Chapter 1
chapter one
Present Day
Trenton
"Let me check the address one more time," Matthew says, squinting at his phone as I pull the truck into the parking lot.
"It's right," I assure him, already spotting the colorful playground equipment visible behind the low brick building. "Little Explorers Day care. This is where Morgan works."
We've been planning this surprise for weeks, coordinating with our COs to ensure our leave paperwork went through without a hitch. The last six months of deployment felt like six years away from Morgan, our video calls and messages just enough to remind us of everything we were missing.
"You think she'll be happy?" Matthew asks, uncharacteristic nervousness in his voice. Matt's usually the steady one of our trio, the one who talks me down when I spiral and never seems rattled himself, but Morgan has always had this effect on him.
"Are you kidding? She's going to lose her mind," I say, checking my reflection in the rearview mirror. The haircut's still fresh, high and tight the way she likes it. "Question is, will she cry first or drag us both back to her apartment?"
Matthew chuckles, but I can see the same tension in his shoulders that I feel.
It's been too long, and we've missed too much.
The last few months of Morgan's texts and calls have been filled with stories about the kids she teaches, her new apartment, the life she's built while waiting for us. A life we're finally home to share.
"Ready?" I ask, reaching for the door handle.
Matthew nods, grabbing the bouquet of sunflowers from the back seat. Morgan's favorite. "Let's go get our girl."
The day care is bustling. We slip through the front door while the receptionist is on the phone, signing the visitor log with the quiet efficiency drilled into us over six years of service. It's second nature now, moving without being seen.
"Room 4," I whisper to Matt after glancing at the staff assignment board on the wall. "Down the hall on the right."
We move quietly past colorful artwork and tiny cubbies labeled with children's names. The sounds of childish laughter and singing grow louder as we approach room 4, and I feel my heart rate kick up a notch.
Through the half-open door, I catch my first glimpse of Morgan in six months, not through a pixelated screen, but in the flesh.
She's sitting cross-legged on a rainbow rug, surrounded by a semicircle of preschoolers, reading a picture book with animated expressions.
Her dark hair is longer than I remember, falling in waves past her shoulders, and she's wearing a yellow dress that makes her skin appear warm and golden.
I freeze, the sight of her knocking the air from my lungs. Beside me, Matthew inhales sharply, his fist tightening until the flower stems crack, overwhelmed by seeing the woman we'd been fighting our way back to for so long.
"You go first," he murmurs, giving me a gentle push. "I'll be right behind you."
I step into the doorway and lean against the frame in what I hope looks casual, though my pulse is loud enough in my ears that I half expect the kids to hear it. For a moment, Morgan continues reading, unaware of our presence. Then one of the kids points in our direction.
"Teacher Morgan, there's mans!"
Morgan's head snaps up, her eyes widening as they land on me. The book slips from her fingers, thumping softly on the carpet.
"Trent?" she whispers, her voice breaking on my name. Her gaze shifts past me. "Matt?"
She's on her feet in a rush, her knuckles pressed to her lips as if to hold in a sound, her eyes wide and shining. The children look between us, their faces puckered in confusion. Morgan just stands there, frozen, her professional smile completely gone.
"Surprise, gorgeous," I say, grinning so hard my face hurts. "Miss us?"
A strangled sound escapes her throat, half laugh, half sob, before she composes herself enough to address her class.
"Children, these are my… my very special friends who've been away for a long time. Can we all say hello to Mr. Trenton and Mr. Matthew?"
A chorus of "Hello!" rings out, some shy, some enthusiastic. One bold little girl with pigtails stands up and walks right up to Matthew, examining the flowers with open curiosity.
"Are those for Teacher Morgan?" she asks, looking up at him with solemn eyes.
Matthew kneels down to her level, handling the transition from combat operative to kid-friendly civilian with the same adaptability that made him such a good SEAL. "They sure are. Do you think she'll like them?"
The girl nods emphatically. "Yellow's her favorite. She told us."
Morgan makes a choked sound, her professional veneer cracking further. I can see her struggling, wanting to throw herself at us but mindful of the room full of preschoolers watching with rapt attention.
Salvation arrives in the form of a middle-aged woman who appears in the doorway behind us, taking in the scene with knowing eyes.
"Morgan," she says gently, "why don't you take your break now? I can cover your class for a bit."
