Iris (Mike Bravo Ops 1)

“I’m in love with her,” I say.

Saint smiles. “Told you. They’re a match made in heaven.”

“We have a starter pack for the families adopting the puppies who don’t make it. It’s got a toy, some kibble, and a list of instructions written out for each individual puppy.” Linda drones on and on about how the dog needs to be watched at all times. She likes chewing on electrical wires, has a penchant for left shoes, and when she pees, she likes to think she’s a boy and cocks her leg. Then gets pee all down her other leg.

I don’t care. She’s perfect.

“I love you,” I mutter.

“I love you too—” Saint starts. “Wait, you’re talking to the dog, aren’t you?”

“Yep.” I push her off me and reach up for Saint to help me off the ground. When he does, I wrap my arms around him. “But I love you as well. This is …”

“I remember you said you always wanted a dog but didn’t want to leave it. My job is local now, and I asked Trav if I could bring her to HQ with me when I work, and he already said yes.”

My baby sits by my side, and I glance down at her. “You hear that, Princess? You’re officially on the Mike Bravo team. You’re going to be a badass like your daddies.”

“What have I done?” Saint asks.

“Other than made me the happiest man in the world?”

Saint’s blue eyes soften. “Then it’s all worth it.”

I don’t think Saint understands how much he’s giving me here. It’s not only the dog or that he remembered how much I’ve wanted one for a long time. It’s that I’ve never had that one person I could confide in, who’d help me when I’m injured, love me when I’m being a jackass, and who is literally my perfect counterpart.

Saint is all those things, and I like to think I’m them for him too.

And now, with our new furbaby in tow, somehow everything feels … complete.

Epilogue

Saint

Even though the text to get our asses into work came in a couple of minutes ago, I can’t help watching as Iris plays in the backyard with Princess.

Regardless of her failing military training, she’s a smart dog who has grown up to be loyal, obedient, and okay, she’s still cheeky, but all she has to do is cock her head to the side like she’s confused about why she’s in trouble, and both Iris and I forgive her.

Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Theoretically. In reality, she’d steal that butter off the table and swallow it whole. It’s her favorite pastime—stealing food off our plates.

I still don’t care.

She’s brought so much happiness to Iris that I’m actually contemplating bringing up the topic of marriage and kids with him. We haven’t mentioned marriage again since we first brought it up, and maybe it’s still too soon. We’ve only been together a year. But I’d take that step with him in a heartbeat if he wanted to take it. I’m also happy with what we have, though, so I’m not going to push him into anything. Kids would be hard with our jobs, and it would be a sacrifice on both our parts, so maybe it’s not in our future. No decisions need to be made anytime soon, and I’m going to leave it up to Iris. He may be a goofball who’s rarely serious, but damn if he wouldn’t make a great husband and father. If we babyproofed all his weapons anyway.

And as I think that, I have to take it all back.

“Iris!” I yell. “Does she have a grenade in her mouth?” I run over to them.

“Relax. The pin is in it. I couldn’t find her ball.”

I stand next to him, speechless.

“Calm down. It’s a dog toy.”

Princess returns and drops a foam toy in the shape and color of a real grenade, and I stop freaking out.

“I can’t believe you’d think I’d give our baby a grenade to play with. What do you take me for?”

“Someone who stores a loaded gun right next to a dildo? I’m still scared for the day you reach for the wrong thing.”

“Never. You know how safety is my number one priority when it comes to anything related to sex.”

“This is my issue. Normal people would say guns.”

“And since when did you think any of us Mike Bravo guys could be considered ‘normal’? Normal is overrated.”

True. On all counts.

“Speaking of which, Trav needs us, so let’s go.”

“Is Princess Smooshy Face coming?”

Don’t even get me started on the fact that name stuck. I swear the looks we get when we take her to the vet make me want to die inside. Two big, masculine soldiers with a dog named Princess Smooshy Face should not be allowed. We get laughter every time we have to take her. And we have to. A lot. She not only loves taking food off our plates but also from the trash. Then she gets sick. Then she does it again the next week.