In His Sights (Don't Tell) by Rie Warren Page A

the last time I’d left my barracks, I’d brought very little with me. Extra boots and socks, a book that had belonged to my mother, and of course, the ever-present blanket. Weapons and ammo, and that was it. I didn’t need much else, just Hawke.
    During the last leg of our journey southwest, the dense forest and wooded hills gave way to low-lying lands and swampy marsh. My palm was damp against Hawke’s when we approached the commune the next afternoon. Fear that his people would hate me, spurn me, and make me turn away from my love created a large rolling ball of anxiety in the pit of my stomach.
    The open expanse of land made me just as nervous. Shoals was so far away from the nearest Territory they didn’t have any boundary walls, just a wooden watchtower from which gunfire crackled, announcing our arrival…or aiming at me. Something shivered across my shoulders. I brushed it off, growling.
    “It’s Spanish moss, babe.”
    “I don’t like it.” I held his hand harder.
    His fingers squeezed mine as he kissed my cheek. “They aren’t gonna hurt you, you’ll see.”
    I’d fought in battles that caused less tension than this. By the time we were walking down the dirt road leading to the middle of the commune, my shoulders were stiff, my jaw clenching uncontrollably. The commotion around the main square nearly deafened me after several weeks of near solitude and quiet. Warriors returning alive—perhaps not victorious but definitely not defeated—was cause for a celebration. I watched in awe as the villagers unfurled red ribbons from their hands to wave in the air, their shouts rising up: Live in freedom! Love at will!
    The sheer number of people boggled my mind. They converged for hugs and congratulations. Buildings flanked the scene, well made, speaking of a thriving populace that had their own system, their own way of life.
    I took the knocks on my chest and the slaps to my back, wondering when the hate would come for a CO corpsman, the born-and-bred enemy.
    “Ma, Dad, this is Mayce.” Hawke held me firmly beside him in front of a couple who were a cross between Freelander and Territorian. “Mayce, these are my folks, Greta and Bane.”
    Tall and slim as a whipcord, his mother appeared more cool and less homespun than most of the others. She approached me and her aloof visage melted into such a warm, extraordinary smile I couldn’t help but smile back. “You brought him home.” Greta took me in her arms.
    I drew back awkwardly. It’d been a long time since I’d felt a mother’s hug. “Not really, ma’am. He wouldn’t have gotten caught in the first place if wasn’t for me.”
    “Nonsense, son.” His father stepped forward after grabbing Hawke in his thick arms. “Word got here before you did. We know about your heroics, and what you gave up for our boy.” He pumped my hand vigorously, blond and broad and leaking tears of relief.
    “Besides, Hawke has a reputation for getting himself stuck in tight places.” His mom broke into a grin directed at me.
    I blushed violently and Hawke guffawed, “Holy shit, Ma!”
    She hugged him close. “Don’t screw it up, sweet boy. Not if he saved you.”
    “He did.” Hawke’s gaze found mine. His arm around my waist cinched me closer.
    I brushed my lips against his ear. “You saved me.”
    Bane cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. “Right, well. We’re lucky to have you, Mayce. Soldiers are always welcome, especially those with inside information. And uh, you boys know about being safe and—”
    Greta winked and pulled him away. “Okay dear, I don’t think they need the birds and the bees talk at their age…”
    Through dinner and the ongoing revelry, I remained all bluster and brusqueness, unable to completely relax and let loose. It seemed to amuse Hawke no end. He wouldn’t let me hide. He wouldn’t let me run. He even flat out kissed me in front of everyone until I was delirious, and there were even more cheers that