Chapter 2: The Best Friend

Mark Coleman knew how to smile without meaning it.

It was a skill he had perfected in the academy.

Across the grand hall, he watched Raymond Stone walk away from the dance floor, posture crisp, expression unreadable.

But Mark had known Raymond for ten years.

He recognised that look.

Interest.

Dangerous interest.

Mark sipped from his glass slowly.

Beside him, Lieutenant Sean Carter followed his line of sight.

“Is that her?” Sean asked quietly.

“Yes,” Mark replied.

“General Watson’s daughter?”

Mark nodded once.

Sean let out a low whistle. “Ray doesn’t play small, does he?”

Mark didn’t answer.

He was watching Tricia.

The way she stood still after the dance.

The way she looked toward the exit where Raymond had disappeared.

Not confusion.

Not politeness.

Something softer.

Something that tightened like a blade beneath Mark’s ribs.

Mark had grown up with Raymond.

Same training camp. Same punishments. Same ambition.

Raymond had always been the better one.

Stronger in combat.

Sharper in strategy.

Promoted faster.

Chosen first.

Mark told himself he didn’t care.

But he did.

And now the General’s daughter?

No.

That would make Raymond untouchable.

Sean nudged him. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Mark’s smile returned,  smooth and harmless.

“I don’t think anymore,” he said calmly. “I act.”

Across the hall, Tricia excused herself for air.

Mark watched her leave.

Then he finished his drink and followed.

                  

Outside, the night was cooler.

The base lights glowed against the dark sky.

Tricia stood near the stone railing, arms folded slightly.

“Escaping already?” Mark’s voice was gentle.

She turned.

“Oh. Hi.”

He stepped closer but left respectful space.

“I’m Mark. Raymond’s… best friend.”

There it was.

Her posture shifted just slightly.

“Best friend?”

“For years,” he said easily. “He doesn’t let many people close.”

She studied him.

He was different from Raymond.

Warmer smile. Softer voice.

Less intense.

“Should I be concerned?” she asked lightly.

“About Raymond?”

“Yes.”

Mark chuckled softly. “Only if you enjoy danger.”

That caught her attention.

“Danger?”

“Raymond is… focused. When he wants something, he goes after it.”

Her heartbeat picked up again.

“Am I something?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Mark tilted his head thoughtfully.

“Yes.”

The honesty startled her.

He stepped a little closer.

“But you should know something.”

“What?”

“When Ray decides, he doesn’t consider the consequences.”

There was something subtle in Mark’s tone.

Something that sounded like a warning.

Or jealousy.

“Why tell me that?” she asked carefully.

“Because,” Mark replied smoothly, “I care about him.”

And that was true.

In his own twisted way.

A distant voice interrupted.

“Mark.”

Sean had stepped outside.

His expression,  unreadable.

“Briefing in ten.”

Mark’s gaze lingered on Tricia a second longer.

“It was nice meeting you,” he said politely.

He turned away.

But before leaving fully, he paused.

“Be careful with him.”

And then he walked into the night.

After that  night, nothing was restrained anymore.

There were no cautious glances.

No measured distance.

No pretending.

Raymond and Tricia didn’t fall into love.

They accelerated into it.

She stopped going home regularly.

At first, she would say, “I’ll just stay tonight.”

Then it became, “I left some clothes here.”

Then she had a drawer.

Then half the wardrobe.

Then she didn’t ask anymore.

Raymond didn’t either.

Her laughter filled his quiet house.

Her sandals lived by his doorway.

Her perfume lingered in his sheets.

He had always lived with discipline, structured mornings, ordered nights.

Now she disrupted everything.

And he let her.

They went everywhere together.

Late-night drives with music too loud and windows down.

Coffee shops where she sketched him across the table.

Formal dinners where his hand rested possessively at her waist.

Small roadside restaurants where nobody saluted him,  and he became just Raymond.

She discovered he laughed more than anyone on base realised.

He discovered she was stubborn when teased.

They argued about trivial things. They made up in seconds.

They couldn’t seem to stay irritated. Or apart.

The chemistry between them wasn’t polite anymore.

It was constant. Charged.

Walking past her meant touching her.

Cooking dinner meant pulling her against him.

Even silence felt intimate.

One night after a charity event, she kicked off her heels the moment they stepped inside his house.

“My feet are at war,” she groaned.

He loosened his tie slowly, watching her.

“You look beautiful when you complain.”

She rolled her eyes, but the air had already shifted.

