The frost was beginning to melt, the sunlight sharp and bright as it slanted in their faces when Fox announced the lesson over. “Twice more before we go in,” he decreed, and headed back to the clubhouse in the truck.
They’d left the two bikes on the far side of the barn, parked in the gravel, and Aidan hung back, let Carter and Jazz get a head start.
“You’re okay with the guns?” he asked Sam as they walked, slowly, kicking at stray pebbles. The grass swished wetly around their legs.
Sam slid her cold hand into his, lacing their fingers. “Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of all the scary moments in my life, firing a gun doesn’t make the list.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure.”
“It’s not too late to say no.”
She sighed. “Yes it is. Do you think I could live with myself if I walked away now?”
He wanted to argue with her, but didn’t. It was no use; they’d only keep going in circles around one another.
Tense with frustration, he towed her around the barn just as Carter was firing his bike up. The guy waved, and then he and Jazz were gone, the tailpipes echoing long after they’d disappeared from sight.
Aidan didn’t realize he was staring into space, every muscle locked, until Sam spoke to him.
“You have to climb out of that place in your head,” she said quietly. “The one where you’re knotted up with guilt.”
Her eyes shone with such a clear blue-green light when he looked down at her. Her expression reflected none of his turmoil and doubt. She’d made peace with what was going to happen.
“It won’t help us now,” she continued. “You’ll only be distracted, and if we’re going to pull this rescue mission off, we have to be one-hundred-percent committed.”
He had no idea how he’d managed to suck her into his life, but he was damn sure he didn’t deserve her. “You never shoulda given me a chance,” he told her.
Her brows lifted. “And you never should have doubted my capacity to love you completely.”
Okay. Damn.
“We’ve both made mistakes,” she said. “But we’re going to have to put them completely behind us and just look forward.”
How serious and honest she looked. The sight of her stirred up a slow warmth behind his breastbone. “Sounds logical,” he said, wanting to smile.
Samdidsmile. “Oh no. Nothing about us is logical.”
~*~
Twice more they took the girls to the property to shoot, and by the end of all three sessions, Sam and Jazz were admirable shots. They decided to move the day before Thanksgiving. That day dawned overcast, silver light heavy at the windows.
In the warm shelter of Sam’s bed, Aidan turned his face into his old lady’s throat and whispered, “Are you ready?”
He thought she shivered and doubted it was from the cold. “Yes. I’m ready.”
~*~
In Ghost’s life history, there existed a handful of moments in which the heaviness of failure had overcome him, and he’d felt himself begin to crumble beneath its weight. One had occurred when his first marriage ended. Another when he’d recognized the mistake of separating Ava and Mercy. And now there was this one. They weren’t going to get the money together. He’d realized it that afternoon, sitting across the table from a bloodshot Walsh. There would be no easy way of getting Tango back, and they were going to have to launch a full-scale attack against the enemy. It would be bloody and inexact. They would lose brothers.
Failure. And failure was inexcusable in a president.
The sun was sinking as he walked into the back door at home. He was grateful for the warm light of the kitchen and all its normal homey smells of food and flowers. He didn’t tell Mags often enough, but he would be forever thankful for the way she’d brought a sense of home into his life. He’d never had that before her; she worked hard at it, and most days he walked right through her magic without acknowledgement.
That was shitty of him. Funny how failure had a way of sharpening his priorities.
“Babe?” he called, toing off his boots in the rack, shrugging off jacket and cut. “Something smells good. What is that?”
