Chapter 62
The scent of mesquite smoke drifted down the bluff, mingling with the salt air off the Pacific. Laughter rose above the low thrum of music playing through the outdoor speakers. Someone had cracked open the cooler again, more bottles clinking, more ice shifting.
The grill sizzled in the background, loaded with steaks, burgers, and skewers half-charred on one side. Three weeks since the warehouse. Three weeks since Hale had been caught. Three weeks of headlines finally starting to fade.
It was the first time the team had gathered like this since coming home. No briefings, no body armor, no one watching their six. Just good beer, good food, and the breeze rolling up from the Pacific.
Rachel stepped out from the kitchen barefoot, a cold bottle of lemonade in one hand. Her sundress caught the breeze, brushing her legs as she moved. She paused, letting the warmth of the late-afternoon sun settle on her skin as her eyes swept the scene.
Predator was locked in an argument with Rogue over the best way to rub a steak, voices rising with every exaggerated claim. Reaper stood off to the side near the cornhole boards, silently landing shot after shot. Torch stood at the grill, focused on grilling the steaks.
Rachel's eyes found Ghost as he moved through the group, barefoot, T-shirt clinging to his shoulders, a beer in one hand and a towel slung over his shoulder.
Her smile lingered as Falcon strolled up the back path. He carried himself with easy confidence, but the dark circles beneath his eyes caught her attention.
"Smells like freedom back here," he said, stopping just short of the patio.
Ghost stepped forward and clapped him on the back. "Welcome home, pilot."
Falcon gave him a look. "Don't make me regret showing up."
Reaper handed him a cold beer without a word. Falcon cracked it open and nodded his thanks, his shoulders dropping slightly.
Rachel settled into a chair, the cold condensation from her lemonade bottle sliding against her palm as the late sun pushed through the patio overhang.
Ghost sat beside her, one arm resting along the back of her chair, fingers brushing the fabric of her dress every so often, a quiet reminder that she wasn't alone.
The table in front of them was half-filled, salads still chilled, condiments clustered near the center, paper plates piled high.
A chair scraped across the deck.
Frost dropped into the seat across from them, cracking open a beer and nodding toward the grill. "Torch still pretending he's not enjoying himself?"
"Dead serious about the meat rotation," Ghost said.
Frost smirked, tipping the bottle to his lips.
Brick and Predator joined next, sliding into the chairs to Frost's left, already mid-debate about flank steak versus ribeye. Rachel watched the easy dynamic settle in, the quick banter, the rough humor, the familiarity that made it feel less like a team and more like family.
Reaper appeared behind them, silent as always. He didn't sit right away, just handed Predator a cold beer and took the open seat near the corner. Rogue followed, dragging a chair with a dramatic sigh like the day had worn him out, even though he'd barely lifted a finger since arriving.
Echo trailed behind him, sunglasses still on, arms crossed. He gave Rachel a faint nod before taking the last open seat at the table.
The noise picked up again, Rogue throwing jabs at Brick for being "domesticated," Predator lecturing Frost on beer-to-meat ratios, Reaper's quiet presence anchoring them all.
Then, just as the energy started to peak, the side gate creaked open.
A woman walked in carrying a small gift bag in one hand, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. She wore jeans and a simple blouse, hospital badge still clipped to her bag. Her eyes swept the group briefly before landing on Ghost.
Rachel sat up straighter, watching as Ghost's entire face changed. He stood immediately, crossing the patio in a few long strides.
"Em," he said, pulling her into a hug.
"Sorry I'm late," the woman said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "Had a full trauma bay. No time to change."
Ghost pulled back, keeping one hand on her shoulder. "You're here. That's what matters."
He turned, gesturing Rachel forward. "Rachel, this is my sister, Emily."
Rachel stood, her pulse jumping slightly. His sister. Ghost had talked about her on a number of occasions, but this was the first time they were actually meeting.
Emily's smile was warm as she stepped forward, extending her hand. "Rachel. It’s great to finally meet you.”
Rachel shook her hand, returning the smile. "You too. Really good to finally meet you.”
"Logan's told me basically nothing," Emily said, giving her brother a pointed look. "Typical. But I've been reading about you. That exposé was incredible. Brave as hell."
"Thanks," Rachel said, her chest warming. "I had a lot of help."
"From what I heard, you almost got yourself killed," Emily said, but her tone was gentle.
Ghost's jaw tightened slightly beside her.
