The General

Chapter 21.

​The transition from the quiet apex of the Ferris wheel back into the humid, popcorn-scented chaos of the midway was jarring. Briar felt as though she had left her skin behind at the top of the world. Every time Victor’s arm brushed hers as they walked, a fresh spark ignited, a stubborn reminder of the kiss they had just shared in the midday sun.

​Victor was back to his baseline- the General on a reconnaissance mission. His eyes were cold, his jaw set, and his hands were tucked into his pockets to keep from reaching for her in front of the town’s prying eyes.

​They found Archer and Mallory near the ring-toss, where the clinking of glass and the smell of cheap cigars hung heavy in the air. Archer was currently failing to win a giant neon sloth, while Mallory stood to the side, looking bored and lethal in her sundress.

​"There they are!" Archer shouted, waving a wooden ring. "The Ferris wheel didn't claim any casualties, I see."

​"Only my dignity," Victor said.

​Mallory didn't look at Archer. Her eyes were fixed on a tall, tanned man in a local varsity jacket standing a few feet away. She leaned into Briar’s space as they approached. "Briar, perfect timing. You remember Caleb, right? He just took over his father’s insurance firm. He was just asking about you."

​Caleb turned, flashing a white, practiced smile that usually worked on every girl in Lower Falls. "Hey, Briar. Long time. I was just telling Mallory that I’m looking for a date to the Founder’s Gala next month. Any interest?"

​Before Briar could even open her mouth to deliver a polite decline, the air around them dropped twenty degrees.

Victor didn’t move. He didn't shift his weight or utter a single word of protest, but the atmosphere shifted with the sudden, violent weight of a thunderhead. He remained a silent guard at Briar's shoulder, his arms crossed over his massive chest. However, his eyes- those icy, piercing blue depths, fixed on Caleb with a lethal, predatory stillness. It was a gaze that had stared down far greater threats than a local insurance agent, and it carried enough silent promised violence to halt a heart.

​Archer, busy arguing with the carny about the physics of the wooden rings, noticed nothing. Mallory, focused on her own social engineering, remained oblivious.

​Caleb’s smile faltered, though he couldn't quite place why he suddenly felt like he was standing in the sights of a long-range rifle. He rubbed the back of his neck, his bravado leaking out of him as he looked from Briar’s polite, strained face to the silent giant looming behind her.

​"I appreciate the offer, Caleb, really," Briar said, her voice sounding hurried as she tried to cut through the suffocating tension before Victor actually caused a scene. "But I’m already slammed with the bakery's fall orders. The Gala just isn't in the cards for me this year."

​"Oh. Right. Sure," Caleb stammered, his eyes darting back to Victor, whose expression hadn't changed by a single degree. "Totally get it. Business first. I’ll... see you around, Briar."

​He didn't wait for a reply, turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd with a pace that bordered on a jog.

​Archer let out a roar of frustration as his last ring bounced off a bottle. "Rigged! This whole town is rigged! Sir, tell me that wasn't a perfect throw."

​Victor finally broke his gaze, blinking as he looked at Archer. "The trajectory was off by two centimeters, Smith. Gravity doesn't lie."

​"You're no fun," Archer grumbled, turning to Mallory. "I’m going to get a corn dog. You coming?"

​"In a minute," Mallory said, her eyes narrowing as she watched Victor and Briar. "I need a word with Briar."

​Archer shrugged and headed toward the food stalls, leaving the three of them in a pocket of tension that made the bright fairground lights feel harsh. Victor didn't leave, but he stepped back a few paces, giving them a modicum of space while still maintaining a perimeter that suggested he wasn't going anywhere.

​Mallory marched right into Briar’s personal space, her heels sinking into the dusty dirt.

"What was that, Briar?" Mallory demanded, her voice a sharp, clinical hiss that cut through the distant sound of the carousel. "Caleb is a catch. He’s stable, he’s local, and he’s actually looking for something permanent. You're twenty-six, and in Lower Falls, you know exactly how this goes- the good ones get snatched up while you're busy waiting for a 'feeling' that doesn't exist. You've told me a thousand times you want the house, the husband, and the kids, but you're acting like you have all the time in the world. I'm trying to help you because your biological clock is ticking, and you're being far too picky for someone whose window for a family is starting to narrow."

