Page 101 of Duty Compromised
She looked up from the dress she was considering. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I grabbed the letter from my laptop bag, the one that had been burning a hole there all day. “Actually, something’s really right.”
She took the envelope, and I watched her face as she read it. Her eyes widened, then filled with tears.
“You’re going to college?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Ty, this is—this is amazing. Criminal justice program—when did you apply?”
“Few months ago. Wanted to make sure I got in before I told you.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I figured since you’ve been learning all the tactical stuff from me and the guys—hell, Charlotte, you actually took down Ben in sparring last week—maybe it was time I expanded my horizons too.”
She launched herself at me, towel and all, kissing me deeply. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” She pulled back, and I could see her mind already working. “When do you start? Online program, so you can work around Citadel assignments? What’s the first semester course load?”
“Spring semester. And before you ask, no, you cannot do my homework for me.”
“I would never,” she said, but her grin said otherwise. “I might offer to help study, though. Flash cards. Practice tests.”
“Charlotte.”
“What? I’m very good at flash cards.”
We got dressed and walked to the restaurant, a little seafood place we’d discovered on our second trip here. Our regular table was waiting—corner booth, view of the water, far enough from the kitchen that Charlotte didn’t get overwhelmed by the noise.
We ordered our usual—grouper for her, shrimp for me, sharing an appetizer of conch fritters that Charlotte had initially been suspicious of but now loved. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange that Charlotte had once tried to explain using wavelength disbursement until I’d distracted her with a kiss.
“I’m proud of you,” she said again over dinner. “I know academics aren’t—haven’t been easy for you.”
“Honestly? I’m ready for it. The past year, watching you work, seeing how you approach problems—it made me realize I’ve been selling myself short.” I reached across the table to take her hand. “Plus, someone once told me there are different kinds of intelligence. That mine is equally as valuable, just differently applied.”
She squeezed my hand. “Someone sounds very smart.”
“She is. Brilliant, actually. Two PhDs, runs a whole division at Vertex, can disable a man twice her size thanks to some recent training.”
“Sounds intimidating.”
“Sometimes. But then she does this thing where she gets so focused on her work she forgets to eat, and I have to bring her sandwiches. Or she’ll leave equations written on napkins all over the house like breadcrumbs. Or she’ll explain why she loves me using quantum entanglement theory.”
Charlotte laughed. “I only did that once.”
“Twice. The second time involved probability matrices.”
After dinner, we walked along the beach. Charlotte had kicked off her sandals, carrying them in one hand while the other held mine. The moon was rising, full and bright, turning the waves silver.
This was the moment. I’d been carrying the ring for three months, waiting for exactly this.
“Charlotte,” I said, stopping.
She turned to face me, and something in my expression must have given it away because her free hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh my God.”
I dropped to one knee right there in the sand. “Charlotte Gifford. You’re the most brilliant person I know and the bravest woman I’ve ever met. You saved my life—not just in that warehouse, but every day since. You’ve taught me that intelligence comes in many forms, that love doesn’t need to be calculated to be real, and that sometimes the most impossible things are worth fighting for.”
I pulled out the ring box, opening it to reveal the custom solitaire I’d had made. The band was platinum, the diamond perfect, but the real beauty was hidden—engraved inside in tiny Morse code, the same way she’d saved us in the warehouse: FOREVER.
“Will you marry me?”
