Disclaimer: Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.
Warning: Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.
Chapter 5
Ranger's POV
I am forcing myself to remain at Rangeman instead of running out, finding Stephanie, and being her Batman, as she used to call me. After my debrief with Tank, Lester, and Bobby ended, I went up to seven to clear my mind. I pace the rooms circuitously before entering my private office. I keep several photos of Stephanie, my Babe, in my top drawer. I pull them out and lay the snapshots in a neat row on the desktop. It's one thing to evaluate a situation with professional detachment, but it's completely different when the heart is involved.
I pick up a print of a selfie Steph took. She snapped it on my phone without my knowledge when I stayed at her apartment, about a year and a half ago. I rarely take photos, and it was almost a month before I noticed it. It's an amazing shot. Her hair is wild, her eyes are dancing, and her smile looks mischievous. It's in complete contrast to the woman who blew up a tracker on the Rangeman lawn.
I'm only going to get one chance at a first impression with Steph. While I have the benefit of not being a part of the Farro disaster, I have the disadvantage of time. The best course of action is to acquire as much information as possible before setting out to find Stephanie, and this means getting Hector to speak with me. That task is easier said than done.
Hector is the most feared man at Rangeman outside of myself. We also have many things in common. He tends to be stoic, a minimal conversationalist, and is known as a fearsome fighter. His physical advantage lies with his knives and mine with my fists, but no one wants to mess with Hector. Hector is also smarter and more calculating than one would expect if judging the book by its cover. Few people know about Hector's family history, the reason he earned his two teardrops, and his homosexuality. The Core Team does, and I suspect Stephanie does as well. Those two have a special relationship, and if Hector was forced to make a choice, I know that he would pick Steph every time. I'm certain he's an excellent protector, and re-entering Steph's life will be much easier with his cooperation.
I pick my keys up from the silver dish and fob down to the tech department. I enter the heavily air-conditioned server room and walk around the corner to Hector's desk. Binky and Zip are working at an adjacent island, their heads tilting towards each other over a monitor. Hector looks up as I approach.
"Bienvenido a casa, jefe," Hector says to me before telling Binky and Zip to take a break. (Welcome home, boss.)
When the room is empty, and the door is closed, I use my fob to scramble the cameras and sit down in front of Hector. "How is she?" I ask in Spanish, cutting to the chase.
Hector leans back and eyes me silently. "Alive," he says after a long pause. I'm rapidly growing tired of that answer, but I am grateful she's breathing so that I still have a chance to revive her spirit. I suspect that without Hector's direct involvement, Steph wouldn't be breathing.
"Thank you," I reply, and a flash of surprise flares in Hector's eyes.
"What are your intentions?" Hector asks me. I'm taken aback by his directness to me, and I don't immediately respond. Hector looks straight through me.
"if you can't answer that question, I will not help you see Angelita," he states with finality.
"I ended my contract with the government," I respond openly, and Hector tilts his chin slightly. "I intend to help Stephanie in any way I can, and, should there still be an opportunity, I intend to date her exclusively." I want Hector to understand I am serious in my pursuit of Stephanie, but I'm not going to pour my heart out to him either.
"You will have one chance with her. Estefania has changed. She will not trust you, and you will need to be forgiving. I have worked very hard to keep her alive, beginning with her soul. If you push her away or break her heart, it will destroy her, and I don't think there is anything I will be able to do to stop it. Think carefully. You need to be all in," Hector says with gravity. I have to swallow hard to push down the lump that swells in my throat.
"I am, and I will be her friend first and foremost. You have my word," I say thickly.
Hector gives me a long stare. I deduce he is making a decision.
"Have you read the Farro file yet?" he eventually asks. I nod yes once; instantly relieved Hector has decided to be forthcoming. "Estefania killed Farro, even if it wasn't intentional. She will not talk about it. The following morning, I noticed her trackers were moving in separate directions, and my gut told me it was deliberate," he continues with a shrug. "I decided to cut the feed in the control room and follow her myself. In one day, recovering from serious wounds, Estefania found a new place to live, moved, withdrew all of her cash from the bank, and purchased several security items. I worried for her, and I decided to risk her rejecting me and knocked on the door of her new home." I raise an eyebrow slightly at Hector's dedication to Stephanie.
