by Lynda Aicher
Finn nodded, his cheek brushing Tanner’s. He cupped the back of his head, rested his forehead on Tanner’s, their noses rubbing, breaths mingling. “Come home.”
“I’ll do my best.” Again, that was all he had. It was almost meaningless, given how little reassurance there was in it.
“Do better than that.” Finn held a kiss to his cheek, his hand tightening on the back of Tanner’s head. “One Mind…”
“Any Weapon,” Tanner finished, the Corps’ martial arts motto falling out easily. So many mantras, creeds, mottoes, principles drilled into his belief system over years of war and brotherhood.
“Don’t forget that.” Finn’s voice thinned out at the end, going tight.
“You’ll kick my ass if I do.” Tanner’s smile was weak, but he believed what he said. Finn had shoved, pushed, and kicked until Tanner had remembered earlier. He’d caught on quickly, rebelled at first, and had then accepted what Finn had been giving him: his sanity, via Finn’s determination.
It’d broken through his sinking swirl of doubts and growing misery better than any words or shouted demands could have.
“I will.” Finn cupped his face to settle a long, soft kiss on his lips. Nothing more, just a touch that spoke and promised volumes. I’ll be here. You’ll return. We’ll figure everything out.
Tanner caught them all and returned his own. I love you. I’ll come back. We’ll figure everything out.
Finn let him go and stepped back. He stared at the ground, sniffed. His hands were clenched on his hips, tension running down his arms.
Tanner ached to reassure him, but there was nothing he could say or do—except return safely. Do his job and remember why he served. He had men counting on him. Brothers to lead and bring home.
He brushed the back of his fingers down Finn’s jaw, locked in the feel. The love that grounded him and reminded him that life wasn’t a war.
Finn met his gaze, a thin smile ghosting over his lips. “Put my name on your form.” Not a demand or an ultimatum. But a question made as a statement.
“I will.” He’d add Finn’s name to his emergency contact form before he left. The decision to put Finn first seemed easy now. He’d been doing it forever, if never quite fully.
“Thank you.” Finn coughed, cleared his throat. The shimmer in his eyes yanked at the ones stinging behind Tanner’s own. “That’s…”
“Right,” Tanner finished. “You deserve that.”
Headlights flashed through the front window, a car honk following. His cab was here.
He dove in for one last kiss. One last taste of Finn. One last feel of him. A memory of what they’d found and what would be waiting for Tanner—at home.
Finn let him go when Tanner pulled back.
I love you.
Always.
“Semper Fi,” Finn said, a rough edge to his voice. He held out his fist and Tanner bumped it with his own. Simple. Normal.
Brothers—first and always.
Tanner grabbed his bag and left while he could still maintain his composure. His strides were quick down the walk, movements smooth when he tossed his bags into the trunk. Finn was in the doorway as he came around the car, the inside lights highlighting him like a framed picture. Finn saluted him, a sharp and precise gesture that tugged a smile to Tanner’s lips.
He gave one back, then got in the cab. “To the airport,” he told the driver.
He kept his eyes locked on Finn as the car backed out of the drive. He didn’t look away until the cab drove down the street and he was forced to let him go.
His breath hitched, heart clenching around the loss, but he held strong and rebuilt his walls on the ride to the airport. Each brick was laid with a precise reminder of who he was. Of what he did. Of why he’d chosen to do the job he did.
He was proud, damn it. He was good at his job. Men depended on him. Looked up to him. Expected much of him—and he of them.
Ductus Exemplo. He’d lead by example and tear through the doubts and fears when they arose.
He was grounded when he stepped from the cab and grabbed his bags. His chin was raised, shoulders back as he entered the terminal. He’d make a checklist of to-dos on the flight to San Diego and put everything into motion. There was no fear about what he planned. Not anymore.
When faced with death, choices become crystal-clear. How had he forgotten that?
He made it through check-in and security, found his gate, and settled into a seat. The waiting area was fairly full, and he scanned the perimeter out of habit. He was back on alert. Checking the layout, noting exits and blocked paths.
His phone was heavy in his hand as he dug it out of his pocket. His heart beat harder when he thumbed through his contacts, mouth going dry. He bent forward, braced his elbows on his knees, and sent the call through.
Each ring steadied and unnerved him. He’d lost track of the days, but his mother was usually home at night. Even if she wasn’t, she always answered his calls if she could.
“Tanner?” The crisp note washed over him in a soothing wave of family.
“Hi, Mom.”
“What is it?”
He chuckled, letting the familiar ground him more. She never babbled or resorted to small talk, and he appreciated that, especially now. He scrubbed the top of his head, the bristles of his hair tickling his palm with each back-and-forth stroke. “I got called out again. Thought you should know.”
“Oh.” The short word was more of a sound. Acceptance and worry rolled into one. “When do you leave?”
“Not sure. I’m heading back now. I’ll be briefed when I arrive.” Most likely within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, though. Maybe less, since it’d been urgent enough to call him back from leave.
