Page 36 of Devlin

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Devlin sat in the stiff, uncomfortable chair that barely fit in the cramped container room Mia called home at the refugee camp. The space was small, military-issue, utilitarian—bed, chair, a desk shoved into the corner. But bringing a non-military brightness to the room, the space reflected the woman he remembered. A framed photograph of her family on the desk—a family that he remembered well but hadn’t seen or talked to for as long as they had been separated. A bright green and blue cover over the bed. A local beaded decoration hung on the wall behind the bed.

But now, the woman who sat across from him was wrapped tightly in a blanket like she could shield herself from the storm of words he was about to unleash.

His heart pounded in an uneven rhythm, a beat he couldn’t steady no matter how much he tried to regulate his breathing. He had imagined this moment for a decade—over and over, rehearsing what he would say, how he would explain, how he would make her see. But with Mia sitting on that narrow bed, her body curled in on itself like she was bracing for an impact, he felt all those well-rehearsed words slipping through his fingers like dry sand.

She was silent, watching him. Waiting. And as he stared back, the weight of what had been left unsaid for ten years pressed down on him like a physical force. He cleared his throat, forced his spine straighter, and spoke, his voice rough. “I fucked up.”

Mia didn’t flinch. Her only reaction was a tight press of her lips and a slight dip of her chin. It was a familiar sight—her restraint when she wanted to let him speak or knew he needed to get the words out first. It was one of the things he’d always loved about her. If they were in a heated argument, she fought passionately, unafraid to speak her mind. But in moments like this, when he needed to lay himself bare, she listened.

“I’ve looked back on everything that led up to my colossal fuckup. I’ve analyzed it from every angle, torn it apart, and studied every reason, every doubt, and every mistake. I’ve forced myself to relive it. Every fucking day. I tried to understand why I let it all spiral, why I let you walk away without stopping you.” His throat tightened. He swallowed hard and kept going. “Everything I ever said to you—every promise, every word, every dream we shared—was real. I loved you. I saw a future with you.”

Her face remained impassive, but he saw the slight tension in her fingers where they clutched the blanket.

“When I graduated from college and told you I wanted to join the Marines, you supported me. When you told me you wanted to save the world but knew you'd have to narrow that focus, I was all in for that. When I told you that I wanted to go to BUD/S and become a SEAL, we talked about what that would look like for our future. We knew there'd be times when we’d be separated. We knew there'd be times when I couldn't talk about what I was doing. We even said that the time apart would make us stronger.”

He forced his eyes to stay on her face, wanting to see her expression. What he saw, he recognized… her full attention juston him. Mia’s breath was so shallow, he wasn’t sure she was even breathing. The weight of her attention pinned him in place, urging him to keep going before she cut him off.

“I knew you made choices to be closer to me,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “At the time, I was worried you were limiting yourself for me. You swore you weren’t. You said the graduate program at a university near where I was stationed was exactly what you wanted. You excelled, like always. But when you started looking for jobs, all I could think was that you were making sacrifices for me.”

She opened her mouth slightly, then shut it again, and his stomach twisted. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what she was about to say.

"You were always supportive of me, Mia. Those were my own doubts. Looking back, you’ll remember that my SEAL team had two members going through divorces. Another was breaking up with the woman he'd been with for about three years. I saw the stress and difficulties. But I still felt like you and I could make it work, even if we didn't sleep in the same bed every night."

The instant he said the word bed, he grimaced. By the look on Mia's face, he knew exactly where her thoughts had gone, but he wanted to explain more before going there.

Still hurrying to get out what he came to say, he rushed forward. “The month you were in Haiti, I went on a mission. It was only supposed to be a three-day mission. That's why you and I were out of communication. But the three-day mission extended into a week. A god-awful fucking week. Our intel wasn't accurate. We came against insurgents more heavily armed than we had anticipated.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, pressing his fingers into his eyes. The ghosts of his fallen brothers were still with him.

A small gasp left her lips, and his eyes popped open to see her gaze remain pinned on him. He could see it in her eyes… thesympathy.Christ, how did I manage to be so lucky to have that beauty, that passion for life, and a caring person in my hands for so long?

He cleared his throat. “We lost Markowski and Whitten. Searles and Rubio were injured.” He once more scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed heavily.

“I'm so sorry, Jim,” she said softly, using his first name the way she had the years they'd been together. “I should've been there for you instead of in Haiti.”

He shook his head, sharp and violent. “No.”

She flinched at his vehemence but stayed silent, waiting.

“I wasn’t in a good place. None of us were. You were in Haiti, where you needed to be. And I… I was burying my teammates. I watched as Markowitz’s wife and children fell apart. I spent the next two weeks drunk off my ass. We all had to see a base counselor, but we each handled our grief differently. Logan just got quiet, and Sisco headed off to see his family. Me? I raged, I cried, I wanted to hold you tight, and I wanted to push you away.”

He watched as she swallowed deeply, then dragged her tongue over her dry lips. “All that was a normal reaction to that kind of trauma, but if I had been there, I could've supported you. Made sure you got to counseling. Given you someone to lean on. Helped mitigate the grief.”

He looked at her face and couldn't believe she was still offering comfort under the circumstances, with everything he was telling her and knowing what he'd done. “I would never have wanted you to see me like that. Rock-bottom. Staring at the world through the bottom of a whiskey glass.”

“So you decided to push me away.”

He shook his head. "It wasn't a plan. I knew we needed to talk. Your internship was the last thing you had to do before you graduated, and you were looking for jobs. You had so muchpassion inside you, and I wanted you to fly. And all I could see was that I was a huge stone around your neck. During some of those whiskey-induced stupors that I was in during those couple of weeks, I thought maybe our time had come. Maybe we were meant only to be what we had, but not what future we thought would be ours."

She shifted again, drawing the blanket tighter, giving evidence that she was shielding herself from the pain still to come.

“Before I say anything else, I need to let you know that I never cheated on you?—”

This time, it wasn't just a gasp that left Mia's lips. A full-blown scoff burst forth as her eyes bugged out. “Devlin, I always trusted that you'd never lie to me, but then I’d never thought you’d cheat. I know what I saw. I know what you didn’t say at the time. I don't think anything you can say will make that day right.”

It didn’t escape his notice that she was calling him Devlin. “Please, hear me out. I'll be honest to say that I spent more time being drunk than sober. I couldn't have even told you what day it was when I should've been planning a welcome home celebration for you. I didn't even realize it was the day you would come home.”

Another bitter laugh escaped Mia, sharp and cutting. “And that made it all right? That you were so drunk you didn’t even know I was coming home, so it was fine to have another woman in our bed?” Her voice rose with every word, each syllable a blade slicing into him.

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