"Angelita looked like hell," Hector continues bluntly but with resignation. "She let me in with her gun drawn and was very suspicious of my intentions. I attempted to touch her once, but she shied away. After that, I always asked to enter her personal space, even to sit next to her, and I believe it helped me earn some of her trust. I showed her a tracker she missed, and after that, she was more willing to listen to me."
Hearing specific details of Steph's mistrust and attempts at physical security are jarring, even more so since she is at least as suspicious of Rangeman as she is of the general public. Tank, Lester, and Bobby, with their careless conversation, did damage I am still figuring out.
"I made a deal with Estefania. She allows me to track her using a specialty fob equipped with a panic button and tracker. I have the data from the fob routed through my private server, and I'm the only one who receives notification. I agreed to help her keep Rangeman from tracking her if she carried this fob. I helped her install security cameras and sensors around the apartment and garage, and I also routed that feed to my private server. I receive notification if something trips the sensors. I took one look at Estefania, and I knew she would stop at nothing to prevent Rangeman from knowing her whereabouts. It was the best I could do at having some level of monitoring. I told her I would do this for her in exchange for a promise. She promised not to deliberately destroy any of the tracking devices I gave her or attempt to kill herself," Hector finishes heavily and leans back in his chair. It's a sobering deal between Hector and Steph, but now I also know to take caution should I figure out where she lives.
"Did Steph give you any indication why she wholesale rejected Rangeman or became so closed off, from what I've gathered, overnight?" I ask, wanting Hector's perspective.
"Angelita challenged my offer of help. I'll never forget what she said. It was, 'Why are you worried about me? Afraid Ranger will take you to the mats, too? Or am I only useful as long as my existence protects his life?' Your Core Team said something to her after the Farro incident, and she felt betrayed. I think that's what set all of this into motion. When Estefania told me that, she was angry but incredibly sad," Hector says more quietly, and he stares at a point behind me.
I do want to take Tank, Lester, and Bobby to the mats, but not for the reasons they supposed. I always thought Steph meant as much to them as she does to me, and that they would treat her as a friend and fellow professional in my absence. I'm astounded not only that they viewed her as a burden, but also that they had so little situational awareness that Steph became aware of their sentiments. Stephanie has every right to feel betrayed, and in some ways, so do I. In the Army we are taught No Man Left Behind. It's an ethos that goes beyond returning a deceased comrade's remains home. It's about helping each other, above our individual needs, no matter what. Hector, the non-military member of my team, is the only one who is acting that way.
"I didn't completely keep my promise to Estefania," Hector confesses. "As you know, my interactions with the street gangs are usually dangerous, and there's always a chance I will be hurt or killed. Lester followed Estefania to her new home and returned when she was away to investigate. He set off one of the sensors I installed, and I responded. I decided to trust Lester, and he has access to Estefania's tracking information should something happen to me."
That makes more sense. I was surprised when the Core Team told me they had no idea where Stephanie lived other than Trenton. In the Rangers, Lester was our team's scout, and I've never seen a better tracker. If Lester doesn't want someone to see him, no one will see him. It's more interesting that Lester didn't share the information with Tank and Bobby, and it speaks to an underlying rift in the leadership team.
"Angelita has kept her promise not to kill herself, but she isn't honoring the spirit of the agreement. She has developed a couple of self-destructive habits over the past year, though I'm not sure she knows I'm aware of many of them. One that constantly worries me is that she steals FTA files meant for Rangeman from the bonds office. Sometimes I don't find out until I find her holed up in her apartment nursing gunshot wounds that grazed the skin, stab wounds, or burn injuries. Sometimes I find out beforehand, and Lester has been useful in playing the Rangeman bad guy and intercepting the skip or protecting her without her knowledge. Something has to change, Ranger. Mi Angelita is alive, but," Hector trails off, his mouth set in a grim line.
