3. Moving Forward
Moving Forward
Inhaling deeply, he sighed blissfully, “Damn, I love that woman.”
Every morning Garrett woke up to the scent of fresh coffee, and every morning he thanked the Heavens and the Universe for Sydney.
That first whiff of nutty goodness was another step toward healing not only his body but also his heart and soul.
The aroma was filled with the heavenly toasted scent of vanilla and caramel, and just a touch of brown sugar tickled the tip of his nose, it filled him with hope, and warmed him from the inside out.
Over the last few weeks, Garrett had come to associate that rich, dark aroma with an overwhelming sense of safety.
It meant the night, and whatever shadows tried to cling to his mind while he slept, was officially over.
It meant morning had arrived, bringing with it a quiet certainty that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
Sliding into his jeans, he zipped the fly but left the button unfastened, knowing he would be back to shower, shave, and get dressed after having some coffee. Leaving the room, he padded down the stairs. The carpet covering the steps tickled his toes as he all but skipped to the kitchen.
Over the threshold, he couldn’t help but chuckle when he found a steaming mug of coffee on the counter. Picking it up, he wrapped both hands around the hand-painted ceramic cup and took the first sip.
“Mmmmm,” he sighed, propping his hip against the counter and looking at his lovely Mate.
Across the room, Sydney was moving around the stove, her blond curls up in what she called a messy bun. He smiled at the few stray curls framing her neck, knowing she hadn't realized they had escaped.
Glancing over her shoulder, she blew him a kiss and teased, “Well, hello there, Sleepyhead.”
“Sleepyhead?” He chuckled. “Can I help it if you get up with the chickens?”
“Correction…” She winked. “…before those blasted chickens who make a sport outta chasin’ me around the yard.” Shaking her head, she huffed, “They are evil, I tell ya’… Pure evil.”
“Ginnie’s chickens are evil?”
“Yes,” she declared, looking back to the stove. “They are.”
“Should I slay them for my Queen?” Garrett teased, reviving his Highland brogue and pretending he had a sword in his free hand. “I shall behead them for merely thinking about laying a single beak on my Mate.”
Completely turned around and laughing so hard that she was wheezing, her soft, melodic voice echoed gently in the back of his mind. “Look at him.”
Brushing a stray curl from her cheek, her thoughts went on, “He looks so much lighter today. He’s coming back to me, Kara. He’s really coming back.
“And you’re really projecting your thoughts,” the Dragon Queen, Drakara, with whom Sydney shared her soul, snickered.
Garrett didn’t startle. He simply smiled into the steam of his coffee, keeping his eyes fixed on his mug.
He didn’t want to embarrass Sydney, especially since Kara had already alerted her, but since their Mating Bond had snapped into place, Sydney’s emotions occasionally came right to him, mainly when she was happy.
It was like a radio station catching a clear signal.
He knew she didn’t realize it was happening, and he found a fierce, protective comfort in it.
For so long, the voices in his head had been dark, dangerous, and trying to destroy him.
Having Sydney there was a breath of fresh air and reassurance that he was worthy.
She was his, and he was hers, and that made him blissfully happy.
And… She was right.
He did feel lighter. The heavy, suffocating fog that had clouded his mind since his rescue was slowly burning away. But it still felt like a heavy curtain that had gotten stuck.
"Breakfast is almost ready," Sydney said aloud, turning to him with a bright, genuine smile that made her cheeks pink and her eyes sparkle.
"Smells incredible," Garrett replied, his voice smoother, easier than it had been days ago.
Laughing came easier, too. So did breathing. He really was healing. He could feel it in his bones.
By the time they moved to the heavy oak dining table, Grey was already seated, scrolling through a tablet– something brand new to Garrett but apparently a necessary device for anyone who wanted to keep up on everything happening in the world.
A moment later, the heavy front door swung open, and Carrick strolled in, bringing the crisp morning air with him.
"Morning, family," Carrick happily announced, pulling out a chair and dropping into it with effortless, athletic grace.
“You're just in time to help clear the plates," Grey teased, not looking up from his screen.
"I'm here for the bacon, Son, not the chores," Carrick shot back, though there was a familiar, easy warmth to the banter.
As Sydney began setting down platters of eggs and toast, Grey reached across the table, his hand scanning the spread for the maple syrup.
