“I fought it at first,” Bert said with a humorless smile. “Went through every possible treatment, every experimental therapy. But the damage was done. Eventually, I had to accept it. They moved me to support operations—intelligence analysis, mission planning, and coordination. Important work, but not what I’d signed up for. Not what I’d trained my whole adult life to do.”
He was quiet for a moment, his fingers absently adjusting the hearing aid. “I was good at the support work, but I felt... diminished. Like I was watching life happen from the sidelines instead of being in it. I became quieter, pulled back from conversations because it was easier than constantly asking people to repeat themselves or positioning myself to hear with my good ear. People started seeing me as the silent guy in the corner, and after a while, I started seeing myself that way too.”
“But then Logan offered you a position here,” Mary said, understanding dawning.
“Yeah. Logan and I served together before my injury. He knew what I was capable of, knew that losing some hearing didn’t mean I’d lost my tactical mind or my ability to train others. When he was building LSIMT, he called me up and said he needed someone who understood both field operations and logistics. Someone who could train Keepers and also coordinate the complex moving parts of running a security company.” Bert’s expression softened. “He gave me a second chance to be part of something that mattered. To use my skills in a way that made a difference.”
Mary felt warmth spread through her chest. “He saw you, the same way you see me.”
“I guess he did.” Bert’s eyes met hers, and the intensity there made her breath catch. “I still struggle with it sometimes—the hearing loss. I position myself in rooms so my good ear is toward the conversation. In loud environments like bars or crowded restaurants, I have a hard time distinguishing individual voices from background noise. It’s frustrating as hell.”
“I never would have known,” Mary said honestly. “You seem so... competent. So in control.”
“Same way people would never know about your paralysis if they didn’t see the wheelchair,” Bert pointed out. “We’ve both learned to adapt, to work around our limitations in ways that make them less obvious. But they’re still there, still part of who we are.”
The air between them felt charged, heavy with things unsaid. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it. “Bert,” she said, not even sure what she was going to say.
“I should go,” he said abruptly, pushing to a stand. “It’s late, and you probably want to get settled in.”
Disappointment crashed through Mary, sharp and unexpected. “Okay. Thank you for everything today. And for staying to help.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Bert said, already moving toward the door. “To help you unpack the rest. If that’s okay.”
“That’s more than okay,” Mary said softly. “Thank you.”
He paused in the doorway, turning back to look at her. “Sleep well.”
Then he was gone, and she heard his vehicle start up, and he drove away, fading into the night. Mary rolled back to her living room, surrounded by new furniture and the life she was building, and tried to process what had just happened.
In the months she’d known Bert, he’d become someone special. Someone she looked forward to seeing every day, someone whose opinion mattered, someone who made her laugh, challenged her thinking, and paid attention to the small details of her life.
Someone she was falling for, if she was being honest with herself.
But maybe friendship was all they could be. She knew the statistics, had heard them from well-meaning therapists during her recovery. Relationships were difficult for people with disabilities. Many partners found the reality of life with someone in a wheelchair more challenging than they’d expected. The physical limitations, the accessibility issues, and the constant need to plan and accommodate.
Not many people were cut out for that. And Bert was such a good man, such a good friend. The last thing Mary wanted was to risk that friendship by admitting feelings he might not share or, worse, emotions he might feel obligated to return out of kindness.
She’d take friendship over nothing. A kindred spirit. She’d take his presence in her life, his quiet support, his careful attention to her needs. Even if it meant burying the hope that flickered in her chest every time he smiled at her.
Even if it meant lying awake at night in her new house, in her new bedroom, thinking about blue eyes and calloused hands and a man who saw her in a way no one else did.
12
Four months later
Bert stood in the LSI Montana operations center, staring at the property listing on his phone while trying to convince himself he wasn’t completely losing his mind. The house across the street from Mary’s had just hit the market. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, needed some work but had solid bones. And it was directly across from her front porch.
He’d driven past it every time he’d visited Mary over the past months, which had been often. Helping her hang pictures, fixing a sticky door, setting up her home office, and mowing her grass. Any excuse to spend time with her. And every time he’d passed that lonesome, empty house across the street with its crooked shutters, something in his chest had tightened with possibility.
Now the possibility was real, and Bert needed to talk it through before doing anything impulsive. He wasn’t impulsive by nature. He was careful, methodical, especially where his heart was concerned. And his heart was definitely involved when it came to Mary Smithwick.
The operations center was quieter than usual, with three of their team members deployed. Devlin, Todd, and Cole were in Africa working security at a refugee camp, a mission that would keep them gone for at least another ten days. Several others were off headquarters at the site of a security system design. The remaining Keepers moved through their routines with practiced efficiency.
Bert found Logan in his office, and through the window, he could see Sisco and Landon in the nearby break room. Perfect. He needed all three of them for this conversation.
He knocked on Logan’s doorframe. “Got a minute, boss? And can we grab Sisco and Landon? I need to run something by all of you.”
Logan looked up from the contract he’d been reviewing, and something in Bert’s expression must have given him away because his eyebrows rose. “This sounds serious. Give me two minutes.”