I let the silence linger between us as the weight of what Hector said and didn't say settles between us.
"Gracias, Hector," I say solemnly before standing and heading down to the garage. I take the keys for the Porsche 911 off the rack and walk over to the sleek machine. It's time to let the Burg at large, and hopefully, Stephanie, know I am back. It may draw her out without me coming to her. I also do some of my best thinking while I drive, and I need to process everything.
Lester steps out from between a row of fleet vehicles and pulls the rings for an older, dark grey Ford Escape we use for surveillance off a hook and hands them to me before wordlessly walking to the passenger side and getting in. I return the Porsche keys to the hook and follow Lester's lead.
Lester finishes a series of texts on his phone before putting the device back into his pocket and indicating where I should turn upon exiting the garage. "Hector scrambled our tracking devices as well as the tracking devices in this vehicle," he reports. "I'm going to show you where Beautiful lives."
"Why don't Tank and Bobby know?" I ask, heading south.
Lester turns and stares out the window a long moment. "This last year has been the worst of my life, Ranger," he finally says heavily. "I've wished more than a thousand times to go back and do things differently, but of course I can't turn back time. When you left, Tank took being number one at Rangeman seriously. He expects more military formality from the guys, and he held himself apart from everyone the more he became consumed with the day to day work of leading the office. All of us are straight-forward guys, but the office has become a meticulously insufferable place to work, and we've lost a couple of members of our team, including Cal and Zero, as transfers to other offices. I made that paperwork happen on the hopes that I could convince them to come back eventually, but Tank wanted to fire them. Morale is low. I didn't realize until Steph and you were gone just how much joy you both bring to everyone. You're an inspiring leader, and Beautiful's light helped all of us fight off our darkness.
"You've seen what can happen to guys who become too absorbed in the job. They become crass or detached from the horrors of it as a shield, but it eats away at their humanity. That's why I didn't tell Tank," Lester states, and I can hear the depression in his voice.
"Bobby, well, I think Bobby didn't want to rock the boat, so he stayed in his lane. He's oblivious, but I think it's by choice. His attitude is a 'that's that person's problem, not mine' outlook on things, and Bobby refuses to 'take sides,' as he calls it. I hope that he started to realize this morning that by doing nothing, he was still taking a side," Lester says bitterly, clenching his fists.
Lester has always been the most emotional of all of us, and his ebullience and energy are a balancing positive in our group. I often consider Lester's mood to be a unit litmus test, and if he is this depressed, it means morale is worse than low. We may be a company comprised of many former military members, but now we are civilians. The company won't survive long-term if leadership treats the employees like they are in boot camp. If they wanted that, they would have stayed in the military.
"Beautiful," Lester starts to say, pausing to look out the window again. "Farro was awful. The crime scene was bloody, and it was clear they had struggled. Steph wasn't herself, but other than the short conversation we had at the scene, I never got another chance to talk to her. I wasn't in the ambulance when she snapped, but I could hear it. Her screams keep me awake some nights," Lester says before pursing his lips.
"Remember our first time in Iraq, Ranger, before we joined spec ops? Back when we were still young and naïve about war? Remember our first kills, and how some members of the battalion lost it? I swear to God, Steph looked like we did after that battle, but I didn't put it together until later. It didn't occur to me at the scene because Steph is a civilian who has gotten into scraps countless times, even killed before, and she always bounced back. The difference is, we had each other, and we had the backing of a team that reminded us we did the right thing.
"Further, our kills were at a distance. We never engaged in close quarters combat until we joined an established Ranger unit. That experience is something that hardened both of us. Steph went through the same Goddamn thing, but she had nobody. I tried dozens of times to get Steph to talk to me, but she refuses, sometimes forcibly. I couldn't figure out what made her push us away, but if she heard our conversation that morning…" Lester trails off, and I can feel the guilt pouring off of him.
