Page 54 of Befriending the Bear
He whistled between his teeth. “That takes courage.”
“So does jumping into a war zone.”
We talked for a while, swapping stories about jumps and injuries, about brotherhood and forced retirement. Macallister wasn’t much for small talk, but once we found common ground in bodies that no longer did what we wanted and missing what we had when we’d been too young to appreciate it, the conversation flowed. There was a quiet integrity to him, the kind that only came from living through the worst and still finding reason to get up in the morning.
By the time Calloway appeared at my elbow, cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen and his hair damp at the temples, I felt like I’d made a friend.
“Sorry,” he said, eyes flicking between us. “We n-need help b-bringing in the pies.”
I stood, brushing my hands on my jeans. “That’s me. The designated pie-delivery guy. Duty calls,” I said to Macallister. “You sticking around?”
Macallister gave me a look like I’d asked if he breathed oxygen. “What kind of fool leaves before the pie?”
I laughed, clapping him on the shoulder before following Calloway. Various pies stood ready to be brought in, and I grabbed one. I didn’t dare hold a bigger tray since that would require both hands, and I didn’t feel stable enough. My knee had made its displeasure known for too much standing and walking. It took a few trips back and forth to get everything set out on the dessert buffet table, where people could help themselves.
My knee seized up on me as I headed back to the kitchen, and Calloway grabbed my elbow. “G-go sit. Please. I’ll b-bring you some p-pie.”
The quiet “please” always did me in. With a sigh, I nodded. Macallister was still at his spot, sipping from a mug of apple cider. I slid into the seat across from him again.
“Still here,” he said with a little grin.
“Pie’s about to be served.”
As if on cue, Calloway emerged with a tray of pumpkin and pecan slices. When he reached us, Macallister accepted a slice of pecan pie without a word. I reached for the pumpkin, brushing my fingers against Calloway’s as I took the plate. He met my gaze, and something passed between us—familiar, grounding, intimate.
“Save me a s-seat?” he asked quietly.
I nodded.
He moved off again, and Macallister gave me a look that was halfway between amused and approving. “Friend of yours?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. The best kind.”
Macallister took a bite of pie and chewed slowly. “He’s got a good way about him. Quiet. But steady.”
“He’s stronger than he looks.”
Macallister nodded. “You planning on sticking around?”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve got the look of a man who wants to stay put but hasn’t decided whether he’s going to.”
I stared at him.
“I’ve seen it. In guys who’ve been moving too long. The ones who find something good and start asking themselves if it can last.”
I nodded slowly, caught off guard by how quickly Macallister had cut through me. His tone had been calm, nonjudgmental,just a simple observation spoken like a truth he didn’t expect to be challenged.
“It’s new. Between him and me.” I nudged my head at Calloway. “But it means a lot to me.”
“But so does what you had before.”
I pushed a bite of the pie around my plate. “I’m going back in January to train rookies. Four weeks.”
I’d made the decision after agonizing over it for far too long. Calloway was right that I couldn’t stay for him, denying myself a glimpse into a possible future. If I didn’t go, I’d always wonder “what if,” so I would go. I would spend the four weeks away from Calloway and back in my old life.
“Is he going with you?”
