“But, Amelia,” I continue, my voice lower now, “I’m not going anywhere. And I’m sure as hell not letting you spiral back into your head over some ghost from your past.”
The tension in her shoulders finally cracks a little, her fingers curling into my sleeve.
“I know we’re still flying under the radar with the team,” I add, “but I don’t care if it’s in the shadows or right in the damn spotlight—you’re not doing this alone.”
For a beat, there is only the hum of the plane cooling down and the muffled voices of the team in the distance. Then shesteps in and closes the space between us, her forehead dropping against my chest.
I wrap my arms around her, breathing her in.
“I’m not pulling away.” Her voice is small now. “I just… I didn’t want to make it heavier than it already is.”
“Babe,” I whisper into her hair. “I’ll carry the damn weight if you need me to.”
Her fingers fist my shirt tighter, and that is all I need.
So yeah, maybe I can’t wrap her up in my arms when the entire team is watching. Maybe I have to settle for stolen moments—quiet touches, quick glances—but I’ll take them.
And every damn chance I get, I’ll remind her I am all in.
“You nervous?”I ask, slanting a grin her way.
She shoots me a sideways glare, but there is the faintest flicker of nerves in her eyes. “About seeing your parents? Nope. Not at all.”
I chuckle. “You’re a terrible liar.”
She huffs and rolls her eyes, but her fingers tap against her thigh—her tell.
“Relax,” I say, reaching over to lace my fingers through hers. “They’re gonna love you. Probably more than they love me.”
Her shoulders loosen a fraction, but she still tries to play it cool. “Well, that’s a low bar.”
I bark out a laugh and squeeze her hand before letting go as the seatbelt sign dings off.
We make our way off the plane, the North Carolina air already warmer than I remember, and the scent of pine is thick,even here by the airport. It’s like the weight of the tour, the chaos, the secrecy—all of it—peels off layer by layer with every step toward something that feels simpler.
Weekend getaway. No team. No commands. Just us. And, yeah, my parents—who have been blowing up my phone with excited texts since I told them we were coming.
As we grab our bags, I notice Amelia giving me that side-eye again, like she is deep in her head.
“You know,” I say, nudging her shoulder, “if you charm my mom even half as much as you charmed me, you’re golden.”
She laughs at that, the tension breaking, and I feel my chest loosen a little too.
We head toward the rental car, and as I open the door for her, she glances up at me, softer now. “You sure this weekend is just about family?”
I lean in and brush a kiss against her temple. “It’s about you. Us. And maybe letting my mom feed you until you can’t move, and my dad getting to talk planes with someone other than me.”
Her smile turns genuine then—wide and easy—the kind that makes my heart beat a little harder.
“Then let’s do this,” she says, sliding into the seat.
And right then, I know this weekend isn’t just about seeing my parents. It is about letting her into more of my world. The roots of where I come from. And I can’t wait to share it with her.
Dinner with my parents is a lot of things—loud, warm, a little chaotic—but mostly, it feels easy. The way it always does when I come home.
Mom went all out, of course. Amelia passed with flying colors, and by the third helping of mac and cheese, she sealed it.
Dad sits across from me, elbows on the table, grinning like he already considers Amelia family. He is relaxed yet perceptive, a man who speaks only when he has something important to say.
