Chapter 3 - The Unraveling
The remainder of the dinner proceeded in a state of suspended animation.
No one spoke. The clinking of silverware sounded like hammer blows against iron. Martha tried once—just once—to ask if anyone wanted more wine, but her voice trailed off into the heavy, suffocating silence when she looked at me and realized she had no idea who her son had married.
Logan stared fixedly at his plate, carving the same piece of roast beef into microscopic fragments over and over again, his face burning a bright, humiliated crimson. He didn't look at me. He didn't look at Ethan. He looked like a cadet who had just tried to correct a four-star admiral during a tactical briefing and discovered he was talking to the author of the manual.
After dessert—which went completely untouched—Ethan and I excused ourselves early.
As we walked out to the car, the cool autumn air hit my face like a splash of cold water. The rain had stopped, leaving the asphalt slick and reflecting the amber glow of the suburban streetlights.
Ethan unlocked the doors, opened mine, and waited until I was settled inside before closing it gently. He walked around, slid into the driver’s seat, and let out a long, shuddering breath that sounded like he had been holding it for three hours.
He didn't start the engine right away. He just stared through the windshield at the wet pavement.
“I’m sorry,” Ethan murmured.
I turned my head to look at him, surprised. “For what? Logan being Logan?”
“For putting you through this,” Ethan said, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “You work eighty hours a week behind three layers of security clearance, you carry the weight of half the classified operations in the Atlantic command, and you have to sit there and listen to him talk down to you like you’re a secretary.”
I reached across the console, placing my hand over his tense fingers.
“Ethan, look at me,” I said softly.
He turned his head, his dark eyes troubled.
“I don’t need Logan’s validation,” I said with a faint smile. “And I certainly don’t need him to know what I do. The less people outside the fence line know about my job, the better. That’s why we keep it quiet.”
“I know,” Ethan sighed, a dry, humorless chuckle escaping his lips. “But seeing the look on his face when Gabriel dropped the hammer... I have to admit, it was worth watching him implode.”
“Gabriel shouldn't have said anything,” I murmured, though there was no real anger in my voice.
“Master Chief Torres doesn't suffer fools, Claire. Never has, never will. When he recognized your call sign from the Ghost Ridge deployment, his military wiring just took over. He couldn't sit there and watch a surface-puke lieutenant belittle someone who had authorization codes that could sink his entire destroyer squadron with a keystroke.”
I smiled, shaking my head. “Let’s go home, Lieutenant Commander. I have an unclassified briefing at 0500, and I’d like at least four hours of sleep.”
May you like
Ethan smiled back, leaning over the center console to press a gentle kiss to my cheek. “Yes, ma'am.”
He turned the ignition key, and the car purred to life, pulling away from the curb and leaving the quiet suburban street behind us.
