Chapter 8 #2
"You mean when you figure out how to convince her to follow you wherever you go next."
"I'm not—" I stop, because that's exactly what I'm doing. "Maybe."
"Just don't fuck this up."
"Helpful advice, thanks."
"I'm serious. That woman's too good for you, but somehow she seems to like your dumb face anyway." He points the wrench at me. "Don't overthink it. Don't overplan it. Just talk to her."
"Since when are you the relationship expert?"
"Since I've been watching you crash and burn for three years and finally found someone who might actually tolerate you long-term."
The rest of the morning goes smoothly. I help Javi finish up a few maintenance checks, run Ranger through some drills at the K9 facility—he's still showing off for the memory of Callie—and generally feel more focused than I have in weeks.
Huh. Maybe I should have been getting laid regularly all along.
I'm walking back to the barracks when my phone rings. Jake's name flashes on the screen.
Jake. My younger brother by two years and three inches taller, though he'll never let me forget the height thing.
He works with Wade at Iron Creek, handling the operations side while Wade runs the business.
Our youngest brother, Cole, handles client relations, which basically means he schmoozes potential contracts while Wade and Jake do the actual work.
"What's up, little brother?" I answer.
"Don't call me that. I may be two years younger, but I'm three inches taller than you."
"Height doesn't count when I can still put you in a headlock."
"You're in Colorado. Can't reach me from there." I hear rustling, like he's shifting papers. "Got a minute? Wade wants an update on whether you're coming home or re-upping."
The question lands heavier than it should. "Still deciding."
"It's been three weeks."
"I'm aware of the timeline."
"Well, decide faster. We've got two contracts in negotiation that we could really use your expertise on. Security detail for a Houston executive and training for Austin PD's new K9 unit."
I lean against the barracks wall, watching airmen cross the yard. "What kind of expertise?"
"The kind that comes from growing up around working dogs and actually knowing what you're doing. Wade's brilliant at the business side, but you've got the training background and the military experience these clients want."
"I'm a pilot, not a handler."
"You're a Mercer. It's in your blood whether you want to admit it or not." He pauses. "Plus, Mom misses you. She made me tell you that."
"Emotional blackmail. Nice."
"Whatever works." More paper rustling. "So what's the holdup? Last time we talked, you were ninety percent sure you were done with the Air Force."
"That was before."
"Before what?"
Callie's face flashes through my mind. The way she laughed this morning. The way her hair spread across the pillow. The way she remembered how I take my coffee.
"Met someone," I hear myself say.
Jake's quiet for a beat. Then: "Met someone or met someone?"
"The second one."
"Holy shit. Dean Mercer is off the market. Someone alert the media."
"Shut up."
"What's her name?"
"Callie. She's a vet. Actually runs the small-animal clinic in Pine Valley, but she's consulting on the base K9 facility upgrade."
"A vet?" Jake's interest sharpens. "Like, a real veterinarian with an actual degree?"
"Top of her class. Specialized in veterinary behavioral medicine. She's smart as hell, doesn't take any of my shit, and has opinions about kennel ventilation that I find weirdly attractive."
Jake laughs. "You've got it bad."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because it's true. You're bragging about her professional credentials. That's serious."
"She's serious. About her work, about animal welfare, about doing things right.
" I'm pacing now, gesturing even though he can't see me.
"You should have seen her at the consultation.
She knew more about K9 program standards than half the handlers on base.
Didn't back down when they questioned her, just pulled out research and made them look stupid for doubting her. "
"She sounds solid."
"She is."
"Bring her with you when you come back."
The words hit me like a punch. "What?"
"To Texas. To Iron Creek. We could use a vet.
Hell, we could use a good vet. Someone who actually understands working dogs and isn't trying to treat them like house pets.
" He's warming to the idea, talking faster.
"Think about it—in-house veterinary care, behavioral consultations, training protocols. She'd be perfect."
My brain short-circuits.
Callie. In Texas. Working with Iron Creek K9. Living in Iron Creek near Wade and Jake and our parents. Building a life with me that doesn't involve deployment schedules and countdown clocks and wondering which assignment will take me away next.
A future that's permanent. Together. Real.
"Dean? You still there?"
"Yeah." My voice sounds distant. "Yeah, I'm here."
"Just think about it. Talk to her. See if she'd be interested."
"I'll think about it."
We finish the call with promises to touch base before the re-enlistment deadline, and then I'm standing outside the barracks with my phone in my hand and my head full of possibilities.
I could see it. All of it.
Callie moving to Texas. Her practice, but bigger. Better resources, challenging cases, the kind of work she clearly loves. Me at Iron Creek, training dogs, building something real with my family. Both of us together at the end of the day instead of counting down to the next goodbye.
It makes perfect sense.
We could make it work. I know we could. She's practical, ambitious, loves a challenge. Moving to Texas to run veterinary operations for a growing K9 security company would be exactly the kind of opportunity someone like her would appreciate.
And she likes me. Really likes me. Last night proved that.
I'm already imagining the conversation. How I'd lay it out—my options, my feelings, the future I can see so clearly now. She'd probably ask questions, want details about the business and the logistics and how it would all work. She's thorough like that.
But once she saw the potential, she'd understand. She'd see what I see.
Right?
Back in my room, I pull out the re-enlistment papers that have been haunting me for weeks.
They don't feel heavy anymore.
The choice is obvious now. Don't re-up. Go home. Build a life that doesn't involve distance or deployment or wondering if I'll ever find something worth staying for.
I found it. Her.
Now I just need to tell her.
I don't text. This conversation needs to happen in person.
Tomorrow night. I'll take her to dinner, lay it all out, show her the future I can see so clearly.
She's going to love Texas. The business, the dogs, the life we're going to build.
She's going to say yes. I know she is.