I Live in His Glow
“. . . but I never have and I do not now. I live in his glow.”
Lester’s POV
We’re tied down under heavy gunfire. Ram is doing his best to pick them off, but he can’t move much without giving away his position. Ric will never allow Ram to take fire. We allow Ram to do his thing because he’s a fucking genius with a rifle, and Ric’s adamant about ensuring Ram’s protected.
We need a plan.
We’ve been successful in the objective, which was to completely eliminate an insurgent cell, hiding place and all, but we’re in urban fire now, exactly what we didn’t want. I think about where everyone is and I realize that if we don’t move soon, Ram will take fire. This is where he set up in order to cover us while we took out the cell, and now they’re closing in on him. They’ll stumble on his ass and our best sniper will die. Teigs was enough. Bobby and Ric love Ram. I can’t allow Ram to take fire.
We have minutes to make a decision.
I look over and Bobby signals that he sees four. Tank and Ric are in a blind and I don’t know how to signal to Ric that we need a distraction. Finally I think of one.
“FLAN!”
I see Bobby look at me as if I’m insane, but I get an answer: “NO FUCKING WAY!”
“Cover me,” I reply, motioning for Bobby to stay put. I run out into the open, shake my ass, then run away from Ram. The insurgents immediately spot and fire at me, running for their car. I’m running my ass off, hoping I get away with this one. I hop from one open door to another, ignoring the bullets that find their targets, and basically head around the corner. I hear single shots and screams.
Just as I hoped for. I opened it up for Ram to take his shots and I’m providing ‘cover’ confusion to hide his position.
“Cover me,” I hear Ric call, and I know he got it. He’s running in the opposite direction and I hear more gunfire and more single shots. Three sets this time. Ric and I keep running, occasionally calling, “Cover me,” and the gunfire slows.
I peep out of my current hiding spot and smile. “Glad to see you remembered.”
“Fucking insane plan,” Ric grouses, collapsing to his knees. I see three bullets and I quickly dig them out and bandage his leg and arm. He does the same for me. We wait and finally we start hearing, “Clear.”
Bobby and Tank, checking doorways and clearing a path to us. They finally find the bombed out building we’re in and Bobby quickly checks us both and patches us up with flexible bandages.
“Sinclair?” Ric calls into the microphone.
“One moment, sir.” Ram strides in, still clearly scouting for the enemy, and takes a watchful position at the door.
“You OK, Sinclair?” Ric asks.
“Sir, yes, sir,” Sinclair answers, still scouting, “but we need to move from this building. There’s a bomb on the first floor.”
My eyes are wide and I stand, testing my leg. Ric checks his and we nod at Bobby. Tank and Bobby take point getting us back to base. We collapse on the cots and sigh. Ram’s out immediately, Bobby checking him over to make sure he’s OK.
“Flan?” Tank asks.
Ric smirks and tells them the flan story. Tank and Bobby laugh.
“Figures. You two will do anything for sugar,” Bobby says.
Ric and I look at each other and smile.
Me, Ric, Tank, and Bobby are known as the ‘Four Shades of Death’. We’re always successful in the mission objectives. We can be given what, for most Ranger units, would be a death order and come back barely singed.
If we have nine lives, we’re using them up fast.
We acquire a small group of loyal ‘followers’, for lack of better term. If Ric determines we need a man with special skills to carry out the mission’s objective, then the brass hustles to get us what we want. We interview for special skills and keep men who are successful, smart, brave, and both independent and good at following orders.
Men like Ram Sinclair, the uber-sniper. Ric refuses to loan him out to anyone. Ram is ours. He’s the only man in our crew that Ric is determined to protect at all costs and I don’t blame him. If we loan Ram out, we’ll never get him back. His rep is that good. Ric makes sure that Ram gets all his awards and medals. He’s saved our asses too many times for it not to be recognized.
The day Ram qualifies as a member of the President’s Hundred, Ric arranges for Ram to get some decent leave at home. Ram got nearly a month of leave. First time in 26 months and he deserved every minute Ric arranged.
After Teigs, Ram is pretty much a solo operator but eventually Ric, nervous about having him out there on his own, finally finds the perfect spotter for him. Armando Cortes, a Marine trained in counter-sniper techniques, joins the troop for a while. Mando is also a skilled coxswain and talented at tying knots, a skill we didn’t fully appreciate until Tank nearly falls over a cliff. Mando quickly and expertly ties a series of alpine butterfly knots that allowed us to attach carabiners to a rope to haul him back over. We all sit back and pant, Tank spread eagle on the ground (he still refuses to admit he was kissing it), and Ric looks at Mando.
