24. Chapter 24
Chapter 24
T he smell of gun oil and sweat clung to the air. The armory was quiet, except for the distant hum of conversation from the guys finishing their post-deployment gear checks. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed, casting a sterile, too-white glow over the room.
Jesse sat at the long metal workbench, methodically cleaning his rifle, piece by piece, like it was muscle memory. The rhythmic scrape of the bore brush through the barrel, the soft click of reassembling parts—it was meditative.
Control. Order. Precision.
All the shit he could handle.
The other stuff?
Not so much.
He flexed his fingers, knuckles still sore from punching Caiden.
He exhaled slowly, pressing down the ache that had been riding him since they touched back down on American soil. It had been, what—three, four days? The team was still in the post-deployment cycle: debriefs, medical evaluations, equipment inspections. No action, just paperwork and check-ins.
Easy, in theory.
Except Jesse hadn’t stopped seeing that kid.
Seven years old.
Tiny. Barefoot. Standing in the middle of a burned-out jungle village, clutching a blood-soaked stuffed animal.
Jesse had frozen.
Just for a second.
But in that second, he wasn’t in the jungle anymore.
He was nine years old again. Standing in his childhood home in Pensacola.
His mom screaming. His dad’s hands around her throat.
And Jesse, lunging.
A kitchen knife in his small, shaking grip.
Not to kill.
Just to stop it.
And it had stopped.
For a little while.
Jesse swallowed, shifting in his seat, his knee bouncing. His leg always fucking bounced when his head got loud.
He needed to focus.
He checked the bolt assembly, wiped down the lower receiver. The weight of the rifle was solid in his grip, grounding. It was a job, a purpose, something real.
The scrape of boots on the tile broke through his thoughts.
Jesse didn’t look up.
Didn’t need to.
Only one guy walked like that.
“Navarro.”
Heath’s voice was easy, casual. But Jesse knew him too well—there was always an angle with Carrington.
Jesse kept working. “Carrington.”
Heath dropped onto the bench across from him, watching him too carefully.
Jesse ignored him, checking his optics.
“You actually taking care of your gear for once?” Heath teased, smirking. “What the hell happened to you out there?”
Jesse snorted, flicking the safety selector back and forth. “Guess I finally grew up.”
Heath tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle. “That right?”
Jesse didn’t answer. Just kept moving. Kept his hands busy.
Heath leaned back, folding his arms. “You did good, Navarro. No hiccups. No screw-ups.” His voice was calm, even. “You proved yourself. Even Colson can’t argue that.”
Jesse gritted his teeth.
Colson.
His fucking shadow.
The guy had wanted him gone. Didn’t trust him. Still didn’t.
Didn’t matter that Jesse had executed every part of the mission flawlessly.
Didn’t matter that he hadn’t fucked up once.
To Colson, Jesse was still a risk. A liability.
But Heath?
He’d always had Jesse’s back.
Jesse exhaled, shaking his head. “It wasn’t anything special. Just did what I was supposed to do.”
Heath scoffed. “Cut the humble bullshit. You pulled your weight. More than that.” He hesitated, then leaned forward slightly. “Which is why I’m asking you this now.”
Jesse’s jaw tightened.
He already knew where this was going.
“How are you?” Heath asked, voice lighter than the weight behind it.
Jesse kept his eyes on his gear, adjusting straps that didn’t need adjusting.
Finally, he shrugged. “I’m fine.”
Heath didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Just waited.
Jesse exhaled through his nose. “What do you want me to say? That I wake up in a cold sweat thinking about what happened? That I hear that kid’s voice every time I close my eyes? That I keep waiting for the moment it fucking breaks me?”
Silence.
Jesse’s fingers curled into a fist against his knee.
Heath’s voice was calm, steady.
“That’s what I was expecting.”
Jesse huffed out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. I’m not that guy anymore.”
Heath didn’t flinch. Didn’t let him dodge.
“You’re still human, Navarro.”
Jesse finally looked up, meeting Heath’s too-knowing stare.
“You don’t get it.”
Heath’s brows furrowed. “Then explain it to me.”
Jesse’s jaw locked.
He couldn’t.
Couldn’t explain why that kid ripped something open in him.
Couldn’t explain why it sent him straight back to his own childhood.
Couldn’t explain why the only person he could ever talk to about this shit was a homeless man in the darkest alleyways of the city.
Kwilé understood.
Kwilé knew what it was like to grow up in war.
To never escape it.
Heath, though?
Heath would try to fix him.
Jesse didn’t need fixing.
He needed to keep moving.
So he gave Heath what he needed to hear.
