Page 5 of Ruthless Possession
Matthew steps forward next. "If she needs anything at all?—"
"I've got her," Dad assures him. "You boys just focus on coming home safe."
Final hugs. Final whispers. Final touches. Then they're climbing into the truck, Torch behind the wheel, and I'm waving as they pull away. My arm moves automatically while a hollow ache spreads through my chest.
I maintain my composure until the truck disappears around the corner. Then my heart breaks inside me. A sound comes out that I don't recognize as mine. I turn into my father's chest and sob.
"Shh," he soothes, his arms tight around me. "They'll be back, Morgan. Those boys love you too much to stay away."
The MC members give us space, talking quietly among themselves. Kyle approaches after my tears slow, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder.
"The club looks after its own," he says. "And you're family now. Anything you need, you call us."
I nod, grateful but hollow.
Later, alone in my room, I pull out the letters I've already written, one for each day they'll be gone. Seventeen weeks' worth. I seal the first two in envelopes, then address them carefully.
On my desk sits a calendar. I pick up a red marker and cross off today. One day down. One hundred and eighteen to go.
I touch the pendants at my throat, and whisper into the empty room, "Come back to me."
Months later I stand in the bustling auditorium, my heart thundering against my ribs. Basic training graduation. The day I've marked off on my calendar, dreamed about through lonely nights.
I'm eighteen now. No longer the high school girl they left behind.
"They'll be out any minute," Mom whispers, squeezing my hand.
The crowd around us pulses with anticipation, hundreds of families waiting for their soldiers. Jean clutches a tissue, already dabbing at her eyes. Kayla stands tall beside her, pride radiating from her posture. Dad and Jackson talk quietly, comparing notes on the base from their earlier tour.
I twist the pendants hanging from my neck, a habit formed over four months of separation. Each letter from them has been a lifeline; Matthew's filled with vivid details and humor, Trenton's shorter but intense, every word weighted with meaning.
The ceremony begins. Flags wave. Speeches drone. I hear nothing, see nothing but the entrance from where they'll appear.
And then…
They march in with their unit, movements precise and synchronized. Different. Harder. Sharper. My breath catches in my throat.
Trenton's face is more angular, the last traces of boyhood stripped away. Matthew's shoulders have broadened, his stance commanding. Both carry themselves with a confidence that wasn't there before the military has honed what was already lethal into something scary.
My thumbnail finds the edge of my cuticle and tears.
After the formal ceremony, after the commands and the applause, families flood the floor. I hang back, suddenly unsure. These two men in uniform, are they still mine?
Then Matthew spots me. His face splits into that familiar grin, the one that's kept me warm through lonely nights. He nudges Trenton, whose dark eyes find mine instantly.
They move through the crowd like water cutting through stone. Efficient, purposeful, unstoppable.
And I'm running, dignity forgotten. Matthew catches me first, lifting me off my feet, spinning once before Trenton's arms encircle us both.
"You're here," Matthew breathes against my hair.
"You came," Trenton murmurs, his voice deeper than I remember.
"Of course I did," I say, pulling back to see their faces properly. "Nothing could have stopped me."
Our families converge around us. Hugs, tears, proud exclamations about how they've changed. I step back, letting them have this moment, drinking in the sight of them in their uniforms.
Dad claps Trenton on the shoulder. "You've done good, son."