The kind of shift that neither of them pretended not to notice anymore.

He crossed the room in two strides. Her back met the wall softly.

“Raymond,” she warned,  but her fingers were already gripping his shirt.

“Yes?”

“You’re staring again.”

“Because you’re mine.”

The possessiveness in his voice didn’t frighten her.

It ignited her.

Her answer wasn’t verbal.

She kissed him,  deliberate, demanding.

Everything between them had grown bold.

Their intimacy,  no longer tentative.

It was knowing. Unapologetic.

They moved toward each other like magnets,  unstoppable, inevitable.

When he lifted her, she laughed against his mouth.

When they collapsed into sheets hours later, breathless and tangled, she traced the scar near his eyebrow.

“What are we doing?” she murmured.

“Exactly what we want,” he replied.

There was no fear in it.

No second-guessing.

Just certainty.

                  

Everyone noticed in the base.

They walked into rooms like a unit. Shared glances across crowded halls.

Touched constantly without realising it.

It wasn’t an affair anymore. It was an attachment.

And attachment changed Raymond.

He was still sharp. Still commanding.

But softer around her.

Protective in ways that bordered on territorial.

If she stepped away, his eyes followed.

If she laughed with someone else, he drifted closer.

He trusted her. He didn’t trust the world around her.

And Mark saw every single shift.

One afternoon, while she was barefoot in his kitchen stealing strawberries from the fridge, his phone vibrated repeatedly on the counter.

He ignored it.

She didn’t.

“It’s your commanding officer.”

He stiffened slightly. And took the call.

She knew immediately it wasn’t routine.

His posture straightened.

His tone cooled.

“Yes, sir… Understood… Deployment timeline?... Yes, sir.”

When he hung up, the silence in the kitchen felt heavy.

“What?” she asked quietly.

He looked at her like he was deciding how to say it.

“I’ve been reassigned.”

Her stomach dropped.

“Where?”

“Another state. Internal peacekeeping.”

“How long?”

“Initially, four to six months.”

The words hit harder than expected.

Another state sounded close enough to be manageable.

But far enough to hurt.

“You’re leaving the base?”

“In five days.”

Five.

It felt too small.

Too soon.

She set the strawberries down. Walked toward him.

“You just… go?”

“It’s my job.”

She knew that. She had always known that.

But knowing something and feeling it are different wars.

She pressed her forehead against his chest.

“You hate distance,” she said softly.

“Yes.”

“And I hate not seeing you.”

He exhaled through his nose, jaw tight.

“I’ll come back on leave.”

“It’s not the same.”

“No,” he agreed. It wasn’t.

That night, they didn’t leave the house.

Didn’t answer calls.

Didn’t care about whispers.

They memorised each other in quiet ways.

The sound of breathing.

The rhythm of hands.

The way mornings felt.

They didn’t speak much.

Because neither wanted to admit how much it mattered.

On departure day, she stood beside his car in the early morning light.

No crowd.

No ceremony.

Just the two of them.

“This is temporary,” he said.

“You don’t do temporary.”

“Then I won’t make this temporary.”

Her throat tightened.

He pulled her into him, firm, protective, lingering longer than necessary.

“You’re not replacing me with your paintings while I’m gone,” he muttered near her ear.

She almost laughed through tears.

“Come back,” she whispered.

“I always do.”

He kissed her once more.

Then got into the vehicle.

She watched until it disappeared beyond the gate.

And for the first time since they had begun, the space beside her felt unbearable.

Across the compound, unseen, Mark watched her standing there alone.

And this time…

He didn’t look conflicted.

He looked ready.

                     

One afternoon, while leaving the grocery store, she almost bumped into Mark.

“Oh  sorry,” he said quickly.

She relaxed when she recognised him.

“Mark.”

“How are you holding up?” he asked gently.

It wasn’t intrusive.

It wasn’t smug.

It sounded concerned.

“I’m managing,” she answered.

“Distance isn’t easy.”

“No,” she admitted.

He nodded sympathetically.

“If you need anything… anything at all, I’m here.”

She hesitated.

But Mark had always been kind.

Measured.

Raymond’s best friend.

“Thank you,” she said.

He didn’t push further.

Didn’t linger too long.

Just walked her to her car and left.

That restraint made him seem safe.

Familiar.

Trustworthy.

Later that night, while sitting alone in Raymond’s living room, she found herself replaying the conversation.

Not because she felt something for Mark.

But because he was present.

And presence matters when someone else is miles away.