Chapter 7
DUKE
The ceiling hasn’t changed in the six hours I’ve been staring at it.
Gray morning light filters through the curtains, casting shadows across the honeymoon suite. I’m on the couch. I couldn’t bring myself to sleep in the bed with her. Not after last night. Not after I kissed her and then pulled away like a coward.
I can still taste her on my lips.
The memory hits me in waves. That damn sexy gasp she made when I deepened the kiss. How kissing her felt better than I knew a kiss could feel. The way she melted into me, her fingers gripping my shirt and pulling me closer. Nothing prepared me for how right it felt to finally have her in my arms.
And then I pulled away. Fuck. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I couldn’t handle it if I hurt her. Seeing the hurt on her face was worse than taking a shot to the gut.
I scrub a hand over my face. My back aches from the too-short couch cushions, and my eyes burn from lack of sleep. Every time I closed them, I saw the devastation in her eyes when I told her I couldn’t do this.
I did the right thing. Protecting her from a future where she gets a phone call and a folded flag instead of a husband, even if it hurt both of us when I pulled back.
So why does doing the right thing feel like cutting out my own heart? And why can’t I stop thinking about the way she tasted, the way she fit against me like she was made to be there?
The bedroom door creaks open.
Riley emerges slowly, hesitant, her arms wrapped around herself. She’s wearing one of my old Army t-shirts, and it’s a struggle not to stare at how it strains over her tits. Her hair is tangled from sleep, and her eyes are shadowed with exhaustion.
She’s never looked more beautiful. And I’ve never felt more like a piece of shit.
“Morning,” she says. Her voice is guarded.
“Morning.”
She hovers near the bedroom doorway while I stay frozen on the couch, and the space between us feels like miles.
“Did you sleep?” she asks.
“Some.”
“Room service?” she tries. “I could order coffee.”
“Sure.”
She nods but doesn’t move. Her fingers twist the hem of my shirt.
“I’ll order coffee,” she says quietly, and turns away.
I watch her move through the suite, careful to give me a wide berth. She picks up the room service menu from the desk and studies it before ordering.
A sharp guilt twists in my gut.
This is what I wanted, right? The distance of a clean break before things get messier than they already are.
She’ll find someone else, I tell myself. Someone who can actually be there. Someone who doesn’t come with a body bag clause.
My stomach clenches at the thought. Riley with another man. Riley moving on. Riley laughing in someone else’s kitchen, crying on someone else’s shoulder, looking at someone else the way she looked at me in that Elvis chapel.
But the silence is crushing me, and watching her pretend she’s fine when she’s clearly falling apart is worse than anything I endured on my last tour.
“I need to clear my head.” The words come out rougher than I intended. “I’m going for a walk.”
Riley nods without turning around. “Okay.”
No argument. No questions. Just that single, hollow word.
I grab my jacket and head for the door. My hand is on the handle when I glance back—just for a second, I see her shoulders start to shake.
I walk out the door, and I hate myself for making her feel this way.
The Vegas Strip in daylight is a different beast entirely.
Without the neon and the darkness to hide behind, everything looks cheaper.
Sadder. Tourists shuffle past with vacant eyes, clutching oversized drinks at ten in the morning.
The unseasonably hot desert heat presses down like a weight, and I walk without direction, hands shoved in my pockets, trying to outpace the image of Riley’s face crumpling as I walked out.
I replay every moment of the weekend. The way she laughed at the concert, tears streaming down her cheeks from pure joy.
The way she looked at me in that blue dress, like I could be the one man to make her happy forever.
The way she whispered, “You’re the only good man I know,” while we swayed together in that dive bar.
And then last night. Her face tilted up toward mine on the balcony, her eyes soft with trust and want.
The way she leaned into my hand when I cupped her cheek.
And then—fuck—the kiss. The way her lips parted for me, the soft moan that vibrated through her when I pulled her closer.
Fifteen years of friendship, and in that single moment, I understood what I’d been missing. What I’d been denying myself.
The love of my life has been right in front of me this whole damn time.
The realization hits me so hard I have to stop walking. I brace a hand against a pillar, breathing through the sudden tightness in my chest.
I’m in love with Riley. Not the familiar, platonic love of friendship—the desperate, consuming, can’t-live-without-her kind of love. The kind that makes men do stupid things like get married by Elvis at three in the morning.
And instead of telling her that, I pulled away. Told her I couldn’t do this. Left her alone on a balcony with the taste of me still on her lips.
I’m the biggest idiot who ever lived.
I end up near a plaza off the main drag, quieter than The Strip, with a fountain and some benches. Families mill around—kids chasing each other, couples holding hands, the usual chaos of people living their lives.
That’s when I see them.
A soldier in uniform, ACUs crisp despite the heat, with a woman at his side and two kids in tow. The little girl—maybe three years old—is crying. She’s pointing at an ice cream cone on the sidewalk, already melting in the heat of the morning. A toddler tragedy.