There was a pause, and he pictured her slow breaths and closed eyes. She rarely yelled, saying it never solved anything—that, and that men were yelled at enough on base and didn’t need to be yelled at in their own home. She was an excellent military wife, and a damn good mother too. He’d lucked out on that. She’d taught him to be proud of his heritage but to remember he was a man, son, brother, and friend before a race.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to see you.” He regretted that now. He’d thought he’d have plenty of time. They were only ninety minutes away when he was on base.
“Me too.” She sighed and he squeezed the bridge of his nose, the pain growing behind his eyes. “But I understand. How is Finn doing? And how are you?”
Her concern drew a smile. “Finn’s doing really well.” He just had to stay that way and continue to heal. “And I’m good.” If no one looked too deeply. He took a breath and dove in while the door was open. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“Okay.” Crisp. Prepared. No hesitancy at all. “About what?”
The gate agent chose that moment to blast a call for certain passengers to line up, and he waited until she was done. There were so many ways to state this, but one was simple and direct, and she’d understand it—hopefully.
“I’m putting Finn on my emergency contact form before I leave.” And that meant taking her and Dad off. The Admiral would most likely hear if Tanner was seriously injured or killed, contact listing or not. But Finn would get the official notification. He’d be directly in the loop instead of down the line, if anyone remembered to call him at all. “I won’t have time to change my power-of-attorney forms, so you’ll remain on those until I return.”
He cringed when no response came outside of a sharp inhalation. Was that good? Bad? Did she get his point? “I hope you understand what this means,” he clarified, needing her to know even if she resisted the idea. “Finn’s important to me, and I don’t want him left out of any decisions regarding my life or health.”
He held his breath. People bustled around him, noise cocooning him in his own silent world as he waited for a response. This wasn’t how he’d planned to come out to her. Hell, he’d never had a plan. But on the phone, before he was back on radio silence, was certainly less
than ideal. Or maybe it was perfect. Hell.
The pain increased behind his eyes, and he rubbed harder along the bridge of his nose.
“Tanner.” There was a heaviness in her tone, the same soft patience she’d applied when he’d told her he’d gotten in a fight with a kid who wouldn’t stop calling him a “Chink,” enlisted in the Marines, gotten his first tattoo, joined the special operations team. He squeezed his eyes closed and held on to his love for Finn and his mother. “I would never exclude someone who obviously means so much to you. Even before this declaration.”
His shoulders slumped forward, tears welling behind his closed lids. Damn it. He was a grown man with almost twenty years in the Corps. He didn’t break down in airports. Or in kitchens. Or in his lover’s arms.
But he had, and he was again.
“Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell has been gone for years,” his mother went on. “I’m not blind or stupid. You’ll need to talk to your father yourself, but I doubt he’ll judge you any more than I do.” He knew that. Fuck, deep down he’d always known that. But he hadn’t wanted to risk it, not when there’d been no reason to. “Times are different. Minds change. People adapt. I don’t know if we would’ve had the same reaction fifteen or even ten years ago. But you are our son. We love you.” She let that statement hang for a beat, her firm acceptance striking down one of his fears. “You fight for our country and the freedoms we all cherish—like loving who we want without prejudice or judgment. You’ve earned the right to be loved and happy, and I hope Finn makes you feel both.”
He wiped at the tears that managed to slip out, head still ducked. He’d been prepared for the worst and had been given the best. A chunk of weight lifted from his shoulders, and the twisting ache settled in his stomach.
“Thanks, Mom.” He cleared his throat, heart swelling with love and gratitude. “You still have Finn’s number, right?”
“Yes, Tanner.”
“Good.” He nodded to himself. “I’ll visit when I get back. I promise this time.”
“And bring Finn with you.”
He smiled. “Deal.” There was a pause, the conversation hitching after this big reveal that hadn’t been so big after all.
“Be safe,” she said. That’d been her standard saying since he was a child running out to play.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Call your dad.”
He winced, grateful she couldn’t see the reflexive action. “I will.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He ended the call and sat up, head falling back heavily. Why did his parents’ opinions still mean so much to him? He should be way past the need for their approval, yet here he was having stressed over exactly that.
He should be long past the insecurities bred from being an obvious outsider in a world set on uniformity. The Korean kid in a white world. The oddity to tear down when people wanted to build themselves up. The recruit who had to work three times as hard as others just to be seen as equal.
Would he ever stop feeling like he had to prove himself?
He didn’t have to prove anything to Finn. Never had, yet he’d still tried.
He glanced at the time, checked the boarding status. The next call would be quick, and it was better to just get it done. He found his dad’s number, strength settling in where warmth had come with his mother.
“Tanner,” his dad barked, commander voice in place. “How are you?”
“Hi, Dad. I’m good. You?” Short. Crisp. At least he’d never called him “sir,” for which he thanked his mom. Another of her demands regarding the separation of work and home.
“Getting older.” He chuckled, and Tanner joined him.
“Me too.” Too damn old some days. “Do you have a minute?”
“What do you need?”
“I’ve been called back out. I’ve already talked to Mom.”
His dad’s inhale was deep enough to reach him through the phone. “That’s soon.”
