Prologue #2
The rumble starts down the street, growing until a half dozen motorcycles pulls up to our curb.
The Devil Souls MC. Their leather cuts gleam in the sunlight as they park, a silent show of force and family.
Kyle, their president, dismounts, watching Trenton and Matthew with quiet authority.
This is their other family, here to see them off.
"Seventeen weeks," I whisper to myself. Basic training. Then more training after that. Months and months without them.
Trenton's mother Kayla approaches me, pulling me into a fierce hug. "They'll be back before you know it, sweetheart," she says, but her eyes are wet too.
"I know," I lie.
Matthew's parents hover nearby. Jean clutches Jackson's arm like she might collapse without the support. Her son, her baby, off to war eventually. I see the fear etched in the lines around her eyes and recognize it as my own.
"Morgan." Trenton's voice pulls me from my thoughts. He stands before me, already looking different in his traveling clothes. More serious, more soldier than boy. "Walk with me."
We move a few steps away from the others when his hand finds mine, squeezing once.
"Don't forget," he says simply.
"I couldn't if I tried."
His dark eyes search my face like he's memorizing it.
"Write to us. Every day."
"I will."
Matthew joins us, completing our triangle. "We've got this for you."
From his pocket, he produces a small box. Inside, a delicate silver chain with two pendants, an M and a T.
"So we're always with you," he explains as Trenton fastens it around my neck.
The metal feels cool against my skin. I touch it, knowing I'll wear it until they return.
"Time to go," Kyle calls, his deep voice carrying across the yard.
This is it. The moment I've been dreading for months.
I force my lips into a smile. "You'll be amazing," I tell them, proud of how steady my voice sounds. "Best they've ever seen."
Matthew kisses me first, soft and sweet, his hand cradling my face. "Wait for us."
"Always," I promise.
Then Trenton. His kiss harder, more desperate. "You're ours," he whispers against my lips. "Remember that."
They turn to my father, who stands rigid, trying to be strong for me.
"Sir," Trenton says formally, extending his hand. "Take care of her."
Dad's handshake is firm. "I will, son."
Matthew steps forward next. "If she needs anything at all—"
"I've got her," Dad assures him. "You boys just focus on coming home safe."
Final hugs. Final whispers. Final touches. Then they're climbing into the truck, Torch behind the wheel, and I'm waving as they pull away. My arm moves automatically while a hollow ache spreads through my chest.
I maintain my composure until the truck disappears around the corner. Then my heart breaks inside me. A sound comes out that I don't recognize as mine. I turn into my father's chest and sob.
"Shh," he soothes, his arms tight around me. "They'll be back, Morgan. Those boys love you too much to stay away."
The MC members give us space, talking quietly among themselves. Kyle approaches after my tears slow, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder.
"The club looks after its own," he says. "And you're family now. Anything you need, you call us."
I nod, grateful but hollow.
Later, alone in my room, I pull out the letters I've already written, one for each day they'll be gone. Seventeen weeks' worth. I seal the first two in envelopes, then address them carefully.
On my desk sits a calendar. I pick up a red marker and cross off today. One day down. One hundred and eighteen to go.
I touch the pendants at my throat, and whisper into the empty room, "Come back to me."
Months later I stand in the bustling auditorium, my heart thundering against my ribs. Basic training graduation. The day I've marked off on my calendar, dreamed about through lonely nights.
I'm eighteen now. No longer the high school girl they left behind.
"They'll be out any minute," Mom whispers, squeezing my hand.
The crowd around us pulses with anticipation, hundreds of families waiting for their soldiers. Jean clutches a tissue, already dabbing at her eyes. Kayla stands tall beside her, pride radiating from her posture. Dad and Jackson talk quietly, comparing notes on the base from their earlier tour.
I twist the pendants hanging from my neck, a habit formed over four months of separation. Each letter from them has been a lifeline; Matthew's filled with vivid details and humor, Trenton's shorter but intense, every word weighted with meaning.
The ceremony begins. Flags wave. Speeches drone. I hear nothing, see nothing but the entrance from where they'll appear.
And then…
They march in with their unit, movements precise and synchronized. Different. Harder. Sharper. My breath catches in my throat.
Trenton's face is more angular, the last traces of boyhood stripped away. Matthew's shoulders have broadened, his stance commanding. Both carry themselves with a confidence that wasn't there before the military has honed what was already lethal into something scary.
My thumbnail finds the edge of my cuticle and tears.