The soldier scoops her up, settles her on his hip, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Hey, hey. We’ll get you another one, baby girl. Don’t cry.”
His wife laughs and wipes the girl’s tears with a napkin while their son tugs at Dad’s free hand, chattering about something. The soldier looks down at the boy with pure, uncomplicated joy on his face, and my soul aches.
They’re happy. In this moment, their life is messy—one kid is sniffling, the other pulling their father’s hand in the direction of what he wants.
There are tired lines around the wife’s eyes, but the happiness on her face is plain as day.
They are a family, and a dropped ice cream cone and a demanding son are just part of their day.
That could be us. That could be our future.
Then the darker thought: Or it could be Riley, alone, getting a folded flag.
But I can’t look away from them. The wife leans into her husband’s side, and he drops a kiss on the top of her head without breaking his conversation with the boy. It’s the casual intimacy of people who’ve built a life together.
She knew the risks. She chose him anyway.
And they’re happy.
I find a bench and sink onto it, pulling out my phone.
Jake picks up on the second ring. “Hey, man. What’s up?”
“I screwed it up.” My voice comes out raw. “Bad.”
“What happened?”
“I kissed Riley last night.” Even saying it out loud makes my pulse kick up.
I can’t even say the words ‘oh, and by the way, we got married on Valentine’s Day night, but we were both drunk and don’t remember it.
’ “And Jake—it was the best fucking kiss of my life. I never knew it could feel like that. She kissed me back and…” I stop as the memory crashes over me again.
“And what? What’s the problem?”
“I stopped. Told her I couldn’t do this. Walked away.” I laugh bitterly. “She looked at me like I’d ripped her heart out. And then this morning I basically ran out of the hotel room because I couldn’t handle seeing the hurt in her eyes.”
“Jesus, Duke.”
“She said she’d be devastated if I didn’t come home. She basically confirmed every fear I’ve ever had. But the way she kissed me—” My voice cracks. “I think I’ve been in love with her for fifteen years, and I was too stupid to see it.”
The line goes quiet for a moment. Then Jake sighs, long and heavy.
“So what? You think Izzy and I don’t have hard days?
You think she doesn’t worry when I have a dangerous assignment at Ghost Security?
Or that I don’t worry about her when I can’t be with her when she’s touring?
A long-distance relationship is hard fucking work, man.
But when you find the woman you love, you’ll do anything, and you’ll make it work. ”
I don’t answer.
“Love isn’t about avoiding risk, brother.” His voice softens. “It’s about finding someone worth the risk. And from everything you’ve told me about Riley and everything I saw this weekend, she’s worth it. The question is whether you’re brave enough to let yourself have it.”
I think about the soldier across the plaza, the way his wife fit naturally against his side. The way they moved together like two halves of the same whole.
“What if I hurt her?” The words scrape out of me like glass. “What if I come home broken, or don’t come home at all?”
“Then she’ll grieve.” Jake’s voice is steady.
Matter-of-fact. “And it’ll be awful. But at least she’ll have had you.
If you come home hurt, you’ll have each other.
” A pause. “That’s more than most people get, Duke.
Most people never find someone worth grieving over.
You found her when you were seventeen, and you’ve been too scared to do anything about it ever since.
But Duke, listen to me here. Don’t fucking catastrophize.
Yes, things can go wrong, but they can go right just as easily.
And if you want to come to the private sector, there’s always a job for you at Ghost Security. ”
The truth of it hits me like a fist to the gut.
Fifteen years of watching her date other men.
Fifteen years of being the shoulder she cried on when they broke her heart.
Fifteen years of telling myself I was being noble when really I was just terrified.
Fifteen years of never finding a woman that came close to comparing to Riley—and I compared every woman to Riley, and they all came up lacking.
Jake is also right about my mind always going to the worst place. I’m a good soldier, and I know how to take care of myself. I know I get caught up in the “what ifs?” but maybe that’s been me thinking I’m protecting myself and women, when it’s just me hiding.
Jesus. How many years have I wasted?
“You remember what you told me before my wedding?” Jake continues. “You said Izzy was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’d be an idiot to let fear screw it up.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
I don’t have an answer. Because it hits me that it wasn’t different.
I watch the military family across the plaza. The soldier has set his daughter down now, and she’s holding her brother’s hand, tear-tracks drying on her cheeks. Their mom is laughing at something, one hand on her husband’s arm.
“I think I’ve already lost her,” I say quietly. “As a friend, as anything. The way she looked at me this morning—”
“Then you better do something big to show her you mean it.” Jake’s voice sharpens. “Not just words. Something that proves you’re done running.”
The family walks away, the little girl chattering now, tragedy forgotten. The soldier catches his wife’s hand and laces their fingers together, easy as breathing.
He chose her. Every deployment, every hard day, every moment of uncertainty—he chose her. And she chose him back.
I’ve been so focused on what I might lose that I never stopped to think about what I’m throwing away.
“I’ve got an idea,” I say.