"Thank you, sir."
Jackson embraces Matthew tightly. "So damn proud of you."
The families mingle, exchange pleasantries, and discuss dinner plans. I catch Trenton watching me intensely. Matthew's hand finds my hip, fingertips pressing just enough to send electricity up my spine.
"We have a room," he whispers, for my ears only. "Just us. Tonight."
Heat blooms across my skin. "How long?"
"Two days," Trenton answers, close enough that his breath warms my neck. "Then we're off to be SEALs."
Two days. Forty-eight hours before they leave again, this time for much longer.
The afternoon crawls by. Formal photos. Tours of the base. A celebratory dinner where I sit between their mothers, answering polite questions while acutely aware of Matthew and Trenton across the table, their eyes saying things their mouths can't.
Finally, as dessert plates are cleared, Jean yawns dramatically. "I think we should all turn in early. It's been such an emotional day."
Kayla nods too quickly. "Yes, we have that tour scheduled for tomorrow morning."
My mother gives me a look, one part warning, one part understanding. "Morgan, you'll be okay getting back to the hotel with the boys?"
"Yes," I manage, my voice only slightly strangled.
Dad clears his throat, uncomfortable but resigned. "Midnight curfew?—"
Trenton meets his eyes directly. "No, sir. She's eighteen now."
A muscle feathers in my father's jaw. He holds Trenton's gaze for a long, heavy moment before his shoulders drop almost imperceptibly. He nods once. "Take care of her."
"Always," they answer in unison.
The night air is cool as we walk to Trenton's car, borrowed from Kyle for the weekend. Matthew holds my hand, thumb tracing circles on my skin. Trenton walks slightly ahead, hyperaware of our surroundings even here.
The hotel is fifteen minutes from the base. We don't speak during the drive, but Matthew's hand rests on my thigh, a warm weight of promise.
Room 312. Trenton slides the key card, pushes the door open, and checks inside before letting us enter. Old habits.
The door clicks shut. The air changes.
"Morgan," Matthew says, and my name in his mouth sounds like a prayer.
I turn to them, these beautiful, dangerous men who've held my heart for years. "I can't believe you're real. That you're both here."
"Show us," Trenton challenges softly.
My hands shake as I step forward, reaching for the buttons of Matthew's dress uniform. He goes very still when my fingers brush against his chest. Trenton moves behind me, brushing my hair aside to expose my neck. His lips find the sensitive spot below my ear.
"We've thought about this," Matthew confesses, helping me with the complicated fastenings. "Every night."
"So have I," I whisper.
Trenton's hands span my waist, turning me to face him. His kiss is hungry, desperate. I respond in kind, pouring months of longing into it.
"Are you sure?" he asks against my lips. Always the protector.
"I've never been more sure of anything," I answer. "I want this. I want you both. Before you leave again."
Matthew's hands slide under my dress, leaving fire in their wake. "We have all night."