"We were all exhausted. I had been awake for nearly 36 hours, half of that worried for Steph. I didn't mean what I said. I don't care if you take me to the mats. Hell, half the time I bait you so you will, just because I enjoy the challenge, but Steph doesn't know that. Anything I said was because I love her, and I was scared and stressed about her welfare after she lost it at the crime scene. I feel like I failed her and you, the two most important people in my life," Lester brokenly says as he begins to cry fitfully, covering his face with closed fists as he fights the emotional overload.
Lester had long forgotten to give me directions, and I had been driving random streets through Franklin Park. As Lester fights tears, I park in an alley and place a hand on his shoulder. Lester reaches across the console and pulls me into a desperate embrace as he works to collect himself, and I have to fight to tamp down my emotions.
"I'm sorry, Carlos," he gasps out, trying desperately to collect himself. "I'm glad you're back and that you completed your contractual obligations. Nothing has been right since you left. I've done everything I can to try to save Steph and keep Rangeman upright, but it isn't enough. I'm sorry."
"I forgive you, Lester," I say, knowing he needs to hear the words. "I understand, and I know you tried. You haven't failed Steph, and you haven't failed me. We'll work together to fix this." I pat Lester firmly on the back, and he takes a deep breath before sitting back in his seat, wiping his eyes, and presenting a stoic front once again. The emotional break took only two minutes, but the exchange will stay with me a lifetime.
When I'm sure Lester has pulled himself together, I drive through the alley and back on the main thoroughfare. "Your connection with Beautiful is as strong as ever," Lester states. "We're a block from her place." Lester points to where I should park to remain outside of her security cameras, and I observe the property from inside the vehicle.
Steph was smart to leave the Burg if she wanted to hide. While this place appears to be infinitely safer than her last apartment, it's only a step above shithole. I'm having a hard time picturing Stephanie living here, and I hate that she chose these conditions instead of a Rangeman apartment.
Lester points out the cameras and describes what safety measures he knows Steph has taken. "I haven't been inside. I was about to enter the property when Hector arrived and pulled me back, and I haven't tried again. He impressed upon me that if Steph were to suspect anyone from Rangeman had been here, he would lose any rapport he had developed with her. I decided to trust him, and we've been working together to keep Steph as safe as possible since."
After another minute, I pull away and begin to drive back to Haywood.
"Ranger, I know it's not my place, but please, don't do that bullshit where you sleep with Steph but keep her at arm's length. I've followed Beautiful as she roams the bars at night. I didn't want to tip my hand in front of Tank and Bobby, but," Lester begins hesitantly before trailing off again. "She's acting like me when I was at my darkest. I suspect she's using sex as a form of punishment at worst or numbing at best. Know that, and don't hold it against her if you decide to move beyond friendship someday. I don't even know if Steph will allow herself to connect and feel that way, but if she does, it's a bigger deal than you think. If she does throw herself at you physically, be careful how you proceed, or you might be feeding into her negative behavior unwittingly, and that could torpedo any chance you have of getting through to her."
I remember all too well Lester at his worst, and it breaks my heart to imagine Steph, with her big heart, doing the same. I'm reaching the point where I can't keep listening to everyone else's descriptions of her. I need to see my Babe.
For the second time today, I make a promise to do the right thing by Stephanie. I don't care what people think about me, but it does make me wonder how much others know about our relationship. I'm getting the sense I've been judged and found wanting. "I'll be careful, Lester. I won't rush anything, and my priority is to Steph and being her friend. If we ever have a future together after all of this, I will be all in, body, mind, and soul. I'm not going to push her away anymore," I say firmly, and Lester looks relieved.
I park inside the Rangeman garage and kill the engine. "Thank you, Lester, for everything," I say before exiting the vehicle, and Lester looks away. I walk over to the key rack to exchange rings, and as Lester walks towards the stairwell, bark, "Santos!" Lester pauses and turns to look at me curiously. "Mats. 0500," I command, and Lester smiles broadly in response and gives me a mock salute while clicking his heels together. Smartass.
I drive the 911 out of the garage with the explicit purpose of not returning until I see my Babe with my own eyes. I use the onboard communications suite to dial Steph's number. It goes directly to voicemail. "Babe," I say, hoping the normalcy of the message is enough to get her to call me back.
