Page 55 of Spilled Coffee

The silence was deafening,

When he finally looked at the mirror above the sink, its edges fogged with condensation, his reflection stared back like a stranger.

Stubble shadowed his jaw darker than usual, and his eyes—fuck, they looked hollow. His gaze lingered on the tension in his face and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“How do I deal with Ethan?” He questioned the stranger who ran a hand through his damp hair before turning away with a shake of his head.

His phone buzzed from the dresser in the bedroom, and securing the towel around his waist, he padded out of the bathroom.

The phone lit up to reveal a text notification, and snatching it up, he swiped the screen with his thumb.

Briefing in thirty mikes.

His lips pressed into a grim line as a bitter laugh escaped them. “Well… looks like I’m about to find out.”

The thought of seeing Ethan sent an involuntary jolt through his core. He could already picture him standing too close during the briefing, their shoulders brushing accidentally—or maybe not accidentally—and those fucking eyes locking on him with all their intensity.

Last night had been reckless and wild and perfect in so many ways, but that terrified him.

He tossed the phone on the bed and opened the closet door. As much as he wanted to avoid Ethan, there was no running from it now. And whatever was going to happen next would happen whether he was ready or not.

But God help him if those eyes burned into him again like they had last night… because only divine intervention could save him.

CHAPTER 28

Ethan feltrestless as he paced, trying to walk off the knot of energy twisting in his gut. His BDUs rubbed against his thighs, while the weight of his tactical vest pressed down on his shoulders, a steady reminder of the hours ahead.

Rows of cages lined the locker room walls. Dents marred their surfaces, each one etched with the memory of a slammed fist or overloaded gear bags thrown in frustration.

Ethan stopped at his own cage for the tenth time in five minutes, moving things he’d rearranged already: a half-full water bottle, a spare magazine, a folded khaki shirt. He picked each item up in turn, examining it as if searching for imperfections, only to place it back exactly where he found it.

He glanced at his watch, then rubbed at his temple, trying to soothe the dull throb that lingered stubbornly from last night. The pain wasn’t just in his head. There was an ache deeper than that—an emotional ache tied to Logan.

Last night had been everything he’d wanted. After months of stolen glances and silent tension, they’d finally crossed the line they’d both danced around for ages. But this morning?

This morning, he’d woken up alone. No note on the pillow, no whispered goodbye before slipping out the door, just an empty space where Logan should have been.

The silence stung worse than any bruise on his body.

We need to talk before this briefing,he thought, his mind racing with things he might say, none of which felt right.I need to know where I stand before we head out—before this all gets swallowed by the mission.

Another glance at his watch. Time was slipping away from him.

He grabbed his cap and tugged it low over his brow, readying to leave when movement outside the open door caught his attention.

Logan walked past, Brick at his side. Their boots clumped on the hard floor, their strides purposeful and synchronized.

Ethan’s heart leaped to his throat as he hurried after them. “Hey,” he called out, his voice cracking from nerves as he closed the distance.

Brick glanced back first—a quick flick of dark eyes beneath a furrowed brow. “Hey,” he gave a quick greeting as Ethan drew near.

Logan slowed enough for Ethan to catch up, but didn’t stop walking; his gaze focused ahead.

Ethan fell into step beside them and forced a smile at Brick before shifting all his attention to Logan. “Could I have a word before we start?” His tone was casual on the surface, but there was an undercurrent of urgency he couldn’t quite mask.

Logan’s finally lifted his gaze, but only for a brief moment before it flicked to his watch. His jaw tightened visibly beneath the shadow of dark stubble dusting his face—a sign of annoyance Ethan had come to recognize. “We’re already late,” he said, all business, as if reading a script designed to shut down further conversation. “Briefing starts in five.”

“Two minutes,” Ethan pressed quickly. “That’s all I need.” He tried to keep his tone casual but couldn’t stop the edge of desperation creeping in around the edges. “It’s important.” His words wavered as he nodded toward Brick in silent apology for interrupting.

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