“I’m good.”
Heath studied him for a long moment.
Then, finally, he nodded.
“Alright.”
Jesse expected him to push.
To say something about therapy, coping mechanisms, how he wasn’t invincible.
But Heath just stood, clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm and solid.
“Just remember you don’t have to do this alone, Navarro.”
Jesse didn’t answer.
Just went back to his gear.
Back to the things he could control.
* * * * *
A few hours later, Jesse’s lungs burned as he hit the last stretch of his run, feet pounding against the pavement, the salty evening air thick in his throat. The island was quiet at this hour—just the way he liked it. The occasional distant hum of a car, the rhythmic crash of waves beyond the dunes, the glow of city lights reflecting off the bay.
He slowed to a stop, hands braced on his knees as he caught his breath. Seven miles in. Enough to take the edge off.
Or at least, it should have been.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Not his work phone. His personal one.
He pulled it out, swiping at the sweat clinging to his forehead as he glanced at the screen.
Hayley.
Still driving. Still in Zoe’s car. ETA two hours-ish. Traffic is brutal.
Jesse smirked, thumbs moving across the screen.
I’ll pick you up downtown when you get in.
She texted back almost instantly.
Oh? You don’t trust me to make it home alone?
Jesse chuckled, shaking his head.
Don’t want my pregnant wifey out in the city too late.
A pause. Then—
Wifey?
Wow. Zero to sixty, huh? This is just like last time, haha.
Jesse’s smirk faded slightly.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
Last time had been just like this.
Meet. Fall hard. Move in. Be glued to each other.
Burn hot.
Too hot.
Flames licking too high, turning everything to ash.
Jesse exhaled, rolling his shoulders, pushing the thought away.
Because this time was different.
It had to be.
His phone buzzed again.
Anyway, thanks, but you don’t have to. I’ll just take a cab.
Jesse huffed, already walking toward his truck.
She should know better than to fight him on this shit.
See you downtown, Fox.
No question. No debate.
Just a fact.
And as he pulled out the keys to his place, he found himself gripping the doorknob a little too tight.
Because for all the ways they had crashed and burned before…
Somehow, she still let him come back.
* * * * *
Jesse drove through the city with the windows cracked just enough to let the cold night air cut through the heat still clinging to his skin. The sweat from his run had long dried, leaving only a tightness in his muscles, a restless energy that no amount of miles could burn out.
The city looked the same. Neon signs flickering, traffic crawling, people moving in drunken clusters down the sidewalks. But for Jesse, everything felt different. The deployment had left something behind in him. A weight that wouldn’t shake loose, a darkness that settled in his chest like lead.
Every stop along his route tonight should have been grounding. A ritual. A routine. Something familiar. But nothing about it felt right.
Eddie was locked up. Jade had disappeared, her spot under the freeway occupied by someone new, some woman jittery and wide-eyed, barely coherent.
Too much had changed in just six weeks.
Jesse should have expected it. But it still unsettled him.
By the time he pulled up to the last stop, something in his chest had already started tightening.
Kwilé’s place was dark.
Jesse grabbed the last pizza box and the water bottles, his boots crunching over broken glass as he walked toward the basement entrance.
Normally, he’d announce himself with a low whistle—a habit they’d fallen into over time.
Tonight, he didn’t.
Something felt off.
The usual curtain that hung over the doorway wasn’t right. It was half-torn down, hanging by a single nail, fluttering slightly in the wind.
Jesse took a step closer.
His gut tightened.
He crouched near the entrance, setting the pizza and water aside as his eyes scanned the space, his training kicking in.
The pallet Kwilé used as a bed was overturned. The ratty sleeping bag crumpled, not in the way someone would leave it after waking up—but in the way things looked when someone left in a hurry.
Jesse’s pulse picked up.
The few possessions Kwilé kept—books, old photos, a rusted metal tin where he kept scraps of things Jesse never asked about—were scattered.
No signs of blood.
But the struggle was obvious.
Jesse ran through the possibilities.
Kwilé wouldn’t have just left. Not without his things. Not without telling Jesse.
Arrested? No—Jesse had eyes on the inside, and no one had mentioned a pickup. Besides, Kwilé knew how to move, how to avoid attention.
Attacked? Maybe. It wasn’t uncommon. The wrong person, the wrong night.
Jesse exhaled sharply, fingers flexing at his sides.
Worst case—dead.
Jesse gritted his teeth, pushing back the thought.
No. Not yet.
He wasn’t accepting that until he knew for sure.
But something had happened. And Jesse needed to find out what.
Fast.