“Miami?”
“Fell over the side a few times until I learned to attach myself to the boat,” Mando replies, a half smile on his face. We all chuckle.
Mando teaches us to tie 60 different knots. The man knows his knots.
Mark Phillips is the fly boy. Mark can fly anything, anywhere, under any circumstances. He has nerves of steel and a way of flying a helicopter, an Apache, a Blackhawk, doesn’t matter. If he can put it up in the air he owns it. We completed an objective from the crew section of a Blackhawk once because Mark flew like a man possessed. We tied ourselves to the helo, Mark flew like crazy man, and Mando set up a Fast Rope that allowed us to descend onto the top of the building while Ram, Joran, Junior, and Ches D provided cover fire.
The last man to join our special unit is Orlando Manega. We need a bomb expert and Orlando is the one. Somehow, even in the worst circumstances, Orlando has steady hands and the ability to calculate and mix bomb components on the fly. His ability to set things on fire reminds me of the Italian Mafia back in Jersey. He has the knack for making bridges crumble, potholes surface, and smoke screens appear just as we need them.
We learn that if you see a bomb technician running, try to keep up with him. Something’s about to happen.
Even better, he’s skilled at identifying and disabling explosive devices. Orlando becomes a true member of the troop when he disables a Shaheed belt without protective gear, an insane thing to do but we had a time crunch. The protective gear would take an hour to arrive and we had two hours to complete the objective. My plan needed every minute of those two hours and each man knew it.
Tank had a real problem with Orlando’s sudden discovery of his balls.
“Manega! Get your ass back here!”
Orlando paused, turned, and looked at Tank and Ric. Terror was clear on his face but so was resolve. “Sir, if I don’t, ten men will die because one was a coward.” Orlando approached the insurgent and disabled the belt.
Ric and Tank put him through hell for disobeying orders but from that moment on, Orlando became Tank’s right hand man and Ric, amused, arranged to have the bomb technician with more balls than sense attached to our unit.
Still, we chafe at military orders. The generals rarely know their asses from a foxhole, the intel is damn near always faulty, and the enemy is never where we expect him. We’re sick of damn near dying because of our intelligence service’s stupidity.
I always ask what Mossad thinks. The CIA handlers are always pissed at my insistence but I’ve learned: CIA stands for ‘Can’t Instigate Anything’ or ‘Caught In the Act’. Mossad always knows who’s doing what because they don’t give a fuck. They’ll bomb anyone to make sure Israel stays safe. Their intelligence is always good. Not great but much better than the crap the CIA hands us. Ric and I can make plans off that.
Our reputation is solid and unassailable. We’re approached by private ‘security’ companies to join their outfits, but after we start drilling into the sales pitch we realize we would simply be exchanging one set of idiots for another. Ric starts toying with the idea of starting our own group and we consider it. I realize that, at some point, we’ll get old and tired and we won’t have the strength and stamina we do now. We’ve been doing this for nearly four years. I mean, we’re in our mid-to-late twenties, but this won’t last long. Bobby, especially, is determined to get out before he hits 30.
“Why not start a firm of our own?” Bobby asks. It’s nearing zero dark and we’re tired. We should be asleep but we talk about this damn near every night.
Should we stay or should we go?
Ric and I write out advantages and disadvantages and, after one firefight goes spectacularly wrong for another squad, we really start planning it. Losses? 80%, including Joran and Orlando. Ranger, under pressure, loaned them out. It was the first and last time he ever did that to any man under his command. We grieved for months (really, years) and he made them all a solemn promise: He would never break up our unit. He refused to allow us to die needlessly under someone else’s command.
Meanwhile, we decide to resign our commissions when Tank’s contract is up. Then we run into a snag: The military doesn’t want to let Tank go.
We do the research: As a Ranger-trained Staff Sergeant, Tank’s a precious commodity. Add in his skills in leadership development and his position as a second to one of the most brilliant black-ops commanders in the military, and they’ll do anything to keep him. We’re all valuable, but Tank, even more than Ric, is especially valuable. The Army isn’t making enough Staff Sergeants to offset the men killed, retired, or failed during RAP week. They’d prefer to keep Tank and shift him to the 3rd Battalion as a Ranger Instructor.
