Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
BONES
Two weeks after returning to Base, Montana welcomed us back with a snowstorm.
Big, heavy flakes drifted past the windows like someone was shaking out a feather pillow over the mountains.
The world outside was quiet, soft, and white—too peaceful compared to where we’d been, but that was the point of coming home.
Inside, the fire snapped and cracked in the stone hearth, throwing gold light across the living room.
I sprawled in the large armchair, watching the flames chew through a fresh log.
The whole place smelled like pine, cedar, and the faint sweetness of whatever Lunchbox had simmering in the kitchen.
Something with apples, probably. He’d gotten even more weirdly domestic than ever.
The others were scattered around the open space. Voodoo pretended to read on the couch but was mostly watching Grace with the same quiet intensity I felt. Alphabet sat by the big window with his laptop open, fingers flying while Goblin snored at his feet, tail twitching every now and then.
And Grace…
Grace stood near the fire, arms folded, wearing one of my hoodies that swallowed her frame. She was staring into the flames like they were telling stories she wanted to hear.
We were settling back in. Slowly. Awkwardly. Carefully. Base had always been a retreat for the four of us—a place to breathe, to reset, to be something close to human again. But now it was hers too. Had been hers for a while, even if she never said the words out loud.
The trick was making sure she felt it.
Voodoo looked up at me from the couch, eyebrows raised as he asked without words whether I was going to say something to her or just keep hovering.
Hovering. The thought resonated with my internal disgust and I resisted the urge to grunt. I didn’t hover, despite the number of times he or Lunchbox brought it up.
Alphabet snorted faintly and I spared him a withering look that didn’t make him do anything more than grin. He was already focused on his laptop again and missed it. Or maybe he just ignored it.
We were all making time to be out here. In the past, we returned to Base, debriefed, treated any injuries, then retreated to our various corners and—
And nothing.
Alphabet did his work. Voodoo would read or research. Sometimes, he went out hiking as did Lunchbox. I—trained. It was what I had and what I did. I made sure they had what they needed and I trained.
The night before, we’d all gathered in here with popcorn, drinks, and slices of cake, which made Grace laugh, to watch a movie. Lunchbox had whipped up the cake because our beautiful girl had complained about the lack of chocolate to go with the popcorn.
We had chocolate bars, but she wanted those for the hot cocoa she made. A treat she’d introduced me to a couple of days before. I’d never been a fan of the stuff, but for Grace? Well, I’d drink it every day if she made it.
No, this time, coming back to Base had revealed differences in all of us. We spent more time together without working. Movies. Games—though it amused me to discover that Grace was quite good at first person shooter games. Something that Alphabet absolutely delighted in.
Lunchbox was teaching her to cook and she’d only set fire to the stove top once. Voodoo took her down to the gym and dancing two days after we’d gotten back. I’d never envied my team before. Yet, here I was, envying them their ease with her.
They didn’t call what they were doing hovering.
I resisted another snort. I didn’t want to draw her attention to our focus.
Not while the firelight played over the soft curves of her face and highlighted her in this soft golden light.
We were all watching her, but they found ways to play with her, and I hadn’t.
Maybe she wasn’t as aware of it as we were, but there was a lost air about her that made her seem so infinitely fragile.
After everything—the interrogations, the rescues, Dvorak’s twisted game play, the dead-end leads—Grace needed space.
Except she didn’t always know how to ask for what she needed, and we didn’t always know when to give it.
So we watched. And waited. And stayed close.
The renovations upstairs were finally done.
That had been a whole project of its own—Lunchbox and I had sketched it out over the course of our first thirty-six hours home.
We had most of what we needed in storage, but we’d made two trips to town to fully stock the house and to pick up everything else.
It took us a week, but we’d devoted our time to the renovation.
Knocking out the wall between my bedroom and hers doubled the size of the space.
We’d painted it, letting her choose the palette after we’d sanded it smooth.
Her choices included Indigo Ink for the “accent” wall, golden umber for the carpet and earthier accents on the curtains—seriously choosing those had been amusing—and walnut for the wood.
“The darker grain stands up beautifully against Indigo, and creates a high-contrast look with the umber. It’s luxe, but also grounded,” she’d said, when she held up the samples together. “Do you like it?”
