Tristan's Choice (The Darkest Day Series - Book 2)

Chapter 2

Tristan sighed into the hair of the woman in his arms, enjoyed the warm weight of her pressed against him. Mila cuddled in closer to him, mumbling in her sleep, her breath feeling fantastic as it caressed his neck. Just being this close, holding her, enjoying a lazy morning with her, would be enough for a lifetime, he was sure. He could think of nowhere he would rather be.

The phone trilled, assaulting his eardrums, and he groaned, covering his face with his hand. No. His mind resisted getting up, leaving this moment, but all moments must inevitably end.

Mila leaned up, looking at him with amusement twinkling in her eyes. "You going to answer that?" Her smile grew, one side tilted impishly.

"No," he replied, determination in his voice. He pressed his hand tighter, as if that could make the phone stop. It almost seemed to grow in volume, as if annoyed with his inattention.

"It could be important."

"I don't care. I don't want to get up. I don't want this moment to end." A part of him feared the end, that getting up meant losing her, losing this.

Her smile deepened. "All things must end, Tristan."

He flailed his arm, trying to silence his cell phone with a swack. He misjudged and fell off the bed, jarring himself awake. "Wah..."

He looked up around himself, running his hand through his hair, and sighed. It had been a dream. Just a dream.

He answered the phone. "Captain Faulk."

* * *

Tristan straightened his uniform as he sat in his big, black truck, the steering wheel pushed up and out of the way. With the visor pulled down, he checked that his lapels were straight one last time before flipping it up and opening the door with a pop of sound.

The morning sun baked him in his heavy, long-sleeved jacket and pants as he crossed the parking lot to his office. A fine line of sweat formed on his brow. In front of him, the ugly, squat building loomed as his steps ate up the distance.

He stepped up onto the sidewalk, nodding his head as he passed men and women in NSS and NASA uniforms, each looking just as hot and miserable as he did. When he opened the glass doors, the burning metal handle in hand, he paused for a moment to enjoy the gust of cold wind coming from the air conditioner.

He stepped into the building, letting the steel and glass close behind him. Then, he walked to the stairs, his dress shoes clapping against the cheap floor, creating echoes against the walls. He jogged up the flight of steps to his office, his legs burning with the exertion, but it was a good feeling first thing in the morning. Hell, it was good to be in the office.

Because the nature of the NSS meant always being "on" while on active duty, leave tended to be lengthy. He'd been on leave for a couple months now. He figured he was overdue for a new mission and the call from Rear Admiral Ambrose proved it. Tristan had been asked to come in. He had a meeting with his superior tomorrow at two. In the mean time, he probably had a mountain of tasks that had piled up.

The hall he stepped out onto was quiet, but then it usually was. It was the captains' hallway and it didn't tend to get a ton of use. He passed by wooden doors with other captains' names on them before arriving at one that read, "Captain Tristan Faulk." He dug his hand in his pocket, his fingers wrapping around the body-heat-warmed key and unlocked the door.

His office left much to be desired. He spent more time in space or training than here. A scarred desk filled the center of the room, surrounded by two metal guest chairs and an office chair with strained seams. The desk was almost barren, with a phone in one corner and the computer display in its standby position flush to the desktop.