Your, Mine, Ours: Fake It Till You Love it

Empty As a Casing

Calvin POV

The Morning Brief

​I went back to the villa, the adrenaline from the gym still humming under my skin. I stood under the shower until the water turned ice cold, washing away the sweat and the phantom scent of Marc’s soap.

​When I looked in the mirror, I didn't see the kid from the Piper house or the man who had just finished crying. I saw a specialist. I dressed with mechanical precision, the crisp white shirt, the silk tie, and the holster that sat like a familiar weight against my ribs. I checked my reflection one last time, making sure my eyes were as empty as a spent casing.

​The mask was on.

​The air in the secure briefing room at the Stanford estate was sterile, smelling of ozone and Jake’s expensive cologne. I sat at my usual spot, my "Duty Face" firmly in place. To Jake and Ashton, I was the perfect professional: calm, alert, and immovable. Nobody would guess my heart was a jagged mess inside my chest.

​The door clicked shut as Marc entered. He didn't look at me. He walked straight to the monitors, standing with his feet shoulder-width apart, the classic "at ease" position that looked anything but easy.

​"Alright, let's look at the schedule," Jake Stanford said, his voice crisp. "I have the merger meeting at 09:00 am in the city center. Ashton has the site visit at the North development at 11:30 am. We’re splitting the detail today."

​"I've already mapped the primary and secondary routes for the city center," Marc said, his voice flat and robotic. "I'll be lead driver for Jake. Calvin, you’ll take Ashton to the North site."

​I felt the sting of it, but I welcomed the distance. He was using the schedule to put miles between us, retreating behind the logistics because he couldn't handle the conversation we’d just had in the gym.

​"The North site is high-density and open-air," I countered, my voice steady but cold. "Standard protocol for a site visit requires two-man coverage for Ashton, especially with the recent threats. But don't worry, I will get Blaine to be on overwatch while I handle the close-protection on the ground."

​Jake Stanford looked up from his monitors, his brow furrowing. "Calvin’s right. The North site is a headache for security. Why the change in routine, Marc? You two usually stick to the principal together."

​Marc didn't flinch, but the muscles in his neck tightened. "I thought we’d increase efficiency by splitting. Calvin’s more than capable of handling the North site solo."

​"It’s not about capability, it's about protocol," I said, finally turning my head to look at him. My eyes were like flint. "Or are you suddenly too busy with 'personal favors' to follow the SOP?"

​The room went deathly silent. Ashton’s fingers stopped tapping the tablet. Even Jake narrowed his eyes, sensing a frequency he didn't like.

​"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" Jake asked, his voice dropping into that dangerous tone he used in boardrooms. "If my security team isn't on the same page, I’m not leaving this house. And I'm not letting you watch over me or my husband in this state."

​"No problem, sir," Marc said quickly, his jaw ticking. "Calvin is just... being thorough. We’ll stick to the two-man protocol for the North site. I’ll lead the city transit, then link up with Calvin for the site visit."

​"Good," Ashton said, trying to break the tension with a light smile. "I’d rather not get kidnapped because you two decided to have a silent treatment contest. Cali, are you okay?"

​"We're fine, Ashton," I said, standing up. I adjusted my blazer, hiding the weapon at my hip. "The schedule is clear. I’ll prep the armored SUV for the 10:00. Marc, I assume you’ve checked the sweeps?"

​"Sweeps are done," Marc growled.

​"Then we’re ready," I finished. I nodded to Jake and Ashton, the perfect picture of a dedicated guard. "I'll see you at the vehicles in twenty."

​As I walked out, I didn't need to look back to know Marc was staring at the back of my head. I had held my ground in front of the bosses, but the workday was just beginning. I had eight hours of pretending to be "okay" ahead of me, and I wasn't sure if my professional mask or my heart would break first.

North Site

The drive to the North site was a masterclass in suffocating silence. Marc was behind the wheel, his hands at ten and two, his knuckles white against the leather. I sat in the back with Ashton, my eyes scanning the perimeter of the SUV, performing a "mental sweep" every thirty seconds to keep my brain from Short-circuiting.

​When we pulled into the gravel lot of the development site, the dust kicked up like a desert storm.

​"Stay in the vehicle until Marc and I establish the perimeter," I said, my voice clipped.

​"Calvin, seriously," Ashton sighed, though he didn't reach for the door handle. "The tension in this car is thick enough to stop a bullet." ​I didn't answer. I stepped out into the heat. The North site was a labyrinth of half-finished concrete shells and scaffolding, a sniper’s dream and a bodyguard’s nightmare. Marc was already at the rear of the vehicle, checking his sidearm.

​"Blaine is on the water tower, three hundred yards out," Marc muttered, finally acknowledging my existence. "He’s got the 'eye in the sky.' You and I are on the principal. Two-man wedge. I take point, you take the six."

​"I know how a wedge works, Marcus," I snapped, adjusting my earpiece. "I’ve been doing this since before you decided 'favors' were part of the job description."

​Marc’s jaw ticked so hard I thought a tooth might crack. He stepped closer, crowding into my personal space, his chest nearly brushing mine. Out here, under the roar of the construction equipment, we were invisible to the world.

​"Drop it," he growled, his voice low and vibrating with a sudden, dark energy.

"We are in the field. If you're compromised because you're pissed at me, stay in the damn car."

​"I’m not compromised. I’m liberated," I countered, meeting his glare with a cold, level stare. "I don't have to wonder where I stand with you anymore. The SOP is the only thing left between us. Now, move out."

​Marc looked like he wanted to say something, something raw, but he caught a movement from Ashton inside the SUV. The professional overrode the personal. He snapped his head back to the site, his posture shifting into the "Ghost" I had met years ago.

​"Principal is moving," Marc said into his comms.

​As Ashton stepped out, the protocol forced us into a tight formation. Because of the "high-density" nature of the site, we had to stay within arm's reach of him, and each other. Every time Ashton turned to look at a blueprint or talk to a foreman, Marc and I were forced to pivot in sync. Our shoulders brushed. My arm pressed against his as we shielded Ashton from a passing crane.

​It was a dance we had done a thousand times, our bodies knowing each other’s rhythms better than our own minds did. Every touch was a reminder of what he had called a "favor" only hours before.

​The heat was rising, the dust was settling in our lungs, and Marc was so close I could hear the slight hitch in his breathing. He wasn't as unaffected as he wanted me to believe.