For Tank, it’s a dream come true too late. Maybe a year or two earlier he might have made the transition but now, he’s ready to leave.
It takes an extra six months after we make the decision for all of us to be honorably discharged. Tank was last and Ric worried about his discharge until the day Tank called to say it had been approved. We tell the men serving under us that we’re leaving too. Most are leaving with us but Ram will remain for three years. Ric arranges to have him reassigned to a safer unit, for which Ram is quietly grateful. The race to get him into another Ranger unit was on. Ric tells Ram to send him a message the moment he gets out.
We’ll have a job waiting for him.
We name the company RangeMan, after all of us. We are all Rangers and this is ours, but Ric adopts the nickname ‘Ranger’. We realized that he was already well-known in Miami as either Ric or el Tigre and that wouldn’t work. Ric was personal, the name we call him amongst ourselves. El Tigre is the unwelcome reminder of another lifetime and he’s put that well behind him. Bobby and I consider adopting a pseudonym before deciding it’s unnecessary.
We accept only the best and our first three RangeMan recruit classes are the best of the best. Men we served with, like Mando, Mark, and Junior are immediately hired. The business is booming. We started off small, and it ballooned faster than we expected. In order to ensure we have the money we need, Ranger and I occasionally take small assignments overseas and we take assignments all over as a group. Our willingness to put ourselves in danger builds the coffers fast.
Ranger’s a brilliant manager. Tank picks the right men, I choose the right product offerings, and Bobby builds the ‘brotherhood’ and ensures the men gel. The branch is brilliant.
We get an unexpected visitor three days after our first anniversary.
“Ro—” He shakes his head violently and I nod. “Piman.” He smiles. “Good to see you.”
“Lester.” We shake and I welcome him in, minus his guards. He motions for them to sit and I take him to see Ranger. Ranger’s happy to see him and they hole up in his office for two hours. After, Piman leaves and Ranger smiles.
“Intel source,” he says, and our eyes widen. “They’ll pass us info when they hear something we need to know. He’ll keep his men separate from us, but he’d prefer some cooperation. I agreed.”
We nod. After that, our ability to pull men from the streets is exponentially easier and our contracts explode. We nearly can’t handle the contracts we pull from the government so we take on silent partners who run the company for us while we’re overseas. Even better, they bring extra money to the firm and it helps defray costs.
Our reputations, our near-perfect success rate, and our expense (as compared to larger, more bloated operations) make us an ideal ’boutique’ outfit. The government comes calling. We accept the contracts. We make the RangeMan name.
Ranger wasn’t lying about Miami. We’ve been here for a year and the women flock to me and Bobby. They ignore Ranger and Tank. Well, they don’t ignore them but they don’t get as much play as Bobby and I do. I’m stunned. That’s never happened before.
Bobby laughs. “What? You think Latinos don’t have a ‘color’ problem?” he asks. I look at him, confused and he shakes his head. “You have a color problem as bad as blacks do, but you pretend it doesn’t exist. Think about all the Hispanics you see on TV then think about the color range you see in Miami.” He snickers. “Lots of Lesters on TV, very very few Rangers. Hell, not even the telenovelas have dark actors unless they’re in menial roles or they’re playing the bad guy.”
I sit back, sobered. No wonder Ranger’s not that into dating. He has Amanda, his ‘mistress’ for lack of a better term, but he’s not big on dating. I assumed it was because of Rachel, but I realize that Miami made Ranger bitter on women. It was clear when he came back to Newark for school but I didn’t pick up on what that was really about.
Women down here act as if he should be grateful they’re allowing him to be in their presence. They expect expensive dinners and gifts on the first date. They act that way with me and Bobby but we flip it on them: If you expect that, we have a list of sexual favors you should be prepared to provide. If you’re whoring yourself out to us for a night, then expect to be treated like a whore.
Those kinds of women learn to avoid us.
We club and party and find the right women. The kind who find us interesting. The kind who are interested in seeing us the next morning for breakfast. The kind who don’t expect gifts. As Bobby says, the kind who see more than a wallet.
We meet Amanda and we like her. She’s a model, a swimsuit model, and she’s pretty but stupid. Empty-headed. No thoughts beyond her tan, her waist measurement, and Ranger’s dick and she definitely takes care of his dick. Ranger pays for her apartment and that’s not a bad decision for him right now. Someone to take care of immediate needs. Amanda isn’t a bad choice for Ranger but she’s not the one for him.
