Chapter 10
Tyrone didn’t trust himself to breathe until he was outside and the door was shut firmly behind him. The courtyard air hit his lungs like a punch—cool, damp, thick with the scent of jasmine and wet stone.
Are you fucking insane?
What the hell were you thinking?
She’s Dwight’s woman for fuck’s sake.
It was a fucked-up bastard move to have considered kissing Glenna, and he knew it. But damn, if his balls didn’t ache and his dick wasn’t rock hard anyway.
Off-limits.
She’s off-fucking-limits.
He ignored all his usual shortcuts on his way back through the vineyard.
He needed the brutal rhythm of his pulse in his ears, as he ran flat out.
Maybe he could outrun the memory of her standing there, warm and wide-eyed, her lips parting just enough to make a man forget every goddamn rule he’d ever lived by.
The gym door slammed against the wall as he shouldered through, and a quick glance told him the space was empty.
Thank fuck.
It would be just his luck to have every single Operator as an audience for this particular brand of self-flagellation. He stripped off his shirt and let it drop to the floor. Grabbing the barbell, he loaded it heavy. No warm-up. No mercy.
The first lift was ugly, his form shot to hell as he fought the weight. Maybe if he dropped the damn thing it would pin down the chaos in his chest. The iron bit into his palms as he exhaled through his teeth, forced his back straight, and drove upward.
One.
Two.
Three.
Each rep a penance.
Dwight’s face flashed behind his eyes—grinning, then bloodied, the last time he’d seen him alive. ‘Am I going to die? Please don’t let me die, doc.’
‘Not a chance in hell. It’s only a scratch, asshole, get the fuck up.’
He’d spent years burying the guilt of surviving, only to have it dig its way out the second Kelsey told him who her father was.
Now Glenna—fuck—even with her exhausted eyes, the way she’d looked at him just now—had been almost enough for him to consider doing the one thing honor and brotherhood said he shouldn’t: take her for his own.
Dwight’s woman.
She’s Dwight’s woman.
Fuck.
Just. Fuck.
The barbell clattered back into the rack. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tasted salt and copper, but it wasn’t enough pain for him even to begin to shove everything into the boxes deep inside himself again.
He moved to the pull-up bar, gripped it, and yanked himself up. Over and over. The tendons in his arms stood out like cables until his breath became ragged.
He wasn’t running from her. He was running from the way his traitorous mind had already started calculating how to make her his.
It’s not fucking working.
Bag?
Bag!
He didn’t bother wrapping his hands. He’d catch so much shit from Gunnar about it. But that was a later problem. He grabbed the heavy bag with both hands and hung it on the hook. The first hit landed with a crack that echoed off the concrete walls.
Stupid.
He should’ve just handed Glenna the damn nightlight and walked away. But no, no, he had to stand there like some lovesick teenager, staring at her mouth like it held the secrets of the universe.
Dwight’s girl.
His woman.
The mother of his kid.
The bag swung back, and he hit it again, harder.
Betrayer.
Dwight had been his brother. Not by blood, but by something deeper that had been forged in the shit, where your life depended on the man beside you, and his depended on you. He was an asshole for having stood in that kitchen, looking at his girl like she was his last damn safe harbor in a storm.
“Whoa, easy, Zorro.” Nemo’s voice cut through the rhythm of his breathing. “That bag call you a bitch or something?”
Tyrone grunted and drove his fist into the bag again, making the chain rattle.
Nemo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You look like a man who’s either about to start a war or end one. Which is it?”
“Neither.” Tyrone wiped his face with the back of his arm. “Just needed to burn off some energy.”
“Uh-huh.” Nemo pushed off the frame and grabbed a pair of gloves from the shelf. “Well, since you’re already down here, spot me. I gotta work off my own frustrations.”
Tyrone exhaled sharply and stepped back from the bag. “What’d you do now?”
“Me?” Nemo feigned innocence. “Nothing. Just had the pleasure of sharing a bed with a three-year-old tornado named Juliette.”
Tyrone grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from his neck. “That’s a bad thing?”
“Yeah.” Nemo pulled on the gloves and rolled his shoulders.
“Turns out, a knee-high toddler takes up more space than a fully kitted Operator. Let me tell you something for nothing; there isn’t a damn thing that wakes you up faster than a size-four foot to the kidneys.
I swear, my daughter’s got the aim of a sniper and the subtlety of an RPG. ”
Tyrone almost smirked. Almost. “You expected different from your kid?”
“Shut up.” Nemo threw a jab at the bag. “Just stating facts. That girl’s a menace. A cute one that I love to death, but a menace.”
Tyrone watched him work the bag for a minute, the rhythm steady, controlled. Unlike Tyrone’s own chaotic pounding. “Where’s your wife?”
“Asleep, finally.” Nemo switched stances, driving a cross into the bag.
“Jules conked out about an hour ago, but not before she rearranged every pillow in the room and demanded a story. Chari read her three. Three, man, and she still had the audacity to kick me in the ribs when I tried to steal five minutes of shut-eye.”
Tyrone shook his head. “You’re a real hard-ass, you know that?”
“Damn right.” Nemo grinned, but there was something softer in his eyes.
Something Tyrone recognized—the same thing that had been gnawing at him since he’d seen Glenna standing in the doorway of the jet, looking lost and stubborn all at once.
“But seriously, man. What’s eating at you?
You’ve been wound tighter than a claymore since Glenna got here. ”
Tyrone grabbed a water bottle from the shelf and took a long pull. “Nothing.”
Nemo stopped mid-punch and turned to face him. “Bullshit.”
Tyrone set the bottle down harder than necessary. “It’s none of your business.”
