The low hum of conversation mixed with the soft clink of whiskey glasses in Jordan's dining room.
A heavy oak table sat beneath a chandelier that cast warm gold light across scattered poker chips, playing cards, and three half-empty bottles of expensive liquor. Outside, the night pressed against the windows, dark and silent, but inside the house, the atmosphere was anything but.
Jordan sat at the head of the table, a king in his own territory.
At fifty-one, he still carried himself with the same commanding presence that had earned him four stars on his shoulders. His broad frame nearly dwarfed the chair beneath him. Sharp blue eyes studied the cards in his hand while a neatly trimmed layer of gray and white stubble shadowed his jaw. Even off duty, dressed in a crisp white button-up and dark slacks, he looked every bit the general the military trusted with its most difficult decisions.
Unfortunately for him, poker wasn't one of them.
"That's the third terrible hand you've played tonight,"
Leo remarked.
Jordan glanced up.
Across from him sat Leo, impeccably dressed as always. His tailored charcoal suit looked untouched despite several hours of drinking. Gray hair framed a face made sharper by the thin round glasses perched on his nose. His green eyes gleamed with amusement as he organized a stack of chips with precise, almost irritating neatness.
"You say that every round,"
Jordan replied.
"Because every round you prove me right."
Jax barked out a laugh.
Unlike the other two, he looked as though he'd lost a fight with his own wardrobe before arriving. His black suit jacket hung open, white shirt unbuttoned far enough to reveal the collarbone beneath. Dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, interrupted by a distinct gray streak near his temple. His maintained beard did little to hide the grin spreading across his face.
"Hate to agree with the Brit,"
Jax said, tossing two chips into the pot,
"but he's got a point."
Leo adjusted his glasses.
"Did you just call me 'the Brit' after twenty years of friendship?"
"Yes."
"Charming."
"Thank you."
Jordan pinched the bridge of his nose.
For a man trusted to command thousands of soldiers, negotiate military strategy, and handle international crises, spending an evening with these two was somehow the most exhausting part of his week.
The three of them had met under circumstances most people would never understand. Missions, deployments, years spent in places where mistakes had consequences. Somewhere between the danger and the chaos, friendship had formed.
Now they spent their nights arguing over cards and pretending none of them were getting older.
Jax studied the table before slowly pushing a sizable stack of chips forward.
"All in."
Jordan immediately narrowed his eyes.
Leo groaned.
"Oh, that's never a good sign."
"What?"
Jax asked innocently.
"You only make that face when you're bluffing or when you're about to bankrupt one of us."
A slow smile crept across Jax's face.
"Maybe tonight it's both."
The room erupted with laughter.
For a moment, there were no ranks, no responsibilities, no shadows from old missions hanging over their shoulders.
Just three old friends, a poker game, and a night that seemed destined to stay ordinary.
None of them knew that before the night was over, everything was about to change.