I see, however, that she intends to change that.
“I expect her to come up with a condom failure for you soon, primo,” I warn him. Ranger stares at me. “Swimsuit models have a limited lifespan. Unless she transitions into print or runway, there’ll always be a newer, prettier model.”
Ranger snorts. “Tank said the same thing.” I smile. If we’ve both said it, then I’m sure Bobby will say it soon. Ranger’s been warned.
Amanda announces she’s pregnant six months later. Ranger tells her that Bobby will examine her and ensure it. She ducks Bobby’s exam until it’s clear she’s not pregnant. That’s just about the time the renewal for her apartment comes up.
Ranger doesn’t renew it. Amanda begs, pleads, and strips naked in the middle of RangeMan Miami, trying to make Ranger jealous. Ranger hands her a sarong and calls a cab. After that, Ranger pretty much steers clear of women.
The men of RangeMan Miami wait to see if it’s really over between him and her. Once it’s clear that he’s really cut her off, they start dating her. Well, Amanda has a series of dates with them. The men realize that Ranger really doesn’t care. When it’s over for him, it’s over. She’s free and single and if they want her, they better be willing to pay for her.
It takes Amanda six months to realize that Ranger really doesn’t give a damn. He’s not going to order the men not to date her. She’s single. If she wants to fuck his employees, she’s free to. And she does. She runs through at least 20 of them before finally calling it quits and moving to California.
I finally see it. Ranger has had enough disappointment and betrayal. He’s becoming an island unto himself, like Tank. Those two will need a miracle to draw them from their shells.
I could have remained in Miami forever. The branch was brilliant and tight-knit. The location was wonderful, the women spectacular, and the business climate was wonderful to minority-owned businesses.
Ranger and I become the face of RangeMan in Miami. Bobby gives us intensive courses in the sort of stuff we never learned, the stuff he grew up knowing. We take a few quick jaunts to London and have suits and tuxedos custom tailored. Bobby prefers to have his favorite cologne custom curated in Paris, but we each choose a commercial equivalent. Bobby’s only instruction: Each man has to have something different. We learn all the little rules for etiquette and when we dine out, we’re superstars. We can conduct business anywhere but we’re still ourselves.
We’re still deadly. We’re still comfortable on the streets.
Eventually Ranger gets wanderlust for a new branch and, after thinking about it, I agree. I think somewhere in Texas would be the perfect next branch, but we open the idea up to the men. Mark suggests Boston. We stare at him.
“Why Boston?”
“Bookend the country, sir. Plus we have a reputation among financial services clients. Our Miami branch has given us the edge. Boston is full of financial institutions. We can go set that branch up and get it operating pretty quickly.”
Ranger and Tank scout both San Antonio and Boston. They return to Miami in agreement with Mark: Boston is an easy setup. Boston will be next.
We take Mark to Boston with us. I would have preferred to leave Mark. I’ve never seen such slavish devotion to anyone before in my life, but Ranger likes Mark. It was his idea and it was a good one. Turns out, Mark is right; we have Boston up and running in six months, our shortest time frame ever. Ranger sees Mark running the Boston office at the end.
Tank, Bobby, and I are all at a loss on that one. Correction: Bobby and I are at a loss. Tank’s not and he’s pissed. He clearly wants to break Mark, but I keep watching and thinking and I get it: Mark is Ranger without all the mistakes. Without juvie, without the gang affiliation, without the baby. Mark is Ranger if he had not made small, but critical, errors in his life (not that Julie is a mistake. Julie was just too soon.).
I tell Tank this and Tank nods. “I know that. Still, Mark’s a fucking nuisance.” I agree but Mark’s also trustworthy, loyal, and smart. He’s determined to ensure that whatever orders Ranger gives are carried out exactly. We can give Mark orders and not think about it ever again. It’s a godsend when we take contracts for missions. We can come back and Mark will present the company’s state. Just as we left it, with some modest growth. Ranger’s always pleased with Mark’s work and effort and so am I.
I just wish he wasn’t so determined to try to leapfrog to Ranger’s side. I’ve been displaced by the perfect person and I’ll accept that. Mark?
Not a fucking chance.
