Page 108 of Duty Devoted
“Fifteen minutes to cruising altitude.” Logan’s voice came over the intercom. “Weather’s getting rough, so expect some bumps.”
I smiled at the sound of his voice. A year ago, I’d been drowning in Chicago, convinced I’d lost my purpose along with my naïveté. Now I understood that wisdom didn’t mean giving up—it meant being smart about how you helped, surrounding yourself with people who supported your mission, and never apologizing for caring too much.
My phone buzzed with a text from Sophia:
How’s the new job treating you?
Perfect. Heading to Haiti next week for that clinic project you mentioned.
With appropriate security, I hope?
Always. Logan’s already done three site assessments.
Her response was just a string of heart emojis.
The plane leveled out, and Logan emerged from the cockpit. His eyes found mine immediately, that small smile playing at his lips that was just for me. He’d kept his promise—he hadn’t left, hadn’t run, hadn’t let his demons make choices for him. We’d both learned that facing your fears was easier when you had someone holding your hand.
“How’s it going?” he asked, settling into the seat across the aisle.
“I think we’re fine. Anxiety, more than anything.” I finished adjusting the young woman’s IV. “The local doctor did good work.”
“He said you trained him,” the ambassador’s daughter piped up. “When you were here two months ago?”
I nodded. “Basic scorpion sting protocol. He’s a quick learner.”
This was the other part of what we did—training local health care workers during our missions, leaving them better equipped to handle emergencies. It was one of Ethan’s requirements when he’d created the medical division. We weren’t just there to extract people; we were there to make things better for those who stayed.
“Five hours to Miami,” Andrew announced. “Sit back and enjoy the ride.”
I leaned back in my seat, feeling Logan’s hand find mine across the aisle. His thumb traced circles on my palm, a silent conversation in touch. We’d gotten good at those—reading each other’s moods, offering support without words, being present even in silence.
My phone buzzed again. This time, it was a photo from Elena, sent through her school’s new computer lab. She was holding up a paper—her English test, marked with an A+. Her message was in carefully typed English:
Thank you for teaching me. I am best in my class now.
I showed Logan the photo, watched his face soften. We’d been back to Corazón twice on medical missions—both times carefully coordinated and heavily secured. The village had slowly recovered from the Silva reign of terror. Elena was thriving in school—we’d arranged for her to go to a privateschool in the city. Miguel’s mining accident scars had healed clean. Even Carlos’s family had found some peace, knowing the men responsible for his death were gone.
“You saved her too,” Logan murmured, quiet enough that only I could hear. “That little girl’s going to grow up and change the world because you took time to teach her English.”
“We saved each other,” I corrected, squeezing his hand. “All of us.”
The plane hit a pocket of turbulence, and I automatically checked my patient’s IV line. She had dozed off now, the anxiety medication finally taking effect. Around us, the team settled into the familiar rhythm of a mission completed—Ty shuffling cards for a poker game, Jace typing up his after-action report, Andrew double-checking our flight path.
This was my life now. Not the sterile halls of Chicago Presbyterian or the dangerous chaos of unprotected medical missions, but something in between. Something better. I still saved lives, still made a difference, but I did it as part of a team that valued my safety as much as my skills.
“Hey,” Logan said softly, drawing my attention back to him. “You happy?”
I thought about the question, really considered it. A year ago, happiness had seemed impossible. I’d been hollowed out by trauma, convinced that my compassion was weakness, that caring too much had nearly gotten me killed. Now I understood that caring was my strength—I just needed to be smart about it.
“Yeah,” I said, meaning it completely. “I’m happy.”
“Good.” He lifted our joined hands and kissed my knuckles. “Because I plan to keep you that way for the next sixty years or so.”
“Only sixty?”
“Fine. Seventy. But that’s my final offer.”
I laughed, the sound carrying over the plane’s engines. In the medical pack at my feet was a photo—all of us at Ethan and Mel’s ranch last month, Jolly front and center with his ridiculous grin. My family, chosen and cherished.