“Wrong.” Nemo yanked off his gloves and tossed them onto the bench. “You’re my brother, and right now, you’re acting like a man who’s got a problem he can’t outrun. So talk.”
Tyrone exhaled sharply and ran a hand over his head. The truth was a bitter pill, one he didn’t want to swallow, let alone say out loud. But Nemo wasn’t going to let it go. He never did.
“Dwight was my brother,” Tyrone said finally, voice low. “And I just stood there, looking at his girl like—” He cut himself off, shaking his head.
Nemo’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened. “Like what?”
“Like she was mine.”
The words hung between them, heavy and raw. Nemo didn’t laugh. Didn’t crack a joke. Just nodded slowly, like he’d been expecting it.
“Yeah,” Nemo said quietly. “I get it.”
Tyrone scoffed. “You don’t get shit.”
“I do.” Nemo’s voice was steady. “You think I don’t remember what it was like, seeing Chari again after all that time? After everything we’d been through? After I thought I’d never see her again?”
Tyrone’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t the same.”
“Isn’t it?” Nemo stepped closer. “Dwight’s gone, man. And I’m not saying that to be cruel. I’m saying it because it’s the truth. He’s not coming back. But Glenna and Kelsey? They’re here. Nobody says they can’t be yours if you want them.”
Tyrone turned away, his fingers curling into fists. “I can’t just?—”
“You can.” Nemo’s voice was firm. “You’re allowed to live, Zorro. You’re allowed to want something for yourself. Dwight would’ve wanted that for you. Hell, there’s probably nobody he’d want looking after them more than you.”
If that’s the case, then he should have fucking told me about them.
Tyrone closed his eyes. The image of Glenna flashed behind his lids—her dark hair messy from sleep, her eyes wide and vulnerable when she’d taken the nightlight from him. The way her breath had hitched when he’d almost?—
Almost.
“It’s not that simple,” he gritted out.
“Nothing ever is.” Nemo clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“But you’re making it harder than it has to be.
You’ve spent years carrying the weight of what happened to Dwight.
But don’t forget Glenna’s been carrying it, too.
And now she’s here, and she’s got Kelsey back, and she’s got you.
Whether you like it or not, you’re part of this now. Part of their story.”
“What if I screw it up?” Tyrone asked quietly.
“You will.” Nemo grimaced. “We all do. But you’ll also get it right eventually, and that’s what matters. Or so Chari tells me.”
Tyrone exhaled, some of the tension uncoiling in his chest. He wasn’t fixed. Not by a long shot. But for the first time since Glenna had stepped off that plane, he didn’t feel like he was drowning.
Nemo grabbed a pair of gloves and pulled them on. “Now, you gonna stand there looking broody all morning, or you gonna help me work off the rest of this dad-energy?”
He grabbed his own gloves and stepped up to the bag. “You’re buying the beer tonight.”
Nemo grinned. “Deal.”
The rhythm of the bag, the thud of gloves against leather, the steady breath of another man who understood—it wasn’t a fix. But it was a start. That would have to be enough.
The gym door banged open again, the sound of boots hitting concrete loud enough to drown out the thud of Nemo’s gloves against the bag.
“Smells like ass in here.” Colt’s voice was followed by the clatter of a duffel bag hitting the floor. “Please tell me someone brought coffee.”
Gunnar stepped in behind him, already stripping off his hoodie. “You’re the one who drank the last of it in the war-room. Deal with it.”
Colt flipped him off but grabbed a jump rope from the rack. “You’re all heart; I’m telling momma that you’re being mean.”
“There goes your Operator cred,” Gunnar needled, “not that you had much of it in the first place.”
“Shut up.”
As the McKinley brothers bickered, Tyrone didn’t stop punching the bag, but his rhythm steadied.
The familiar weight of his team settling into the space around him grounded him.
They asked no questions, and offered no pity.
Just the unspoken understanding that they’d all been here before, in one way or another.
Remi rolled in next, a Monster can already cracked open in his hand. He took one look at Tyrone and Nemo and smirked. “Damn. Someone let Zorro near the heavy bag again? Last time, he put a dent in the wall.”
“That was one time,” Tyrone muttered, driving a cross into the leather.
“Yeah, and we’re still finding drywall dust in the vents.” Remi tossed his empty can into the recycling bin and grabbed a set of dumbbells. “You good, man?”
How the hell do they all know?
Do I have it written on my forehead or some shit?
They’re fishing.
That had to be it. Tyrone grunted and figured that was answer enough.
Talon was the last to arrive, Zombie trotting at his heels.
The dog immediately flopped onto the mat in the corner, tongue lolling, as he settled in to wait for his boss to get done with the fun stuff he wasn’t allowed to join.
Talon tossed a tennis ball against the wall, catching it one-handed. “Midas in yet?”
“Nah.” Colt started skipping rope. “He and Rissa got in late last night. Said they’re crashing at Remi and Serena’s before heading up to the Dolomites, unless we need him for a job.”
Remi did a curl. “Midas said something about stocking up on his mama’s cooking before they leave. You know how she gets when she’s feeding people.”
Gunnar grunted and went back to his lifts. “Just means we don’t have to listen to him bitch about Rissa’s driving for a few days.”
Tyrone cracked a smile despite himself. The easy banter, the way they all slotted into place—this was home. More than any base, any op, any country. These men, this chaos, this family.
Nemo caught his eye and jerked his chin toward the bag. “You in, or you gonna stand there looking pretty all day?”
Tyrone rolled his shoulders and stepped up. “Shut up and hit something, Boom Daddy.”
“There he is.”
The weight in Tyrone’s chest eased. It wasn’t gone, not by a long shot. But it was lighter, and he could deal with lighter. He hoped.