Still, I’m bored and I don’t have much to do now that I’m out of the Army. I make occasional jaunts back to Trenton to fuck with Tomas, now the Inca there, but otherwise, I need something to do.
I start taking assignments on my own, incredible adrenaline rush assignments, and Ranger starts thinking I have a death wish. Nope. I just need something to do. Ranger takes assignments that are deadly but boring. My assignments require skill and bravery. Planning. Intel gathering. Assessment. I tan, Ranger and I grow beards, and we infiltrate Pakistani society, something extremely dangerous and difficult because everything is tribal. Family connections matter, but we’re good at portraying ourselves as Egyptians. It works. Our intel is always better than what the CIA can get and we’re in and out fast. The insurgents usually think we’re fellow insurgents and, as a group, they’re chatty. They tell you damn near anything.
Ranger casualties go down thanks to our willingness to take suicide missions. We hear rumbles about being added to the 75th Ranger Regiment Wall of Honor once we hit the three-year mark.
Still, Ranger’s not interested in this as much. I am. I’m fucking with people’s minds, my favorite place to be. The mind of an insurgent is full of amazing contradictions. It’s a shrink’s wet dream! Coming back stateside is always a letdown. I hole up in Newark, let my mother feed me, and try to figure out why I’m never satisfied.
I’m never satisfied. I always want more. I need something more to do.
Bobby signs me up for psychology classes at the local college.
“I have enough to do, bro,” I reply. He smirks.
“You need an outlet. Go figure out how to fuck with people’s heads on a professional level.”
I perk up. That sounds like a new hobby. I take the classes and I enjoy them. I subscribe to Psychology Today and pick up hints. I read books and start thinking about how to incorporate this in my daily life.
Bobby is smug because this new hobby of mine dovetails his profession. He stitches ’em up, I fuck with their heads. Tank picks up a Psychology Today and he and I finally have something to truly bond over. Tank is concerned with making sure the men are cared for. I’m interested in screwing with their minds. We talk, debate theory and carve out spheres. I leave the men alone unless Tank feels there’s a need for me to get involved. I’m allowed to screw with the clients. I subscribe to professional journals and Tank and I have a ‘discussion’ about borrowing privileges. I like to read on the toilet. Tank reads in the tub. Ric and Bobby look at each other and shake their heads at us.
As usual, my RB has provided me with just what I need. We read books on interior decorating, I call in a decorator to redo the Miami office and we get started. Ranger thinks this is one of the weirdest ideas I’ve ever had but he gives me a budget to do it. The decorator (Alina. 5’8″, 135 pounds, C cups, only wears thongs, likes waffles the morning after) and I redo Miami. I remind her that the men have to work here every day so it has to be someplace comforting and soothing for them (Ranger mandates no pink. Alina goes back to the drawing board), but we need to be able to manipulate clients.
Ranger realizes the advantages to my new hobby after we manage to renew a contentious contract at 15% instead of 10% as he was expecting. The room smelled of cookies, it was 1500 (halfway between lunch and dinner) and the client was feeling hungry, comfortable, and intimidated all at once. I could’ve gotten 20% but that would have exposed the plan.
Tank and I are smug. Ranger sighs, gives me another budget for Boston, and sends me off.
I head to Boston and redo Boston (Carolyn. 5’6″, 130 pounds, only wears stilettos and demi-cup bras that show off her nice perky nipples. Disgusted by my love of Manhattan clam ‘chowdah’). Mark has managed to grow the office at a nice rate and the men are loyal and hard-working. I completely intimidate them without Tank or Ranger around and I renew contracts at much higher rates than they were getting. Still, Mark’s doing a damn good job. The office is growing fast.
I hate him but he’s good.
I return to Miami and Ranger is thinking about buying two new offices, one in NYC, one in Atlanta. We scout out Atlanta first and purchase it from our silent partners. We purchase NYC six months later. This has increased our debt to $10 million, but the four of us (now nicknamed Leadership Core) take a few assignments overseas to bring it down to $5 million. Ranger hires the world’s nerdiest accountant, Ryan, who restructures the remaining debt and we start paying it off from the profits. We’re barely taking a salary trying to ensure the men are paid and have everything they need, but RangeMan is growing.
Four branches and I’m barely 29.
“Trenton,” Ranger says.
I shake my head. “San Antonio.” Tank and Bobby are watching us. We’re arguing over which office to set up next. I’m sick of snow.
“Why?”