Morgan looks at her with naked gratitude. "Are you sure, Ms. Davis? I wasn't scheduled for another hour…"
"I think this qualifies as a special circumstance," the woman says with a warm smile, already moving to take Morgan's place on the reading rug. "Take your time."
Morgan doesn't need to be told twice. She crosses the room in quick steps, pausing only to accept the sunflowers from Matthew, before leading us out the door and down the hall to what appears to be a small staff lounge.
The moment the door closes behind us, she drops the flowers on a nearby table and launches herself at both of us, one arm around each of our necks, pulling us down to her level. She smells like strawberry shampoo and finger paint and home.
"You're here," she whispers, voice thick with tears. "You're really here. How? Why? You weren't supposed to be back for three more weeks!"
I press my face into her hair, breathing her in, feeling the tension of six months' separation finally melt away. "Pulled some strings," I murmur, not ready to reveal the full surprise yet. "Couldn't wait any longer."
Matthew's arm wraps around both of us, and for a moment none of us says anything, the three of us just breathing together in the small staff lounge like we used to when we were younger.
"Let me look at you," Morgan demands, pulling back just enough to run her hands over our faces, our shoulders, as if confirming we're real and whole. Her eyes catalog every detail, lingering on the new scar along Matthew's jawline, the slight tan that darkens my skin. "Are you okay? Both of you?"
"We're perfect now," Matthew assures her, his voice rough with emotion as he cups her face in his hands. "Absolutely perfect."
I watch as he kisses her, gentle at first, then deepening as she responds with six months of pent-up longing. The sight doesn't inspire jealousy, never has. If anything, watching her finally get this feels like something I'd been quietly rooting for without admitting I was.
When they part, Morgan turns to me, eyes dark with the same need. "Don't think you're getting away without a proper hello," she warns, fisting her hand in my shirt to pull me down.
I go willingly, meeting her halfway, pouring everything I can't yet say into the kiss. She tastes like coffee and mint and Morgan, and I could drown in it happily.
"God, I've missed you," she breathes against my lips. "Both of you." She pulls back slightly, looking between us with growing suspicion. "Not that I'm complaining, but what's really going on? You two have that look."
"What look?" Matthew asks, failing miserably at innocence.
"That look," she insists, pointing between us. "The one that means you're up to something. Spill it."
I exchange a glance with Matthew, who nods slightly. This is it, the moment we've been planning for months.
"We're home, Morgan," I say simply. "For good."
She stares at us, uncomprehending. "What do you mean, for good? Your redeployment is in three weeks. You said—"
"We're out," Matthew interrupts gently. "Honorable discharges, paperwork finalized last week. We're civilians now."
Morgan's legs seem to give out. She sinks onto a nearby chair, her gaze shifting from my face to his with stunned disbelief. "You're… you're done? Both of you? No more deployments? No more—" Her voice catches. "—no more wondering if you're coming home?"
I kneel in front of her, taking her hands in mine. "No more wondering. We're home, and we're staying."
"But why? How? You never said anything about leaving the service…"
Matthew sits beside her, his shoulder pressed against hers.
"Kandahar…" He doesn't need to say more.
I can still taste the dust, hear the ringing in my ears.
"We were lying there, after… and I just looked at Trent.
We both knew. We were done. Six years and neither of us could name one thing we'd actually won. What we want is here. With you."
"We've missed too much already," I add, squeezing her hands. "Birthdays, holidays, ordinary Tuesdays. We don't want to miss any more."
"It's all I've ever wanted," she whispers fiercely. "All three of us, building a life together. No more goodbyes, no more counting days, no more being afraid to check the news."
Matthew kisses her temple, his eyes meeting mine over her head. The relief and joy I see there mirror my own. "We're home, Morgan. For real this time."
A knock at the door interrupts our moment. Ms. Davis pokes her head in, looking apologetic. "Sorry to intrude, but we've got a bit of a finger paint situation developing. Normally I'd handle it, but the parents are arriving soon for pickup, and I need to be at the front desk."
Morgan straightens, wiping her eyes and attempting to compose herself. "Of course, I'll be right there." She turns to us with clear reluctance. "I'm off at four. Can you—"
"We'll be waiting," I promise, brushing a last kiss against her lips. "We've got nowhere else to be."
"Nowhere but home," Matthew adds, kissing her forehead.