“That’s special ops.”
“That sucks.”
“It does.” They both laughed again, the joke old and familiar between them. “I uh…” He caught his breath and plowed on. “I’m switching Finn onto my emergency contact form before I leave.”
This pause held more tension than the one with his mother had, his stomach twisting more painfully the longer it went on. It shouldn’t matter. He had Finn and dozens of other guys he called friend and brother. He had nothing left to prove. He told himself all of this, and none of it mattered.
“You always have to do things the hard way, don’t you?” Resignation lined his dad’s words—along with a touch of humor.
That was not what Tanner had been expecting. “No,” he answered, hackles rising. “Not always.”
“I’ll let you believe that,” his dad said. “Finn’s a good man. Treat him right.”
The quick shift caught him off guard, but he managed a clipped “I will.”
“Good. Take the point and be smart.” And with that, the topic was closed.
He puffed out a soft laugh and tracked the Admiral’s line of thought to the rules of war: One, young warriors die. Two, you can’t change rule number one. Three, someone must walk the point. “Will do.”
“And Tanner?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for calling.”
“Thanks for…” Understanding. Not judging. Accepting.
“You’re welcome. Call when you get back.”
His dad ended the call, leaving Tanner to stare at his phone and simply breathe. The weeks of building stress, worries, and doubts slid behind the clarity shining brightly now. The nightmares, fears, even the flashback had been glaring directives he’d been afraid to follow for some fucked-up reason he didn’t understand.
Finn was his point, and he’d follow his point into and out of any battle. He had nothing left to prove in the Corps, and everything to give to Finn. Now he just had to make it home and prove that to him.
So, yeah, he did have something left to prove after all.
Chapter 27
Mother Nature had blessed Portland with a mild January, including an unseasonably warm ending. The wide roller doors to the storage garage at Kick were both open, the sun streaming through the bare tree branches to warm Finn’s back and tease everyone with hints of spring. Which was most likely months away.
“Do we still need these?” Grady held up a box of straps and clamps from old life vests.
Ash frowned, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “Are they still good?”
“Yes,” Rig answered. “Keep them.” He didn’t even look up from his task of sorting through the bins of mountaineering gloves.
“Where do you want the old climbing rope?” Axel asked, coming down an aisle, two lengths of rope looped around each shoulder.
“In the bin by Finn,” Ash answered, pointing to the large blue container to Finn’s right. “How many do you have?”
“Four.” The coils landed in the bin with a muted thud. “But I’ve got more. We’ll need to restock most of it.”
“Which is why we do this,” Ash mumbled, tapping away on the tablet he held. He was back for the week, and the weather had granted them a perfect day to check stock and prepare for the upcoming season.
“I’m done with the vests,” Grady called. “I’ll go start on the paddles.”
“Include the kayak ones too,” Rig said. He straightened, stretching his back.
Grady gave a nod. “Got it.” Finn’s cousin had merged into the group of military men exactly as he’d hoped. Giving Grady a place to belong had been his main goal when he’d recruited him to Kick. He was more than qualified for the job, and based on what Finn had seen, Grady had matured within the security the Kick family—and Micah—had provided.
Rig shot Finn a frown, annoyance pulling his lips down. “Why are you just standing there?”
“I like lording over my minions,” he quipped, grinning evilly. Or maybe not so much, given t
he laugh that burst from Rig.
“Right.” He flipped Finn off and dusted his hands on his shorts. “And minion watching is so much fun.” He grabbed his water bottle. “Come on.” He nodded toward the fenced-in area where they parked the company vehicles. “I want your opinion on a few things.”
He didn’t wait for an answer before heading to the open gate. Finn fell into step beside him and tried to anticipate what Rig wanted. Finn had showed up in the office the day after Tanner left, ready and needing to do something. There was no way he could’ve sat around his house. He hadn’t been sure what he could do at Kick, but keeping busy had been better than sitting home stewing over Tanner.
Rig and Ash had simply nodded, then proceeded to fill him in on the status of the company. He’d managed to retain about a third of the info dump that first day, but he’d been in the office every day since and was finally getting back into the feel of things.
The rhythm had changed. Rig ran a tighter unit than Chris, whose style had been more contained excitement. Finn had been the one who’d reined in Chris’s ideas and applied the practical details to his grand plans.
Ash had been a godsend when he’d taken over business details like finances, HR, technology, and all the other things they hadn’t wanted to handle. Rig had joined Kick a year later, looking for a fresh start. He’d been instrumental in allowing the company to expand by being a trusted friend who could take responsibility for trips. They’d grown via word of mouth and their own targeted recruitment after that. The Kick partner team was filled with guys they knew, trusted, and also called brothers. It’d been their intent to create a safe haven and family for a group of guys who didn’t always fit in.
And it’d worked, maybe too well. The company had survived—thrived, actually—without Chris or him. That was what the guys had been trained to do. They’d upheld the “Commander’s Intent.” They’d taken the actions and had made decisions that’d best supported his and Chris’s desired end state. Every damn partner was a leader in his own right, or he never would’ve become a partner in Kick.