Page 9 of Ruthless Possession
I hug her tightly, whispering "Thank you" against her hair.
That night is slower, sweeter than the first. We take our time, memorizing each touch, each sound, each whispered promise. I try not to think about tomorrow. About goodbyes.
In the dark, Matthew confesses against my skin, "I'm scared of what we're heading into."
Trenton, usually so stoic, admits, "Me too."
I hold them both. "Come back to me. That's all I ask."
"Always," they vow.
Morning brings reality crashing back. We pack without speaking, the weight of separation already pressing down on us. Their duffel bags by the door look like tombstones.
At the base, I force myself to smile. To be strong for them. For their families who are watching us say goodbye.
"I love you," I tell them both, no longer caring who hears. "Come home safe."
Matthew kisses me like he's drowning and I'm air. "I love you too. Always have."
Trenton's kiss is briefer but no less intense. "You're ours," he says simply. "We'll come back for what's ours."
I watch them walk away, shoulders straight, heads high. Soldiers now, not just my boys.
"They'll be okay," Trenton's dad, Torch, says beside me, his arm around my shoulders.
I nod, touching the pendants at my throat. "They have to be."
chapter one
Present Day
Trenton
"Let me check the address one more time," Matthew says, squinting at his phone as I pull the truck into the parking lot.
"It's right," I assure him, already spotting the colorful playground equipment visible behind the low brick building. "Little Explorers Day care. This is where Morgan works."
We've been planning this surprise for weeks, coordinating with our COs to ensure our leave paperwork went through without a hitch. The last six months of deployment felt like six years away from Morgan, our video calls and messages just enough to remind us of everything we were missing.
"You think she'll be happy?" Matthew asks, uncharacteristic nervousness in his voice. Matt's usually the steady one of our trio, the one who talks me down when I spiral and never seems rattled himself, but Morgan has always had this effect on him.
"Are you kidding? She's going to lose her mind," I say, checking my reflection in the rearview mirror. The haircut's still fresh, high and tight the way she likes it. "Question is, will she cry first or drag us both back to her apartment?"
Matthew chuckles, but I can see the same tension in his shoulders that I feel. It's been too long, and we've missed too much. The last few months of Morgan's texts and calls have been filled with stories about the kids she teaches, her new apartment, the life she's built while waiting for us. A life we're finally home to share.
"Ready?" I ask, reaching for the door handle.
Matthew nods, grabbing the bouquet of sunflowers from the back seat. Morgan's favorite. "Let's go get our girl."
The day care is bustling. We slip through the front door while the receptionist is on the phone, signing the visitor log with the quiet efficiency drilled into us over six years of service. It's second nature now, moving without being seen.
"Room 4," I whisper to Matt after glancing at the staff assignment board on the wall. "Down the hall on the right."
We move quietly past colorful artwork and tiny cubbies labeled with children's names. The sounds of childish laughter and singing grow louder as we approach room 4, and I feel my heart rate kick up a notch.
Through the half-open door, I catch my first glimpse of Morgan in six months, not through a pixelated screen, but in the flesh. She's sitting cross-legged on a rainbow rug, surrounded by a semicircle of preschoolers, reading a picture book with animated expressions. Her dark hair is longer than I remember, falling in waves past her shoulders, and she's wearing a yellow dress that makes her skin appear warm and golden.
I freeze, the sight of her knocking the air from my lungs. Beside me, Matthew inhales sharply, his fist tightening until the flower stems crack, overwhelmed by seeing the woman we'd been fighting our way back to for so long.