I begin driving the Burg in hopes that unexplainable force that draws me to her works now. I circle in a grid pattern for an hour before driving south into Franklin Park again. I enter my zone as I drive, processing the morning.
Since the implosion of my marriage with Rachel, I vowed never to put my heart through that again. I determined that military life, including my government contract, and a relationship do not mix. I was content to make my work my life, and I occasionally sought out a one-night stand if I needed something physical. That all worked for me until I met Stephanie. She turned my life upside down from the beginning. I thought that if I could sleep with her once, it would be enough. Leaving her bed the next morning and encouraging her to return to Morelli was one of the hardest things I ever did, and I volunteered for my next mission, leaving a couple of days later.
I knew I loved Stephanie, at least in some way, before Scrog, but I wasn't willing to acknowledge the pull my heart had toward hers. After Step volunteered to risk her life to save my daughter, I knew there was no going back. Her selfless actions gave me a relationship with my daughter again, and my heart was never the same. I began speaking with Julie, whether through text, calls, or email daily, and I shouldn't have been surprised to learn Steph was doing the same. Julie confided in me that Steph made her feel loved, accepted and that she listened to her fears and misgivings after struggling with the guilt of hurting Scrog, even though he intended to hurt her. Julie said that without my Babe's understanding, she didn't think she would be doing as well as she was.
I feel a clenching in my chest at the memory. Stephanie saved my daughter from emotional trauma, but when she needed someone to tell her she wasn't evil but did the right thing, my men, the people she trusted and leaned on the most, rejected her. I will do everything I can to right this grave wrong.
I knew I wanted to have a chance at a relationship with Stephanie, and I resigned my contact with the government. I thought there would be another mission as a departure gift, but when I received orders for a year, I was incensed. I had been in the process of negotiating an addendum to the contract where I would serve as a consultant or in a training capacity from time to time, but I yanked it immediately. The mission they sent me on was tedious; I was overqualified for it, and it felt like a slap in the face from the government I devoted so much of my life to assisting. It gave me a harsh perspective on the kinds of relationships I do want to have, and Stephanie is first and foremost. I prayed I would still have a chance with her upon my return.
I pull into the lot overlooking the lake at Roebling Park. I absentmindedly rub the back of my neck and look to my right. Parked two spaces over is a Honda CR-V. I walk around and rap the window lightly as Steph rubs her neck. Her blue eyes flash up to meet mine, and in the split second before she slams down the same blank face I saw in the video, I only see hope. With a jolt, I realize it's the same hope I saw in every alleyway rendezvous, before I would leave her bed after a night of lovemaking, and when I impulsively kissed her before I left for my last mission. I know with certainty that my Babe is still with me, and that, while the road ahead may be difficult, we will be okay in the end.
I tap on the window and smile a thousand-watt smile at the most wonderful sight I've ever seen. Yes, my Babe's alive. Stephanie rolls down the window and looks at me hesitantly. "Babe," I say, and I pause, not wanting to rush the moment.
Steph drops her phone onto her lap as her eyes widen. "You're back," she says weakly, and I continue to smile. It seems I still have the same effect on her as I always did.
"May I come in, or would you like to go for a walk together?" I ask, and Steph seems to weigh her options.
"Walk," she says finally, closing the window and locking the door behind her. I desperately want to crush her against me and kiss her senseless, but I remember Lester and Hector's warnings about respecting Steph's personal space, and I decide to exercise restraint.
The walk towards the lake is slow and quiet, and it gives me a chance to look Stephanie over more closely. She's lost weight, but she also looks leaner. Steph has been working out, and it looks good on her. Her wardrobe is black and practical but also shows a more hardened side. I see a glint of silver from the small of her back, and I wonder how many weapons she has concealed on her person. The sunlight reflects off the stud in her nose, and as I study her in my periphery, I see a couple of new scars on her neck and under the cuff of her jacket.
