Chapter 1.
737 Words
The military hangar smelled of jet fuel, floor wax, and the heavy, electric scent of anticipation. Briar Smith shifted on the balls of her feet, her long blonde hair caught in the draft of the industrial fans overhead. She felt like a live wire. Nine months was too long- too many missed Sunday dinners and too many "stay safe" texts sent into the vast emptiness of her phone.
Across the polished concrete, the rows of soldiers stood in perfect, rigid formation. They were a sea of camouflage and discipline, but Briar’s eyes were locked onto a single target: the dirty-blonde head of hair that matched her own.
"Dismissed!"
The word hadn't even finished echoing before the rigid lines dissolved into a chaotic, beautiful blur of reunions. Briar didn't walk; she bolted. She ducked past a weeping mother and veered around a toddler, finally colliding with the solid weight of her brother.
"Archer!" she cried, burying her face in his tactical vest.
Archer let out a wheezing laugh, dropping his heavy duffle bag to sweep her off her feet in a signature, rib-cracking hug. When he finally set her down, he looked around the crowded hall, his brown eyes searching. "Where’s Mallory?"
"At Mom’s," Briar replied, breathless and grinning as she tucked a stray blonde lock behind her ear. "She was in the middle of helping her cook a complete feast. She told me I could handle the pickup duty solo so the food wouldn't suffer."
Archer nodded, his silly, crooked grin widening. "Smart woman. Mom’s cooking is the only thing I’ve dreamt about besides Mal." He paused, his expression shifting into something slightly more calculated. "I hope there is enough for one more person. I invited my superior to stay at Mom’s for the break."
He leaned in close to Briar’s ear, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He doesn’t have any family, and he’s been stationed overseas for years. Figured I’d be nice- and hey, maybe it’ll give me a boost up the chain of command."
Briar let out a small, melodic laugh, poking him in the ribs. "Of course you did. Always the strategist." She shook her head, looking around the bustling terminal. "Well, where is this superior of yours? We should get going soon or Mom might actually burn down the house in her excitement."
"Right here, Smith."
The voice was like low-frequency thunder- deep, resonant, and entirely too close.
Briar turned as a shadow fell over her. A man stepped beside Archer, his presence so commanding it seemed to pull the air out of the immediate vicinity. He was tall, with hair as black as a raven's wing and eyes a piercing, icy blue that seemed to see right through the festive chaos of the room. A flash of ink peeked out from beneath the collar of his uniform, hinting at the stories etched into his skin.
He placed a hand on Archer’s shoulder, then shifted his gaze to Briar, extending a large, calloused hand.
"Ma’am," he said firmly.
Briar let out a laugh that was half a scoff, her natural feistiness rising to the surface.
"Ma’am? Please, I’m not old enough to be a 'Ma’am' yet," she said, though she didn't hesitate to slide her hand into his. His grip was steady and warm, sending a strange, unexpected jolt up her arm. "You can just call me Briar."
"Victor," he said, his voice clipped but not unkind. He held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary before turning to Archer. "Is this your wife, Smith?"
"Ew, no!"
The siblings shouted the response in perfect, horrified unison.
"We're siblings," Briar clarified, her nose wrinkling in amusement. "Mallory is at our mother’s house helping with supper. Which, by the way, is waiting. So, let’s get going."
"Good. I’m starving," Archer said, the tension breaking as he slung his arm around Briar’s shoulder, hoisting his bag with the other.
As they walked toward the exit, Briar felt the weight of Victor’s silent gaze on the back of her neck. He was a man of few words, clearly, but as she glanced back and saw him following them with a stoic, solitary grace, she couldn't help but feel that their quiet family dinner was about to get a lot more interesting.
- Writer