Rachel met Emily's eyes. "Yeah. But I'm still here."
Emily nodded once, her smile softening. "Good. My brother would've been unbearable if you weren't."
That pulled a surprised laugh from Rachel. Ghost rolled his eyes but didn't argue.
"Come on," Ghost said, nodding toward the back deck. "Grab a plate before Predator eats everything."
Emily moved toward the food, greeting the guys as she passed. Torch tipped his beer in her direction. Falcon opened the cooler and tossed her a sparkling water. Rogue offered a chair with a wink.
Ghost turned back to the group as Emily settled in. "Whole team's here," he said, his voice carrying across the patio.
Torch cut in without missing a beat. "Except Bear."
Emily's head lifted immediately. "Bear? I thought he was still stationed in Georgia. He's a PJ, right?"
Ghost shook his head. "He got reassigned to our unit about five weeks ago."
Rachel watched Emily's face carefully. There was something in her expression, surprise, maybe disappointment.
"He's not here?" Emily asked, her voice a little quieter now.
"Arizona," Logan said. "Helping his uncle fix storm damage on their ranch. He'll be back tomorrow."
Emily nodded, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Oh. That's good. I mean, that he's helping family. Sorry I missed him."
Rachel caught the shift in her tone. The way her shoulders dropped just slightly. The way her gaze moved back to her plate instead of lingering on the group.
Interesting.
Ghost either didn't notice or chose not to comment. He turned back to Torch. "Anyway. Now that everyone's here..."
Torch turned slightly, tongs still in one hand, an eyebrow lifted. "So," he said, glancing back at the grill. "You going to finally admit what you've been building?"
Ghost didn’t answer right away. He looked at Torch, then Predator, then down the line, each face familiar, then his eyes slid to Rachel, and he exhaled.
"Six months," he said. "That's what I've got left in my contract. After that, I'm taking the out. I won’t be resigning."
The table went quiet. Even the sizzle from the grill felt distant.
Torch stared at him for a beat, then cracked a slow smile. "Knew it."
Ghost reached over and clapped his shoulder. "And you're taking the lead."
Torch blinked once, the grin never faltering. "Yeah. Okay."
"You've earned it," Ghost said. "No one knows this team better. You've got the discipline. The instinct. You'll keep them sharp."
Reaper lifted his beer in quiet confirmation. Beside him, Predator raised his without a word. Rogue let out a low whistle, but his grin was different this time, proud, not cocky. "Damn. End of an era."
Falcon looked up from where he leaned against the railing, beer halfway to his mouth. "You're really stepping out?"
Ghost met his eyes without hesitation. "I'm not stepping out. I'm building something new."
"I bought a hangar," Ghost said. "Private airfield just north of Oceanside.
Secluded, locked down, fully outfitted. We're halfway through the buildout, reinforced infrastructure, modular ops rooms, full comms suite.
It's going to be a private black ops firm.
Mission-driven. No red tape. No politics.
Just the right people doing the right work. "
Predator leaned back, eyebrows raised. "Damn."
"It's called Ghost Division," Rachel added, a smirk playing at the edge of her mouth.
Rogue nearly choked on his beer. "You named it after yourself?"
"Technically, she did," Ghost muttered.
That cracked the table wide open. Laughter erupted, bottles clinked, Torch called for a rebrand.
Ghost waited until it faded, then leaned in slightly.
"I'm extending an open offer," he said. "To all of you. No pressure or expectations. But if you want in, there's a place for you. You'll get clean contracts, full autonomy, no politics. Just good work."
Torch's grin widened. "You'll need a man on the inside, for now. But keep the seat warm 'til my clock runs out."
Ghost nodded once.
Rogue tipped his beer toward him. "What about Carver?"
"He's the first recruit," Ghost said.
The energy at the table shifted, grew quieter.
"I thought he was retiring," Rachel said softly.
"He is," Ghost confirmed. "Full honors, a quiet exit, but he called this morning. Said he's heading to Wyoming for a while. Wants some space. But he thinks... he thinks he'll take me up on the offer when he's ready."
Rachel looked at him, letting it land. Ghost Division was in full swing, Ghost had already been recruiting.
The guys drifted off the patio toward the stretch of grass beyond the fire pit. Torch tossed a football to Falcon, who caught it one-handed and grinned. Predator shouted for teams. Rogue started trash-talking before the sides were even picked.
Rachel stayed at the table with Emily, watching them go.