Steph is wearing dark eyeliner on the top and bottom lids with an abundance of mascara. I recall that Steph once that she told me she wears make-up like an armor, and that she layers her mascara based on how much courage she needed. I laughed it off at the time, but looking at her now, it seems to me like she is running out of courage. Her hair is much shorter, shorn close on the left but parted to the right side with a longer piece hanging to her chin. I can see how it must be easier and more practical, but I miss her wild curls.
Stephanie looks different, but I only see the changes as a means of self-defense. She is still very much herself, and she looks as beautiful to me as she always does.
We reach a secluded bench near the water's edge, and I indicate we should sit down. Steph sits stiffly beside me, coughing as she does, and places her hands in her lap. I sit beside her. "How are you, Babe?" I say softly, wondering how much she will open up to me.
Steph sighs and looks beyond the water. "It's good to see you, Ranger," she eventually says.
"It's good to see you, too, Babe," I say in the same tone, my eyes never leaving her. I watch as a sadness settles over Steph. "I thought about you every day I was gone, and imagining this moment kept me going," I confess, and Steph turns to look at me. The blank face remains, but I can see the emotional conflict swirling in her eyes.
"I'm back, and I'm not going anywhere. That mission was my last. I can see something happened while I was gone. When I was FTA, you are the only one who called to ask me how I was doing. You never questioned if I was guilty, and you never cared about what I've done so much as who I am. I know who you are, Babe, and you are the best person I know. When you're ready, no matter when or where, I want to listen, and I'm here for you," I say gently, not wanting to scare her away.
Steph sits there a long minute stoically, clutching her hands together tightly. "I'm not who you think I am," she whispers, and something deep in me breaks at the despair in her voice.
"Will you tell me about it?" I ask quietly, placing my hand on the bench next to her body. Steph sits there as still as stone. I think she wants to tell me, but she doesn't know how to overcome her fear of rejection. After several minutes, an idea comes to me.
"Later," I say. "How about I tell you about some of the things that have happened to me?" I offer.
Stephanie looks at me sideways and nods her head yes, a cough choking out her words. I made a good choice. Maybe I can show her my unconditional acceptance by normalizing some of her experiences.
"I was a rebellious and immature teenager. I grew up the middle child of four sisters. My father was the worst of every Hispanic stereotype, and he ruled the home with an iron fist. If my family didn't ignore me, they beat me down; sometimes physically. However, I always thought the verbal abuse was worse. I sought out gang life as a reprieve to my home life. I didn't make it very far up the ranks before I got busted for stealing a car. I was fifteen. My father washed his hands of me and sent me to Miami to live with my Abuela Rosa. She worked hard to break down my walls and to love me when I was very unlovable. She gave me firm boundaries, but she treated me with love and respect, and I began to see that home didn't have to be like the one I knew.
"With her investment in my success, I began to want to do better, and I started taking AP and community college classes in my high school. I also joined the Junior Army ROTC unit, and that's where I met Tank. He graduated a year ahead of me and attended Florida Tech, graduating in three years. As you know, I went to Rutgers, and with the credits I had already had, earned my degree in two years. Lester, who is two years older than me and technically the old man of the group, Tank and I walked into the Army Officer recruiters office the next day.
"It was 2003, and the country was at war. We wanted to do our part to serve our country, and I think part of me imagined battle as a noble endeavor that would change us from boys to men. It did, but not in the way I expected. Our first deployment was to Iraq. We were assigned convoy protection duty. The enemy shot at us daily, and fortunately, the insurgents were not good shots. One day, an IED struck the Humvee ahead of us. I took cover and shot several insurgents that were waiting to ambush us. I saw my Sergeant laying behind the half-open door of the damaged Humvee, and I fought my way to him. I attempted to provide field aid, but he died in my arms. As my Sergeant's squad leader, I felt responsible for his death, and I poured over every detail of the mission, wondering what I could have done to prevent it. It was also the first time I was confident one of my bullets killed another person, and I felt consumed with guilt, despite the situation. The Major in charge of my squad noticed, and he pulled me aside.
