Page 119 of Viking

My throat tightens. “Sir—”

“He was the kind of man who would put someone else’s life before his own,” Mercer says, cutting me off gently. “You know that. He made a choice, Logan.”

Hearing my name from him, rather than my rank, knocks something loose inside me.

“You’re not the reason my son is dead.”

My breath feels unsteady in my chest. I stare at him, searching for any hesitation, any doubt in his expression. There is none.

“He trusted you,” Mercer says. “And I believe he was right to.”

I drop my gaze for a second, my pulse loud in my ears. The words sink in, slow and deep. They don’t erase the past. They don’t change what happened. But they matter. More than I expected them to.

“I appreciate that, sir,” I manage.

Mercer studies me for a moment, his sharp, assessing gaze the kind that sees straight through a man. Then he nods, like he’s come to some unspoken conclusion. “I’ve kept an eye on your career,” he says, his voice even. “Not just because of Lincoln, though I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t part of it. You’ve made quite a name for yourself.”

The statement catches me off guard, but I school my features. “Thank you, sir.”

He exhales, shaking his head. “Top of your class at the academy, then again at UPT and IFF. Earned your way into a Raptor squadron—hand-selected, no less—after racking up nearly a dozen commendations. And now, representing the Air Force on the demonstration team.” He gives a wry smile. “Hell of a career already, and you’re just getting started.”

I nod once, the praise settling over me like unfamiliar weight. I’ve never needed recognition, never sought it out. But hearing it from a man like Mercer—Lincoln’s father, a man who’s served longer than I’ve been alive—hits differently.

“You remind me a lot of my son,” he continues, his voice quieter now. “Not just in skill but in the way you carry yourself. The way you lead. He respected you, you know.”

I swallow hard, nodding. “I respected him too, sir. More than I can say.”

Mercer’s expression doesn’t waver, but there’s something softer in his eyes. “I know.” Then, after a beat, “You’ve honored him, Captain.”

The words settle deep, easing something inside me I hadn’t realized was still raw. I nod again, not trusting my voice.

Mercer straightens, a finality in his stance. “And whether you believe it or not, you deserve every bit of what you’ve earned.”

He extends a hand, and I take it without hesitation, the firm grip solid between us. “Thank you, sir,” I say, meaning it.

And with that, he turns, walking away. I watch him go, exhaling slowly as the tension in my shoulders starts to ease.

I flick a glance at Lila’s office door, the pull to see her almost too strong to ignore. But instead, I push forward, dragging in a deep breath that somehow feels easier, lighter—like I’m finally coming up for air after too damn long.

Hampton, Virginia

November 12, 2024

6:08 p.m.

Lila

I pull into Logan’s driveway, cutting the engine and sitting in my car for a moment longer than necessary. The sun has dipped low, casting warm streaks of orange and gold over the neatly trimmed lawn and his black Chevrolet Colorado parked beside me. I wrap my arms around myself, though it’s not the cold air seeping through my jacket that makes me shiver, it’s the nervous energy simmering beneath my skin.

The last time Logan cooked homemade Italian for me, we didn’t even get the chance to eat. Everything between us has been so good lately, but he told me on the phone earlier that he needs to talk to me about something, and based on the tone of his voice, I don’t think it’s good.

With a calming breath, I grab my bag and head to his door. Before I can knock, it swings open. Logan stands in the doorway wearing dark jeans and a soft light blue long-sleeve pocket tee that stretches perfectly over his chest and shoulders. His hair is slightly damp from the shower he must have just taken. His gray-blue eyes pull a little more blue from his shirt and they lock on to mine as a sweet, almost shy smile tugs at his lips.

“Hey,” he says and wraps one arm around my waist, pulling me in.

“Hey,” I reply, smiling despite my worry. I stand up onto my tiptoes and press a kiss on the sensitive skin of his neck before dragging his mouth to mine.

I don’t think kissing Logan will ever get old.