Chapter 15 #2
For the man who taught me courage. Who jumped when I fell. Who loved me when I was least perfect. I choose you. Not someday. Now.
—B
West read it twice. Three times.
It wasn’t hard to figure out who Ryder might be.
The barn doors opened, and his team walked out. Ham, North, Skeet, Dakota, Coco. And York.
All of them.
“You read it.” Ham’s voice. Not a question.
West nodded. Couldn’t speak.
“Dude.” Ham’s voice was quiet. “She just told the world she loves you.”
“It’s fiction.” West’s voice came out flat. “It’s just a story.”
“It’s a declaration,” North said. “She published it in The Atlantic. With her real name. She just put her heart out in front of the entire world.”
“She’s fighting for you,” Dakota added. “In her way.”
West shook his head. His hands fisted around the phone. “Her father ordered me to stay away.”
“So?” North crossed his arms. “You’ve defied worse orders.”
“This is different—”
“How?” Skeet stepped forward. “How is this different?”
“Because it’s the president of the United States telling me I’m not good enough for his daughter.” The words came out raw. “And he’s right.”
Silence.
Then Skeet said, “C’mon, man. Don’t be a baby.”
West’s head snapped up.
Dakota nodded. “You know that’s not true.”
North raised an eyebrow. “You need a hug or something? Please.”
“Her father is trying to protect her,” Ham said. “And why not? You were there—you know he’s not making it up.”
“You walked away because you believed the lie,” North said quietly. “The one that says love and duty can’t live in the same place. And you told yourself that you weren’t first choice.”
Okay, now he felt naked. “Thanks for that, Nolan.”
“Calm down, West,” Ham said. “We all have…stuff. But it’s clear that she chooses you. She’s fighting for you. She published it for the world to see.” He paused. “Are you brave enough to fight back?”
West looked at him. “She’s the president’s daughter. That doesn’t go away. Ever. There will always be threats. Always be people trying to get to her. To use her to control him. She can’t walk away from that.”
“So she doesn’t.”
He frowned at Ham. “What are you saying?”
“The question isn’t whether you’re good enough,” Skeet said slowly. “It’s whether you can be with her without becoming a security risk.”
“And I can’t,” West said. “Not as a private citizen. Not as Jones, Inc. I’m outside the system. Outside his control. A liability.”
North shrugged. “So get inside the system.”
West frowned. “What?”
“How do you honor your commitment to Britta and honor your president?” Ham asked. “How do you acknowledge the gift that God brought you and Britta together and saved your life, and obey the legitimate authority of a man trying to protect his daughter and his country?”
West stared at him.
“There’s one answer,” Dakota said quietly. “You join the Secret Service.”
West stared at him.
“What?”
“You join the Secret Service. Presidential protection detail. You do the thing you swore you’d never do.”
“No.” West’s voice came out sharp. “Absolutely not. That life consumed my father—”
“Your father joined out of duty,” Ham said. “You’d be joining for love. That’s different.”
“It’s not different—”
“It’s completely different,” Ham said. “Your father joined to serve a president he didn’t know. You’d be joining to serve a woman you love. To protect the father of the woman you love. To become part of the solution instead of remaining the problem.”
West shook his head. “You don’t understand. Secret Service destroyed my family. Every birthday he missed. Every moment that mattered—”
“Then choose differently,” York said simply. “Your father let the job consume him. You don’t have to. You can be Secret Service and be present. Be committed to duty and faithful to love.”
“How? How do I do what my father couldn’t?”
“You’ve already learned what he never did,” York said quietly. “That control is an illusion. That you can’t tactical your way through life. That sometimes you have to surrender. Let God take over. Trust something bigger than your training. Your team. God.”
“Your father tried to control everything,” Ham continued. “Tried to be perfect at the job. And it consumed him. But you—you’ve already learned to let go. To trust. To surrender. That’s the difference.”
West said nothing for a long moment.
“And here’s the other thing,” North said. “Joining the Service solves the president’s problem. You’re not an outsider anymore. Not a liability. You’re vetted. Trained. Part of the security apparatus. You’re someone protecting what he loves most.”
“It honors him,” Skeet added. “Shows you respect his authority. His concerns. His love for his daughter.”
“It honors your commitment to Britta,” Ham said. “Proves you’re willing to sacrifice what you swore you’d never do—for her.”
“And it honors God,” Dakota finished. “Because you’re choosing covenant love.
Choosing to fight for what he brought together.