"He ordered me to go through the after-action report with him line by line. 'Lieutenant Manoso,' he said afterward. 'Fall back on your training. What you did was morally just, and I think deep down you know this. It's hard to accept that you are responsible for ending a life, but that doesn't mean you were wrong. You engaged an enemy combatant. You followed the mission orders, and your team is well-trained. No one saw the IED. We can't prevent every casualty. The actions you took to eliminate the enemy may have saved one of our lives. War is hell, and killing someone or watching someone die will never be easy. You did the right thing. I'm proud of you, and your country is proud of you. There is an opportunity here for this to make you stronger or to break you. I believe you will become stronger,'" I say evenly, pausing to let my memories catch up with my mouth.
I glance at Steph, and I see I have her complete attention, even if she isn't moving or saying anything.
"I believe the same ethos is true for law enforcement and those who work to support law enforcement, such as us. Unfortunately, we have had to make the difficult choice to kill or be killed, whether it is ourselves or a bystander nearby. Self-defense is a morally just action, even if the other person dies," I say emphatically. I decide to leave the conversation there. I feel that is enough for Stephanie to chew on for now. I lean back on the bench and cross one leg over the opposing knee, keeping my hand mere millimeters away from Steph's thigh, and stare out at the lake.
Stephanie's posture remains tense, but she stays with me. We sit together in quiet companionship for an hour before she speaks again. "I want to trust you, Ranger, but I don't know if I can. You're right; things have happened while you were away. I found out a lot of people weren't who I thought, including myself," she says despondently. Steph sits back and turns her body slightly towards mine, coughing as she does. That's progress.
"Why are you telling me this? And why now? What do you want from me, Ranger?" she questions rapidly with an air of desperation, and I can tell her emotional detachment is crumbling. I know this action can be good, but it can also be bad if she panics and flees.
"You're my best friend, Babe. This last deployment gave me the opportunity to realize I've placed too much of my self-worth in my work and not my relationships with people. The job will never give back to me what I put into it. You and Julie, specifically, mean the world to me, and I hated not being able to talk to you and share my life with you while I was away. What do I want from you? Nothing except the chance to continue being your friend," I say sincerely, though my heart is beating faster.
"I'm not who you think I am, Ranger," Steph whispers, repeating herself.
"Babe, I know about some of what happened with Farro. I know that Tank, Lester, and Bobby said some things they now regret when you were recovering afterward. I know some of what was said, and I don't agree with any of it. I know that you have taken a more aggressive approach to your security and bounty hunting approach," I say gently, wanting my tone to temper my words. I want to eliminate some of Steph's barriers and see where I stand. She widens her eyes and freezes in place, evaluating me.
"I know that you are hurting but that you are a good person, Babe," I say as compassionately as possible, hoping the words find a way into her barricaded heart.
Steph stands suddenly and takes a step forward. Shit, I pushed her too far. I attempt to remain relaxed so as not to frighten her, but internally, I'm on edge. "Can you meet me here tomorrow?" she asks tentatively.
"Yes," I say in relief before Steph walks away without a second glance. It's progress.
A/N: I'm so grateful for your feedback, support, and reflections. I probably check for comments after I post a chapter hourly. I get very excited to hear what you guys think, and sometimes it's hard for me not to post the entire story at once.
I've got good news and bad news. The good news is that Warrior has hijacked my muse, and I'm at 14 chapters and counting. I think at this point I'll still wrap it up in under 20. The bad news is that it means that although Lift Off is outlined, I haven't started it. I apologize to anyone who was looking forward to reading it in the next two weeks, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy this story with weekly to bi-weekly (let me hear from you!) updates until I'm ready to begin posting that story.
Misty23y does an amazing job as my beta. I was so absorbed in writing Warrior this past week, I forgot to do things like editing, chapter breaks, and outline management. She turned over twenty-five pages for me in an evening. Wow – thanks, Babe! I also thoroughly enjoy her writing. She's blown me away with the twists and turns in Too Late and The Night That Changed Everything. I hope you check it out.