Before Grey’s fingers could even brush the glass bottle, Garrett’s hand moved on pure instinct.
He slid the syrup across the wood, placing it perfectly within his brother’s reach.
Garrett froze. His hand still rested on the table. He hadn't thought about it. He hadn't calculated the distance or even waited for Grey to ask. It was just a habit. An old, deeply buried instinct from a lifetime of sharing breakfasts.
Grey stopped, his fingers hovering over the syrup. He looked up, his sharp eyes locking onto Garrett’s. A slow, incredibly soft smile spread across his face.
"You remembered," Grey said quietly.
Garrett blinked, swallowing hard as a sudden rush of warmth flooded his chest. "I... I did."
It was a victory. A small, silent triumph that proved the man he used to be wasn't gone forever. He was still in there.
That sudden surge of confidence carried him all the way into the private gym at the far side of the remodeled barn behind the house an hour later.
The space was bright, lined with mirrors, weights, and high-end rehabilitation equipment.
Jason, a younger Guardsman training under the Clan’s medical team, was already adjusting a set of resistance bands.
"Alright, Garrett," Jason said, offering a respectful nod as Grey and Carrick took up their usual spots leaning against the back wall, observing. "We're going to stick to the light repetitions today. We need to keep testing the endurance of the leg muscles without pushing the joints."
"No," Garrett said, stepping forward. He felt a restless, vibrant energy humming under his skin, completely different from the sluggish ache of the past weeks. "Let's increase the weight. I want to do more today."
Jason hesitated, glancing briefly toward Grey. "Garrett, your chart says…”
"I'm feeling stronger," Garrett interrupted, his tone firm but entirely positive. He looked back at his brother and the Elder, a confident smirk touching his lips. "I've been lying around playing the invalid long enough. I want to prove I can actually be useful around here again."
From the back wall, Carrick crossed his arms, his expression tightening just a fraction. "Easy, Lad. There's no prize for rushing it."
"Watch me," Garrett smiled.
Approaching the leg press machine, he deliberately bypassed the pin Jason had set. He slid it down three notches, making it heavier. It was a weight that, by all medical logic, would make his recovering muscles scream in protest.
Garrett sat down, gripped the handles, and pressed his feet against the iron plate. Taking a deep breath, he prepared for the familiar, burning resistance.
He pushed.
The heavy iron plates didn't just move. They flew, slamming upward with a deafening clack, hitting the top of the machine's frame before Garrett even realized he had fully extended his legs.
There was no strain. No burning. It felt like pushing against empty air.
Silence fell over the gym.
Jason stared at the weight stack, his mouth slightly open. In the mirror, Garrett caught sight of Grey and Carrick. The easy, relaxed posture they had held a second ago was gone. His brothers had gone completely rigid. Carrick was standing at attention.
Their eyes locked intently on Garrett's legs.
"Uh," Jason cleared his throat, stepping closer to inspect the machine. "Did... did the cable snap? Let me check the tension."
"No," Garrett murmured, his smile slowly faltering.
Slowly lowering the plates, they settled back down with a heavy, solid thud. The machine was perfectly intact.
As he inspected the weights, Jason slowly shook his head. “Everything’s okay here.” Shrugging, he added, “Well, sometimes recovering muscle fibers overcompensate. Guess yours are goin’ for gold.”
Garrett looked down at his own hands gripping the metal bars. His palms were entirely dry. His heart rate hadn't even elevated. He felt incredibly strong… uncomfortably, inexplicably strong.
After physical therapy, Carrick had more work to do, and this time, Garrett was gonna be sweating.
The heat of the late morning sun felt clean on his skin, a stark contrast to the sterile fluorescent lights of the gym. He had felt a huge surge of pride when Carrick asked him for help.
Out on the eastern boundary of the property, a massive oak branch had come down during a storm the previous week, taking out a three-panel section of the heavy timber fencing.
It was simple, physical work. The kind of mundane ranch labor Garrett had spent a lifetime doing before everything was ripped away from him.
Sure, he had trained long and hard to become one of the Universe’s Chosen Warriors, but before that, he and his brother had worked the family farm.
Hard work was in his blood. It was something he enjoyed.
Lifting a thick cedar post onto his shoulder, he savored the rough bite of the wood against his shirt and the sharp, earthy scent of sawdust.
“Hey, hold that steady," Carrick grunted, balancing a crossbeam against the post.