You’re not defying presidential authority—you’re serving it.
You’re not breaking rules—you’re working within them.
You’re finding the one way to obey God and obey your president. ”
West drew in the words. “They’ll never let me date her while I’m on duty.”
“Nope. But it’s only three years. How long are you willing to wait for her?”
Yep. As long as it took.
“This is insane,” he whispered.
“Probably,” North agreed. “But it’s also the answer.”
“The president might say no—”
“Maybe,” Ham said. “But at least you’ll have shown him you understand. That you respect what he’s trying to protect. That you’re not asking Britta to choose between you and her father—you’re finding a way to honor both.”
West looked down at the phone. At Britta’s words.
“For the man who taught me courage…I choose you. Not someday. Now.”
She’d chosen him. Publicly. Permanently. Risking everything.
Now it was his turn to choose back. To honor her. Her father. His promise. God’s design.
“I need to book a flight,” West said. His voice came out stronger. Certain. “Tonight.”
Dakota grinned. “And…he’s back.”
North pulled out his phone. “Red-eye leaves Minneapolis at eleven. Gets you into Reagan at 6:00 a.m.”
West handed Coco her phone back. “Thank you.”
She smiled. “I know what it’s like to wait for the right guy. She’ll be there.”
The patio door opened again. Ford and Scarlett emerged.
“We heard,” Scarlett said. She crossed to West. Hugged him. “Go get her.”
So he did.
The Iowa farmhouse looked exactly like West had described it. White with blue shutters. Wraparound porch. Barn in back. Garden plot visible from the gravel driveway.
Britta’s rental car crunched to a stop. Her hands gripped the steering wheel. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
This was insane. Flying to Iowa on a whim. Driving through cornfields for an hour. Showing up at West’s family farm without warning.
Insane and perfect and exactly what she needed to do.
Two days ago her article had been published. Yesterday she’d had the conversation with her father that had changed everything.
Frankly, she’d walked into the Oval Office expecting a fight. Presidential fury. Lectures about image and appropriateness and duty.
Instead, her dad had sat behind his desk looking tired but steady, more like a father than a president.
“Sit down, Britta.”
She sat. Spine straight. Chin lifted. Ready for battle.
Her dad sighed. “Your mother would have loved that article.”
Britta blinked. “What?”
“She always said you’d be a writer.” He pushed away from his desk, got up. “I know law school was my dream, not yours.” He walked around to her and sat in the chair beside hers. “She was right about a lot of things.”
Britta’s breath snagged. “Dad—”
“I love you just the way you are.” Her father’s voice was quiet.
Firm. “I know you’ve spent your life being polished, perfect.
But I like the Britta who used to make forts in the family room to read late at night, or the one I picked up after your survival-camp summer, all smelly and with uncombed hair—”
“That was a little over the edge.”
“You’ve always been way more than I expected.”
Oh.
“More brilliant, more beautiful—”
“More trouble.”
He drew in a breath. “No. Not trouble, Britta. I don’t blame you for wanting a little more freedom. I just want you to seek it without creating an international crisis.”
She smiled. “I can be free and still be myself.”
“Yes, you can.” Her father nodded. “Because God made you exactly who you’re supposed to be. He doesn’t make mistakes.” He turned solemn. “It’s occurred to me that you’ve been trying so hard to be what I need, what the country needs, what everyone needs—that you’ve forgotten who God made you to be.”
He reached over and picked up a copy of The Atlantic.
“This is good, Bri. Really good. And I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”
“I’m sorry. I was just so scared to tell you, and—I don’t want to be a lawyer. I want to be a novelist.”
“Good.” Isaac’s mouth curved, warmth touching his eyes. “Because you’re smart as a whip, but I’d rather see you happy than winning constitutional cases. Even if you would have made an exceptional judge.”
Britta stared. “You’re serious.”
“Completely. Write your books. Live your life. Be the woman God created you to be.” He paused. “And…be with West Young.”
Her breathing stopped. “What?”
“You’re happiest with West, aren’t you?”
Britta nodded, her words caught.
Her dad sighed. “I’m sorry. I panicked when I saw you falling for him. Pulled presidential rank. Ordered him away. That was wrong.”
“Dad—”
“Let me finish. I’ve spent two months watching you try to be perfect again. Watching you die slowly. That’s not protecting you. That’s killing you. West Young isn’t a threat to your safety. He’s necessary for your happiness. And I was wrong to get in the way.”