Page 177 of Mission Shift

“Yep. They went to the park and then up to our cabin.”

I chuckled at the memory.

“What’s so funny?”

“Well, Conan and I had no idea that Atticus had taken her up there. We decided at the last minute to drive up that night and go fishing the next morning. When we walked up onto the back deck, we caught them going at it hot and heavy. Oh, God, that freaked Sam the fuck out. I still don’t know how Atticus ever got another date with her after that.”

“Oh, that’s funny. I guess we’ve never been bothered by anyone catching us.” She laughed. “Poor Nikolai; I think we’ve scarred him for life.”

She leaned in and kissed me.

I let the moment linger before I sat up against the headboard. “Before we get up and start the day, there’s something I want to say.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “What’s with the serious face?”

I hesitated. “You had another nightmare last night. I didn’t wake you—just rubbed your back and held you until you calmed. But it’s not the first time, and…I don’t know. It’s killing me to watch you suffer like that, even if you sleep through it. I see the way your face twists up; I hear the sounds you make. I just—I want you to know it’s okay not to be okay. You might want to get a therapist.”

A faint smile pulled at her lips. “It’s in your nature to worry, to carry people’s pain.” She reached out, her fingers tracing my jaw. “But, Braxton, I’m strong. I’ve lived most of my life under the thumb of a man who taught me to never show weakness. I served a government that valued silence over truth, brutality over grace. That life carved scars into me, sure—more inside than out—butI’m here. I’m free. And this new identity, this clean slate you and Nik gave me…it’s the first time I’ve ever been able to breathe.”

I held her gaze, listening.

“My heart still aches for Ukraine. That won’t change. But right now, I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I have a future—one I want to experience with you. So don’t fret. Don’t carry my pain like it’s yours. I’ll tell you when it gets too heavy. I’ll ask when I need help. Until then, just keep holding me and loving me through the dark parts.”

I placed my hand on the back of her neck and kissed her forehead. “God, I love you,” I whispered. “I love you so much it hurts. When I think about you in pain…it’s like I forget how to think. You’re everything, Daria. Fate did one thing right—putting you in my path.”

She smiled and leaned her forehead against mine.

Reluctantly, I swung my legs off the bed. “All right, I’ve gotta shower and get moving. Nik’s not the most patient, as you well know.”

“Knowing him, he probably hasn’t slept in two days.”

“Exactly why I’m not letting Atticus pick him up alone.”

I looked back at her once more—still curled in the sheets, hair wild from sleep—and kissed her shoulder.

“You sleep a little longer, and I’ll see you at the wedding,” I whispered. Her eyes were already falling shut, a soft smile curving her lips.

The lawn leading down to Commencement Bay from the Point Defiance Pagoda looked like something out of a dream. Lush green stretched in every direction, edged by towering trees justbeginning to blush with the colors of fall—burnt orange, deep gold, and crimson. The air carried that crisp edge only early October could bring, and the late afternoon sun cast everything in a warm amber glow. Beyond it all, the bay gleamed, stretching into the distance, the light catching the ripples and turning the water to molten silver.

Rows of black chairs formed a perfect aisle, each one flanked by floral arrangements set low in antique urns—bursts of rust-colored dahlias, creamy garden roses, deep crimson roses, and soft sage eucalyptus spilling over the edges. The path to the altar was bordered on both sides with dense rows of petals, framing the aisle in fire. I could smell the flowers from where we stood. Real fragrance, not the fake kind. They’d flown in the best flowers from Ecuador and the Netherlands, which probably cost more than my car. At the end of the aisle, a wooden arch curved over the altar, draped in cream-colored silks and buried in more flowers—layer after layer of fall foliage. More rust-toned dahlias, magnolia leaves, soft green ruscus, and ivory roses were tucked in and overflowing. Atticus had said he wanted it perfect for Samantha, and damn if he hadn’t delivered. It looked like something out of a fairy tale, only better—because it was real.

The pagoda rose behind us, its green-tiled roof and sharp angles giving it an almost sacred feeling. It was peaceful. Timeless. The string quartet sat just to the left of it, their bows rising and falling in unison as they played softly. People chatted quietly in their seats. A few were still trickling in, but most were settled. The sky above had gone golden, and the bay beyond glimmered in the soft, fading light.

Conan shifted beside me for the fifth time, rolling his shoulders like the fabric of his suit might loosen up if he just fidgeted enough. The rust-colored jacket pulled snug across his chest and arms. It looked not quite uncomfortable, but it was clearly built for someone who spent a little less time in thegym. Ink curled out from beneath his cuffs and collar—black lines wrapping around his hands and creeping up his neck, impossible to miss even under the suit and dress shirt. His tie sat a little crooked, the knot slightly off-center. His hair had grown out again—long enough now to tie back. A few strands had already slipped loose. I caught his eye and grinned. He scowled and muttered, “Don’t even say it.”

Atticus, standing next to us, appeared ready to pass out.

He kept adjusting his sleeves, then his vest, then his sleeves again. His suit—black with a tie and vest to match ours—was cut perfectly to his frame. His jaw clenched as he scanned the path in front of us like he was hoping Samantha might suddenly appear just to end his suffering.

“Don’t worry; she’ll be here soon enough,” I whispered.

“Remind me again why we didn’t just elope?” Atticus whispered back. “I’ve faced trauma patients with less adrenaline than I’ve got running through me right now.”

“Because you always want to give Samantha everything she’s ever dreamed of.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, inhaling roughly.

There was laughter next to us as some people found their seats. Nik walked up, cool as ever, in dark slacks and a jacket, and slid into the chair beside Daria. She said something to him, and he nodded once, his expression unreadable. Daria’s hand found his shoulder, and she leaned in to whisper something else before she turned to face forward again.

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