27. Ryan
Ryan
The desert air was uncharacteristically still as we sat on the hood of the flatbed. The stars were out in full force, a silent audience to our temporary peace. Brody nudged my shoulder with his, a lazy grin on his face.
“I’m telling you, Ry, once this tour is done, I’m taking Anna and Cory to that cabin in the Cascades.
No phones, no diesel fumes, just the trees and her cooking.
” He sighed, the sound full of a longing he usually kept tucked under his armor.
“I want to see Cory grow up without wondering if his old man is coming back every six months.”
I looked down at the latest letter from Jackson tucked into my pocket, the paper warm against my thigh. “Must be nice to have that waiting for you.”
“You have it too, you idiot,” Brody countered, his voice softening, shedding the bravado he used for the rest of the unit.
“I see the way you look at those letters. I see the ducks, Ry. You’re scared, but Jackson…
he’s the real deal. When we get home, you’re going to meet him.
No hiding. You deserve to be seen by someone who isn’t just your spotter. ”
I didn’t answer, but for the first time, the idea of a life after the sand didn’t feel like a fairy tale.
It felt like a promise. Yet, the fear was a physical weight.
As long as Jackson was just ink on paper, he was safe.
He was a beautiful, funny ghost I’d created in my mind—a sanctuary that couldn’t be bled on or blown apart.
Putting a face to the words meant making him real, and in this world, real things were targets.
If I saw him, the distance between us wouldn’t just be miles; it would be the terrifying reality of everything I had to lose.
“Here,” Brody said, his grounding presence cutting through my spiral.
He suddenly shoved his phone into my hand, the screen glowing bright against the darkness.
“I pulled up the Tidal Teals roster. Go on, look him up. Stop falling for a ghost and start looking at the man you’re completely gone for. ”
I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the glass.
A sharp spike of anxiety shot through me, making my heart race.
I wanted to hand the phone back, to keep my secrets locked in their reinforced vault.
But Brody just leaned back, his steady, unconditional loyalty a shield against my own panic.
The need to see the man who sent me double-chocolate cookies and told me I was worthy of a home crowd became an overpowering hunger, stronger than a decade of military conditioning. I tapped the screen.
The image loaded, and the breath left my lungs.
Jackson Hayes wasn’t just a hockey player; he was…
everything. He was grinning at the camera, a wild, infectious energy in his eyes and a strong, square jaw that looked like it was made for laughter.
He looked like sunlight, a stark, breathtaking contrast to the grime and grease of the valley.
My chest tightened with a sudden, overwhelming heat.
He was real. He was breathtaking. And for some reason, he was writing to me, offering a lifeline out of the dark.
I looked at Brody, who was watching me with a knowing smile, and I finally understood.
The ghost was gone, and the man was worth every bit of the terror. “Fuck… Wow”.