Page 167 of Gloves Off

I want to share alifewith her.

My phone buzzes with a text. My background is the photo of us after we had everyone over, in the kitchen with her laughing, raspberry stuff on our faces. Miller snapped the pic and sent it to me.

I stare at that photo a lot.

The text is from Georgia. It’s a photo of Stefan and Damon, wearing little Christmas hats. My chest aches. I miss them, too.

Another photo pops up—she’s sitting on the chair beside the fireplace, drinking a glass of wine. An intense surge of motivation hits me. She’s sitting at home, what the fuck am I doing here?

I’m on my feet, and the guys look at me.

“I need to get home to my wife.”

Miller stares at me like I’ve lost it. “There’s a blizzard, Volkov. We’re stuck.”

“Roads are open.” We passed a rental car company on the way into the terminal. “I’m renting a truck and driving.”

“Driving where?”

“I don’t know. Salt Lake, maybe.” I rake my hand through my hair. I can probably catch a flight home from there. “I need to get home. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, and Georgia’s at home, waiting for me. I need to get home,” I say again, like some lovesick fool.

Maybe I am. Maybe I don’t care.

“Volkov.” Miller stands with a serious expression. “As your captain, I need you to know this is dangerous and stupid.”

“I know.”

He nods once. “Okay. Good.” He reaches down to get his bag. “Let’s go.”

“What?”

His cocky grin appears. “I’m coming, too.”

Owens stands. “Same.”

I frown. “You don’t have to.”

He claps me on the shoulder. “You’re not the only one with a girl at home, Volkov. Besides, we’re not going to let you drive on your own. Where’s the fun in that?” He smiles like he just thought of something. “We can listen toThe Northern Swordon audio.”

That’s the fantasy series he and Darcy are always pushing on people. Miller groans.

“We’re not listening to your fairy porn, Owens.”

“There’s a truck with four-wheel drive at the rental place here,” Streicher says, frowning at his phone. “Want me to book it?”

“Book it,” Walker says, bleary-eyed but awake and grinning. Off my curious look, he shrugs. “I never say no to adventure.”

“Bad news, gentlemen.” Ward sighs at our side. “The pilot doesn’t think it’s safe to fly. We’re grounded until at least tomorrow.”

“We’re renting a car and driving to Salt Lake,” I tell him.

His eyebrows lift. “You’re going to be driving all night.”

“I know.”

For a moment, I worry he might stop us, but the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Tell Dr. Greene Merry Christmas from me.”

“I will. Everyone ready?” I look to the guys, on their feet, holding their bags. “Let’s go home.”

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