Page 180 of Reeves

I meant what I said. I’m not doing this again with you. The why, or even what you found out, doesn't matter. It's that you thought you should make decisions for me that matters. I just can't do it, Reeves.

My grip tightens around the phone. And then another text comes in.

We’ll figure out Benjy. What we talked about last night can still work. Not this.

I read it again. Slower this time. As if it might change if I give it another second.

I let out a breath and drop my hand to my lap, the phone still in it.

The instinct hits hard and familiar. Grab my keys. Go after her. Go somewhere. Yell, scream, fight, fuck.

Or leave, go back to the desert, and let that world drown out the pain and fuck-ups here.

Neither of those is the answer. This is different. We are different.

I push out of the chair and step back toward the door.

I stand there, looking at the living room from outside, my hand tightening around the phone until my knuckles go white. Every part of me wants to ignore that, to do what I’ve always done and move anyway.

I don’t.

The naval officesmells like recycled air and printer toner. Commander Ellis sits across from me with my file open between us, medical scans spread out across her desk. The fluorescent light catches on her ring when she points to one of the images.

I lean forward slightly, tracking where she’s pointing. The damage looks clean on paper. Clear. Defined. Easier to understand than it ever is when I’m in the middle of it.

“The tear isn’t healing the way we’d like, doing what we're doing,” she says. “There’s strain in the surrounding tissue, but it’sstable. With time, you could get back to full capacity. The question is what you do between now and then.”

Her tone stays even. No edge. No sympathy. Just information laid out in front of me.

“What are my options?”

She sits back a fraction, folding her hands together.

“Three paths forward. First, you stay on the teams with a modified deployment. We limit your exposure, manage the workload, and give the shoulder time to recover properly. It slows you down, but it doesn’t take you out.”

I nod once, tracking that.

“Second, we move you into a leadership track. Training command, advisory, operations planning. You’d be running teams instead of just being on them. Guys with your record don’t plateau, Stone. They move up.”

Not a step back, but not a step forward, either.

“Third,” she continues, “you finish out your current obligation and transition out. Clean break. No obligation to stay.”

The words settle between us.

The room stays quiet for a second after she finishes. The hum of the overhead lights fills the space between us.

“Limited duty would be how long?” I ask.

“Let's focus on healing and revisit in six months to a year,” she says.

I look back down at the scans. My shoulder. Years of work lay out in black and white. There’s no urgency in the decision from her side. No pressure. Just options.

“Leadership track,” I say. “What does that look like?”

She doesn’t hesitate.

“You’d move into more of a leadership role within your team,” she says, tapping the edge of the file. “You’d still deploy. Still be with the teams. You just wouldn’t be the first one through the door anymore. You’d be coordinating, making calls, directing the op as it unfolds.”