"I’m not being picky, Mallory. I'm being discerning," Briar whispered, her voice tight. She could feel Victor’s presence behind her- a silent, immovable anchor. She knew he was listening to every word, his heightened senses likely picking up the hitch in her breath.

​"Discerning is for choosing a wine, Briar. This is your life," Mallory snapped, crossing her arms. "You’ve always been the 'standard' of this town. Perfect grades, perfect bakery, perfect reputation. But perfection doesn't keep you warm at night. You're waiting for some cinematic soulmate while the men who actually belong in your world are passing you by."

​Mallory sighed, her tone shifting from sharp to pitying. "I’m trying to help you. Your biological clock is ticking. You're twenty-six, and in a town this size, the good ones get snatched up early. If you keep holding out for a fantasy, you're going to wake up at thirty with nothing but a rolling pin and a very quiet house."

​The words hit Briar like a physical weight. It wasn't just Mallory’s bluntness; it was the terrifying grain of truth in it. She did want those things. She wanted the noise of a family and the security of a home that was hers. And here she was, losing her mind over a man who was the definition of temporary.

​"I’m not holding out for a fantasy," Briar said, her voice trembling slightly. "I just... I won't settle for someone just to fill a seat at the table."

​"Fine," Mallory said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Keep waiting for a fantasy. But don't come crying to me when Caleb’s married to someone else by Christmas and you're still making sourdough for one."

​Mallory turned on her heel and marched off toward the food stalls, her sundress fluttering aggressively in her wake.

​The silence that rushed back in was deafening, filled only by the distant, rhythmic thumping of the fair’s music. Briar stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the dusty ground. She felt exposed, her deepest insecurities laid bare in front of the one man who represented the very "temporary" nature Mallory had warned her about.

​Slowly, she felt a shift in the air. Victor stepped back into her space. He didn't say a word, but the heat radiating from him was a sanctuary. He moved until he was standing directly in front of her, forcing her to look up.

​His expression was still a mask of military granite, but his eyes were dark with an intensity that made her heart skip. He had heard it all- the age, the clock, the desperate desire for a family he couldn't technically promise her.

​"Twenty-six," he rumbled, the number sounding strange coming from him.

​"I'm practically a fossil," Briar whispered, trying to summon a flicker of her usual sass, though her eyes were glassy. "According to the Mallory Smith School of Realism, anyway."

​Victor didn't smile. Instead, he reached out, his large, calloused thumb catching a stray tear before it could even fall. His touch was incredibly gentle, a stark contrast to the lethal gaze he’d leveled at Caleb moments ago.

​"You aren't a fossil, Briar," he said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that made her world go still. "And a life isn't a race to the finish line."

​"She thinks I'm wasting my time," Briar said, looking at the center of his black shirt. "With... everything."

​Victor hooked a finger under her chin, forcing her gaze back to his. The ice in his eye's was gone, replaced by a raw, quiet honesty. "Time spent with you isn't wasted. It’s the only time in twelve years I’ve felt like I was actually living, not just surviving."

​He stepped closer, his shadow completely enveloping her, shielding her from the bright, garish lights of the fair.

​"If a family is what you want," he began, his voice rougher now, "then you deserve a man who sees that as a privilege, not a deadline."

​"Victor," she breathed, her hand finding the solid muscle of his forearm.

​"I'm still here," he reminded her, his grip on her chin firming. "The clock might be ticking for Mallory, but in this perimeter, time belongs to us. Understand?"

​Briar nodded, the knot in her chest loosening just a fraction. She reached up, her fingers tracing the dark ink on his arm. Mallory didn't know the truth, and the town didn't know the secret, but in the middle of the crowded, noisy fair, Briar realized she didn't care about "stable." She cared about the man who made the war stop, even if it was only for six weeks.

​"Good," Victor rumbled. He dropped his hand, but he didn't move away. "Now, let’s find Archer before he buys a neon sloth. I believe we're getting some fair food. "

​Briar let out a shaky laugh, her sass finally returning to her eyes. "A deal's a deal, General. But if you get mustard on that shirt, I’m not the one scrubbing it out."

​"Tactical error noted," Victor said, a whisper of a smile finally touching his lips as he led her back into the fray, his hand resting protectively at the small of her back.