Page 3 of Devlin

The aftermath was brutal. Logan’s knee was beyond repair, ending his SEAL career. Devlin’s injuries had taken him out of the field. Sisco served another year before leaving the military, the three men scattering to separate civilian lives until fate and Logan’s determination reunited them with an offer they couldn't refuse.

Logan had spent years in Montana, covertly working special ops while overtly rescuing stranded hikers and flying tourists in his helicopter. When Mace Hanover and Carson Dyer from Lighthouse Security Investigations approached him to open a Montana branch, he agreed, but only on the condition that he could recruit his own team.

Logan had tracked down Sisco in El Paso, working as a paramedic. Devlin was stunned when Logan’s call revealed they were not only in the same state but close enough to meet. Devlin lived and worked on the Blackfeet Reservation, helping them acquire certain necessary materials while working with the Tribal Council. Without hesitation, he decided to join Logan’s endeavor. Together, he and Sisco became the first employees of the Montana branch of Lighthouse Security Investigations, known as the Keepers.

“And now you all are dropping like flies, getting married and starting families,” Devlin said with mock gruffness, though the warmth in his voice betrayed him. Logan’s wife, Vivian, was a biologist he’d met during a mission in Alaska. Sisco had married Lenore, a teacher, and adopted her daughter, Evie.

“I heard you gave relationship advice to Landon and Noel,” Sisco said, his eyes twinkling as he fought to keep from laughing.

“Hell, the awkward way they were trying and fucking failing at making conversation on the plane… I couldn’t find my earbuds and knew if I had to listen to them during the whole flight, I’d throw myself out over the ocean!”

“So you can dish it out?” Logan laughed.

“Fuck yeah. I can give it, but I guess I’m shit at taking it.”

Looking at his two friends as they shared whiskey with him, he saw they had a contented look about them, one he wasn't sure he would ever find. Another Keeper, Landon, had met his fiancée, Noel, on a mission that took him from Wyoming to the Caribbean. He snorted as he thought about the missions that ended in finding a spouse.

“A good woman makes all the difference, Devlin,” Logan said.

Before Devlin could respond, Sisco added softly, “But then, you already know that.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Devlin’s jaw tightened. His friends had been with him in the early days, having met the woman who had stolen his heart years earlier. They had also been with him during the days when he had blown the relationship out of hell. He’d had good intentions, but as they said, the road to hell was paved with good intentions.

He never meant for the evening to take a maudlin turn. Pushing back the memories, he grumbled, “Drink up, men. You’ve got wives and babes to get back to.”

The others nodded as they tilted their heads and tossed back the whiskey. The sound of boots hitting the wooden deck resounded. They stood and walked into the kitchen. He watched as they walked to their vehicles, their headlights flooding the front of his house until they turned and headed down the road. Once their taillights were no longer visible, he went inside, secured his home, and poured another whiskey.

In truth, while he was finished going down memory lane with his friends, he was still consumed with thoughts of the past and not quite ready to let them go. He settled on his sofa but didn't turn on the television. The lamp cast a soft glow over the room, leaving much of the room in shadows, resembling his thoughts. Devlin sipped, letting the familiar peaty burn slide down his throat.

He leaned his head back against the sofa and inhaled deeply before letting out a soul-rumbling sigh. He was transported back to when he was sixteen years old. Already a big guy at six feet two inches, he played on the high school football team’s offensive line. He wasn't a dumb jock—he put in time in the classroom as well as on the football field. But with his dark hair, which was just long enough to curl at the back and around his ears, and the muscles built on the weight machines and his parents' Kansas farm, it wasn't hard to see the admiring gazes from the teenage girls. They were interested in the brawn, not the brains.

He had almost lost his virginity to the seventeen-year-old head of the varsity cheerleaders. But he'd heard she was working through the first-string team, and he resented the idea of being another tinsel in her pom-pom. Of course, he'd taken a few ribbings from his friends, but when one dumbass accused him of being gay, his fist found its way against the guy’s jaw. Devlin had an older cousin who had come out the year before, and he'd be damned if he was going to let somebody make a homophobic slur. It hadn't hurt his reputation—instead, it made him a bit ofa legend. His parents kept him humble, but he knew he was a big man on campus, even at sixteen.

And all it took was a girl—a sweet, funny, passionately caring girl—to bring him to his knees.

The team was outside practicing on the football field when he heard a group shouting and chanting. Glancing over, he recognized one of the school’s activist groups, often seen working on posters about saving whales, the Amazon rainforest, or the California redwoods. He rolled his eyes at first, amused by their zeal. But then, the principal and two police officers started striding toward them, stern determination etched into their faces.

Suddenly, one of the girls broke from the group and rushed onto the field. Before anyone could stop her, she wrapped a bicycle chain around the goalpost and locked herself to it. Devlin turned his full attention to her, his curiosity piqued. She held a sign aloft, protesting the cafeteria’s use of styrofoam and plastic straws. Her voice was steady, and her chin lifted proudly in defiance. She wasn’t screaming, but her presence demanded attention.

Laughter rippled through the players around him, but Devlin felt rooted to the spot. Pulled back in a long braid, her dark hair shimmered under the sun. Her slightly pointed ears and delicate features gave her an elfin appearance, like a character fromThe Lord of the Rings. Slender but curvy, she radiated a natural beauty that captivated him even from a distance.

As the principal and police approached her, Devlin’s feet moved before his brain caught up. He closed the distance, stepping in front of her and placing himself between her and the authorities. His towering frame’s shadow completely hid her safely behind him.

“Back off,” he said quietly, his voice calm but firm. “She has a right to protest.”

The principal’s face turned an alarming shade of red as he sputtered, and the coach came barreling onto the field, yelling about his practice being interrupted and spouting threats about him being suspended from the next game. But Devlin didn’t budge. He remained a solid wall of defense.

A light touch on his arm startled him. He glanced down to find her looking up at him, her eyes wide but steady.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” she whispered. Her fingers moved deftly as she unlocked the chain and let it fall to the ground. Then she turned, lifting her chin as she addressed the principal. “Our school isn’t being environmentally proactive. I wanted to make a statement, and I think I have your attention now.”

Her words were measured and resolute, but Devlin’s gaze remained fixed on her. When she walked away with the principal, she glanced back over her shoulder, offering him a smile that shot straight through his chest. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

The coach’s barked orders barely registered as Devlin jogged to catch up with her. “I’m Jim,” he said, touching her shoulder lightly. “Jim Devlin.”

She smiled again, a blush rising to her cheeks. “It’s nice to meet you, Jim. I’m Mia.”

“Can I have your phone number? I want to make sure you get home safely and without further problems.”

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