Page 23 of Spilled Coffee

Ethan stood alone. The emptiness of the hall was suddenly overwhelming, and his boots scuffed the floor as he trudged back from medical. The checkup was a formality—fit, they said—but Master Chief’s orders sent him home anyway.

The base felt quiet without the team’s energy, the familiar sounds of preparation gone.

He wandered to the locker room, where the metal cages stood silent. The guys’ stuff—packs, vests, rifles—all cleared out.

Ethan lingered by Logan’s cage, the door ajar, belongings scattered across the floor: a crumpled T-shirt, a half-zipped duffel, a stray protein bar.

He glanced around, then ducked inside and picked up the forgotten shirt. His fingers brushed against the soft cotton before he lifted it to his face and breathed in.

Logan’s scent hit him hard—sweat, musk, a faint trace of gun oil. Yesterday’s heat flooded back: the sauna, Logan’s hands, that promise of more.

He impulsively stuffed the shirt into his pack, a stolen piece of what he’d lost.

At his own cage, he stripped his clothes, peeling off his sweat-damp T-shirt and combats, swapping them for civilians—a tight gray tee and jeans he’d picked out that morning with Logan in mind. He thought the snug fitting shirt would catch thecommander’s eye, stoke that fire, push them closer to what he craved.

Idiot.

Look where he was now—ordered home, trust broken. All because he couldn’t follow one simple instruction. Couldn’t keep their personal lives separate from work. He’d let his feelings bleed over, and now he wondered if Logan would ever trust him again.

He zipped the jeans, the denim hugging his thighs, and stared at himself in the scratched mirror bolted to his locker door. His reflection stared back, hollow-eyed, jaw tight. “But I will,” he muttered in a determined tone. “I’ll show him. Whatever it takes to fix this, I’ll do it.”

He shouldered his backpack, feeling the insignificant weight of Logan’s shirt, a small act of defiance against the sting of those words:You’re too weak. Too needy.

They cut deeper than he’d care to admit, slicing through his desire to the raw hurt beneath.

He’d messed up—badly—but he wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. Logan wanted him to have control… Fine. He’d learn it, master it, prove he could handle this—handle them being together.

This mission would roll on without him, but when they got back, he’d be ready. Stronger. Worthy.

The metal door clanged shut behind him and as he headed out, the base’s familiar sounds faded into the distance.

The air outside felt cool against his flushed skin, and in sharp contrast to the emotions simmering within him.

He climbed into his truck and tossed his bag onto the passenger seat, and gripping the steering wheel he stared at the empty parking lot.

Brick’s words repeated in his head—he’ll calm down—but would he?

Logan’s words lingered: the rage, yes, but the disappointment… that hurt worse. It was a crack in the foundation Ethan had built his hopes on.

“I will fix this,” he said it aloud, voice steady despite the heaviness in his chest. He’d lost ground today—maybe he’d lost Logan’s trust—but he would find a way back.

One way or another, he’d make things right.

The engine roared to life, and he pulled away, his determination growing with every mile he put between himself and the base.

CHAPTER 12

The late afternoonsun reflected off storefronts as Ethan wandered down the sidewalk, juggling a grocery bag under one arm. Apples jostled against a cereal box while he balanced a latte in his other hand.

His truck was parked across the lot, its dusty blue frame glinting under the haze. He placed the cup on the roof and fished his keys from his pocket. The metal jangled as he unlocked the door.

Sliding the bag onto the passenger seat, he took a last swig of coffee, then tossed the empty cup beside the groceries.

His phone buzzed against his thigh, and he thumbed open Brick’s text.

Hey Cinderella. You good? Op went sideways, but everyone’s five by.

Looking forward to beers, and ladies tonight. Pick you up laters.

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