Chapter twelve
Lilly Rose
The whispers start like smoke—thin, curling, almost invisible. But I've spent enough time in tight quarters and med tents to know when something's in the air.
It starts with looks. Glances held a little too long. Conversations that suddenly drop to a hush when I walk into the room. Then come the comments—casual, sly, just loud enough to sting.
"Didn't know Riley had a soft spot."
"Bet he's getting more than just his wounds checked."
"Med tent must be doing private consultations now, huh?"
I pretend not to hear them. Keep my head down. Keep working.
But inside, I'm burning.
⸻
Later that night, I slam the supply cabinet a little harder than necessary. The room is empty—finally—and I lean back against the counter, pressing a hand to my chest like it might steady the heat simmering beneath my skin.
This was supposed to stay between us. Just ours.
But nothing on base stays private for long.
Footsteps behind me. Heavy. Familiar.
"Lilly."
I turn to see Simon standing in the doorway, jaw set, eyes cold in that way that says he's barely holding it together. He's heard it too.
"Let me guess," I say. "You've got people asking how long you've been 'banging the medic.'"
His fists clench. "Soap tried to shut it down. But once it starts…"
"I know." I take a slow breath. "Is this a problem for you now?"
His eyes flash, and he's across the room in two steps, pinning me against the cabinet before I can blink. His hand cups my jaw, and he lowers his voice.
"You think I give a damn what they say?"
I arch a brow, even as my breath catches. "Then why do you look like you want to murder someone?"
"Because they talk about you like you're something casual." He leans in closer. "And you're not. You never were."
The words stop me cold. My throat tightens. I search his face—stone and fire, tension and truth—and for a moment, I don't know what to say.
"You sure about that?" I ask softly. "Because this stops being a secret, it changes everything."
"I don't want it to be a secret anymore."
His answer is immediate. Solid.
My heart flips.
"I'll deal with the fallout," he continues. "Chain of command, command itself—I'll handle it. But I'm not pretending I don't want you. I'm not losing you."
For the first time since the rumors started, I breathe easy. Because this—whatever we've started—isn't just lust in a warzone. It's fire. Connection. Something neither of us saw coming, but both of us are willing to fight for.
Even if the whole damn base is watching.