“We just bought NYC. Trenton’s an hour away. That’s too close. Plus we already have Boston up there. If we don’t choose something in the Mid-Atlantic, let’s go back down south. Another branch up north is too close.”
“Trenton would give us a toehold in Philly and Delaware and augment NYC. NYC is a beast on its own. Trenton would allow us to cover the north of Jersey.”
I sigh. Point but I still think it’s too close.
“Got a yearning for home?” I ask.
Ranger’s eyes darken. “No. This is business. I’m thinking about Philly, Delaware, and the fact that Baltimore isn’t that far away. The beginnings of the DC toehold. That’s why I want to get it up and staffed now. It shouldn’t take us long. You have any other reason besides that you’re sick of snow?”
Honestly, no, so I give. Trenton’s next.
We’re in the car headed to Newark for a family dinner. Ranger has no interest in this and neither do I. Papa called me.
“Get him here. We don’t care how.”
So I drag Ranger with me. We park at my parents and enter the house. The entire family rushes us and we’re hugged and scolded. Ric’s put his blank face on.
“Ric, it’s about time you came home,” Celia says, bouncing her baby on her hip. I tickle him under his chin and get a handful of drool for my trouble.
“Celia.”
“Hey little bro,” Alex says, attempting to hug Ric. It’s awkward. Alex is fat and Ric isn’t bending. Alex is a successful accountant and married with four kids. I’m suddenly aware of how many kids there are in this house. Jesus Christ. My balls tighten. Everything from 3 months to 14 years is represented here. I feel like putting on a condom, just on principle.
“Alex.” Ric is ice cold and the entire family gets quiet as they realize that time and space have not made Ric any warmer. Papa looks at me and I shrug. My mission was to get him here. I hope Abuela Rosa is here.
She is, and my Abuela Leonor too, and they come out hugging us, pinching our cheeks and lamenting how thin and scarred we are. Ric and I share a smile. We’re both around 180 pounds of solid muscle. Thin? Grandma-vision is definitely selective.
We sit down to dinner and, after grace, the entire family immediately starts trying to find out more about RangeMan and what we’re doing. We say nothing. It’s a security company. That’s all they need to know.
They ask about Julie and Ranger is silent. He gives out absolutely no information on Julie. Rachel remarried and her remarriage finally allowed her to thaw to Ranger. She invited him to Miami and, although I have no idea what went down, Ranger came back happier and with pictures of Julie. She’s a beautiful little girl and I told Ranger I was having heartburn on his behalf. Julie will have to fight the boys off with a stick when she’s old enough.
Ranger paled. I grinned and told him that a boy like me or him was out there somewhere.
I woke up with a concussion and Bobby laughing his ass off at my misfortune. Tank looked at me and grinned. “Idiot,” he said.
Still, this dinner is not going well. Conversation is stilted and no one knows what to say. I’m trying to keep a conversation going with my Abuela, but they want to know more about Ric. I finally realize that I keep my parents up-to-date with my life but no one has any information on Ric. This dinner isn’t about me.
It’s about Ric. As usual.
Finally, Abuela Rosa produces dessert, a flan. Ric and I grin at the sight and I look at him.
“FLAN!” The entire table jumps.
Ric starts laughing and he laughs until the tears are rolling down his cheeks. Finally, he looks at me. “NO EFFING WAY!”
We’re both cracking up now and the entire family looks at us. Ric gets up from the table, takes the flan from her hands, and looks at me. “Get the forks and the Kool-Aid.” Abuela Rosa snatches the flan back, the entire table breaks into laughter and we all sit down and enjoy the flan.
I tell the tale of the ‘Flan escape’, heavily edited of course, and the entire table is rolling. Ric is shaking his head. “Most insane thing we ever did.”
“Nah, but it’s in the top five,” I reply.
“Which ‘Flan escape’? The one at six? Or the one in the Army?” Papa asks.
Ric and I look at each other and shrug. Both were insane. Both required us to back each other. Both were a team effort.
Ric is my cousin and best friend. It will always be us against the world. We’ll back each other, fight any enemy, laugh and cry together.
Nothing will ever break us. Ever.
“Your truest friends are the ones who will stand by you in your darkest moments-because they’re willing to brave the shadows with you-and in your greatest moments-because they’re not afraid to let you shine.”—Nicole Yatsonsky
Great chapter, one of the best so far. And loved the quote.