is pregnant?” Shellac blurted out, shattering the moment like glass.
The squadron erupted . The air thickened with cheers, laughter, bodies crashing into Orion like human bowling pins, a frenzied celebration of life, brotherhood, and the unstoppable tide of change.
“Me too, Uncle Shellac! Me too!”
“C’mon little man – everyone gets a little ‘bump and grind’ after your daddy has been obviously doing the ‘bump and grind’!” Shellac hollered.
Laughter. Wild. Raw. Real. The kind of moment that made a man feel like he belonged. But Louis felt nothing, but awareness of the woman standing a few feet away.
She smiled, extending her hand to the new mother-to-be, the edges of her blonde hair catching the light like a halo. She was laughing, speaking, but he barely heard her over the roaring pulse in his ears.
“I’m Lila Brooks, Stephanie’s friend from Louisville…”
Her name struck him like a punch to the gut—swift, devastating, final .
The world seemed to tilt, his breath stolen from his chest.
Stephanie had given Lila his number.
His Lila.
The woman he had come to cherish through whispered confessions and midnight messages. The friend who had unknowingly burrowed into his soul with her pain, her resilience, her unguarded truths. The woman he had promised himself he’d never hurt, never betray. And now—heaven help him—she stood before him, flesh and blood, raw and breathtaking, fragile and unbreakable all at once.
And she would run.
Louis felt it like a premonition, a certainty tightening around his throat. The second she pieced this together, the second she realized the cruel irony of fate, she’d be gone. And he would lose her.
Forever.
His legs buckled beneath him, the weight of understanding crushing, relentless. The agony of knowing he had been given something so precious only to have it snatched away before he could even hold it. Why? Why would God do this? Hadn’t he already endured enough loss? Enough loneliness? Why put him in a position to witness his own heartbreak unfolding in real-time?
A vicious curse ripped from his lips before he could stop it, shattering the uneasy quiet and drawing startled glances. But Louis didn’t care. His hands clenched into fists against his thighs as he squeezed his eyes shut as if he could will away the cruel truth pressing down on him. He had been blind before—too blind to see her drowning in that New York crowd, too blind to recognize the pain beneath her words.
And now, he had been given sight only to watch it all slip through his fingers.
“What’s that word mean, Daddy?” a small voice piped up, innocent in the heavy silence.
“Pasteur?”
“Bro, are you okay?”
“Pasteur, bro, what’s wrong?”
The voices barely registered. His breath was ragged, his pulse hammering as he forced his gaze forward. His vision blurred until it locked onto hers—Lila.
Her expression shifted in an instant, realization crashing down like a storm. He saw it all—her heart cracking wide open, her walls snapping into place. Rage. Betrayal. Shame.
No. Not shame.
Please no… I never want to see shame in her eyes when she looks at me.
It killed him to see that in her expression.
Lila had nothing to be ashamed of.
But she didn’t see it that way.
Her lips parted, and when she spoke, the same expletive he had muttered moments ago slipped from her mouth, quiet but cutting—a blade between his ribs.
She knew .
“You’re… Lila?” His voice barely held.
“I think that is our cue to leave,” Shellac muttered, gripping Tic-Tak’s arm and motioning for Moonbeam to follow.
“Cherry, Jeremy—we’re leaving too,” Orion added, his voice grim.
“What’s wrong?” Cherry’s voice held confusion, but Lila—standing right beside her—answered without hesitation.
Her eyes, once soft and searching, burned now with betrayal. “I can’t believe those two set me up… with you.”
“I didn’t know,” Louis rasped, still on his knees, as if rising would shatter whatever fragile thread remained between them.
Lila’s gaze pinned him in place. “You’re Louis.”
A statement, not a question.
“I am.”
“And the pastor Stephanie wanted me to contact…?”
His throat felt like sandpaper. He gave a single nod. “My call sign is Pasteur, a play on my French heritage.”
The silence stretched.
Her breath hitched.
And then, barely above a whisper—disbelieving, broken?—
“This can’t be happening.”
And his heart stopped.