After the formal ceremony, after the commands and the applause, families flood the floor. I hang back, suddenly unsure. These two men in uniform, are they still mine?
Then Matthew spots me. His face splits into that familiar grin, the one that's kept me warm through lonely nights. He nudges Trenton, whose dark eyes find mine instantly.
They move through the crowd like water cutting through stone. Efficient, purposeful, unstoppable.
And I'm running, dignity forgotten. Matthew catches me first, lifting me off my feet, spinning once before Trenton's arms encircle us both.
"You're here," Matthew breathes against my hair.
"You came," Trenton murmurs, his voice deeper than I remember.
"Of course I did," I say, pulling back to see their faces properly. "Nothing could have stopped me."
Our families converge around us. Hugs, tears, proud exclamations about how they've changed. I step back, letting them have this moment, drinking in the sight of them in their uniforms.
Dad claps Trenton on the shoulder. "You've done good, son."
"Thank you, sir."
Jackson embraces Matthew tightly. "So damn proud of you."
The families mingle, exchange pleasantries, and discuss dinner plans. I catch Trenton watching me intensely. Matthew's hand finds my hip, fingertips pressing just enough to send electricity up my spine.
"We have a room," he whispers, for my ears only. "Just us. Tonight."
Heat blooms across my skin. "How long?"
"Two days," Trenton answers, close enough that his breath warms my neck. "Then we're off to be SEALs."
Two days. Forty-eight hours before they leave again, this time for much longer.
The afternoon crawls by. Formal photos. Tours of the base. A celebratory dinner where I sit between their mothers, answering polite questions while acutely aware of Matthew and Trenton across the table, their eyes saying things their mouths can't.
Finally, as dessert plates are cleared, Jean yawns dramatically. "I think we should all turn in early. It's been such an emotional day."
Kayla nods too quickly. "Yes, we have that tour scheduled for tomorrow morning."
My mother gives me a look, one part warning, one part understanding. "Morgan, you'll be okay getting back to the hotel with the boys?"
"Yes," I manage, my voice only slightly strangled.
Dad clears his throat, uncomfortable but resigned. "Midnight curfew—"
Trenton meets his eyes directly. "No, sir. She's eighteen now."
A muscle feathers in my father's jaw. He holds Trenton's gaze for a long, heavy moment before his shoulders drop almost imperceptibly. He nods once. "Take care of her."
"Always," they answer in unison.
The night air is cool as we walk to Trenton's car, borrowed from Kyle for the weekend. Matthew holds my hand, thumb tracing circles on my skin. Trenton walks slightly ahead, hyperaware of our surroundings even here.
The hotel is fifteen minutes from the base. We don't speak during the drive, but Matthew's hand rests on my thigh, a warm weight of promise.
Room 312. Trenton slides the key card, pushes the door open, and checks inside before letting us enter. Old habits.
The door clicks shut. The air changes.
"Morgan," Matthew says, and my name in his mouth sounds like a prayer.
I turn to them, these beautiful, dangerous men who've held my heart for years. "I can't believe you're real. That you're both here."
"Show us," Trenton challenges softly.
My hands shake as I step forward, reaching for the buttons of Matthew's dress uniform. He goes very still when my fingers brush against his chest. Trenton moves behind me, brushing my hair aside to expose my neck. His lips find the sensitive spot below my ear.
"We've thought about this," Matthew confesses, helping me with the complicated fastenings. "Every night."
"So have I," I whisper.
Trenton's hands span my waist, turning me to face him. His kiss is hungry, desperate. I respond in kind, pouring months of longing into it.
"Are you sure?" he asks against my lips. Always the protector.
"I've never been more sure of anything," I answer. "I want this. I want you both. Before you leave again."
Matthew's hands slide under my dress, leaving fire in their wake. "We have all night."
"And tomorrow," Trenton adds, already working on the zipper at my back.
My dress pools at my feet, and their eyes darken as they take me in black lace chosen specifically for this moment.
"Beautiful," Matthew breathes.
Trenton says nothing, but his expression speaks volumes as he lifts me then carries me to the bed. Matthew follows, already shedding layers of his uniform.
The mattress dips beneath our combined weight. I tremble, not from fear but the sheer, crushing reality of a moment I've only ever allowed myself to imagine.
"You're shaking," Trenton murmurs, his calloused palm sliding along my bare shoulder.
"I'm just…" Words fail me. How do I explain that this feels like standing at the edge of a cliff? Beautiful. Terrifying. Inevitable.