Of course we liked it. Grace had come to life while she sorted through all the options and she’d made all of us choose from her favorites.
“It has to reflect all of you too.”
In the end, the room came together beautifully. It still boasted the largest bathroom in the house and there was room to add an electronic fireplace that boasted multiple colors.
Voodoo had made a good call with that one. We’d added a pair of sofas up there to the space, once we’d finished the custom-built bed that took up one whole wall of the room. It would fit all five of us quite comfortably.
Lunchbox supervised the carpentry once Voodoo sourced the custom mattresses—a pair of Alaskan kings. They were the biggest I’d ever seen. But Alphabet had hunted down bedding in the same shades of umber and matching indigo for the pillows to match the room.
I’d never spent that much time thinking about how something looked. Functionality? Yes. Comfort? Yes. But looks? At the same time, I would have spent twice as much time on all of that because Grace had come back to life while we worked on it.
She didn’t know the first things about sanding, hammering, painting, or building, but didn’t shy away from a single activity. Not once. Though after the first time she threatened to throw a hammer, we established rules.
The last had been the art and the photos—she’d wanted pictures of us on the wall.
All of us, so…we’d gotten to work. It was still in progress, but I had my own favorite up there.
One that someone had snapped of her sound asleep and curled up against my chest. I had no idea which of them had taken it or when, but it went with the one of her curled up with me in the back of the van in France.
The day we finished, that was where all of us slept—including Goblin.
What surprised me most wasn’t the bed itself—it was how natural it felt now.
Crawling in beside her. Feeling her pressed between us, safe and sound, her breathing softening as she drifted off—it was everything.
The first few nights had been awkward as hell.
Too many limbs. Too much shared warmth. Too much awareness.
Occasionally needing to smack the boys upside the head and once threatening to send them to their own rooms. Though, admittedly, Grace’s laughter over that had been worth the irritation.
Now?
It wasn’t weird at all. It was… home.
Grace shifted by the fire, shoulders drawing tight as she folded her arms. Even in silhouette she seemed to vibrate with upset. If I had to guess, she was spiraling into her thoughts again—too deep, too fast.
My cue.
I pushed up from the chair and crossed the room, stopping a step behind her so she didn’t feel cornered. “Fire’s not going anywhere,” I said. “You can blink, you know.”
She huffed a quiet breath. “Wasn’t staring.”
“You were absolutely staring,” Voodoo said from the couch.
Grace flipped him off without turning around.
I smiled. Middle fingers had also become a familiar salute from her. Construction had freed her up her cuss like a sailor. Though I was determined to teach her to cuss like an Army grunt. We were just better. “How’s the shoulder?”
She rolled it experimentally. “Better. Bruise is fading.” A momentary distraction in our hand-to-hand three days before and she’d twisted her grip wrong, nearly dislocating her shoulder. I still winced when I thought about it.
“Good. Tomorrow, we pick back up with lessons.”
She groaned like I’d announced her execution. “Bones…”
“You asked me to teach you,” I reminded her, nudging her lightly. “And you’re doing damn well. But you’re not getting out of footwork drills.”
“That’s cruel.”
“That’s survival.”
She looked up at me then, eyes reflecting the firelight—tired, but steadier than before. “Okay,” she said softly. “Tomorrow.”
We stood there for a moment, just listening to the crackling fire and the wind brushing against the windows.
I didn’t touch her. Not yet. But she leaned just a fraction closer, enough that her shoulder brushed my arm. On purpose.
It felt like something real. Something earned. Something we were building together—slowly, carefully—brick by brick.
Behind us, Legend called out, “Dinner in ten!”
Grace sighed. “Are you sure I can’t help?”
“You’re helping me just fine way over there,” he said with just enough laughter and humor in his voice to make her smile.
I looked down at her. “You hungry?”
“A little.”
“Good. Eat. Then sleep. You need rest.”
Her lips curved upward. Barely, but it counted. “What about you?”
“I’ll sleep.” I shrugged. “We all will.”
“In our gigantic, ridiculous bed?” A note of real teasing crept into her voice as the firelight chased the shadows out of her eyes.