Pathfinders, 1
Anton Bateman made the ultimate sacrifice to protect the man he loved—faking his own death to shield Blake Graham from a lethal betrayal. Now, three years later, the shadows he tried to outrun have caught up with him. The cartel he helped dismantle is rising again, and they’ve stolen something even more precious: the children Blake was sworn to protect.
Blake thought Anton was dead. Finding out he’s alive—and at the helm of a covert fortress built by mercenaries—isn’t even the biggest shock. As bullets fly and secrets unravel, the past they buried ignites into something explosive, tender, and terrifyingly real.
With two vulnerable children caught in the crossfire, a team of elite soldiers with ghosts of their own, and enemies closing in from all sides, Anton and Blake must navigate a world built on lies to find something true. Love. Family. A second chance.
But surviving the truth may be more dangerous than dying with the lie.
Breaking Contact is a high-octane, heart-rending military romance full of sharp banter, deep scars, and a love worth fighting for—again.
Be Warned: m/m sex
Excerpt:
“LT!”
Bateman looked up.
Marsh grinned, pleased to finally land the punchline. “Your husband’s at the gate.”
He froze.
His mind stalled, whirling. This … this was not part of the plan. Or it was, just not now.
As soon as the compound was operational, Bateman had intended to go to Blake—approach him carefully, slowly. Win him back one truthful word at a time. There would be apologies. Groveling. Maybe even flowers, if Marsh didn’t tease him to death first. Blake was the other half of his soul, and Bateman knew—he knew—that he could earn forgiveness. Eventually. Any other outcome was unacceptable.
Hell, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew that things might have changed for Blake. He’d even imagined scenarios where Blake had moved on. Those ended with bruised fists, some potential body-hiding, and a lot of vodka. But it didn’t matter now.
Because Blake had come to him.
How the hell had he even known where to come?
Heart hammering, Bateman stood so fast his chair crashed against the wall behind him. He stalked toward the door, then stopped abruptly.
“What the hell am I going to say to him?”
Marsh blinked. “No idea, LT. But from the radio chatter, you better think fast—he’s currently informing Dale of every creative thing he’s going to do to him if you don’t get your ass down there quick smart.”
Bateman groaned. “Colorful?”
“Disturbingly so. He threatened to pull Dale’s throat out through his spleen and make him eat it. I’m not even sure that’s physically possible.”
Bateman grinned. “Blake’s a nurse. Graduated top of his class. If he says it’s possible, it probably is.”
He stepped outside. The sounds of construction rang across the property—hammers, power tools, shouted orders from Riley’s team. The rhythmic noise calmed him. This place was real. A future built with blood, bone, and concrete.
And Blake was already a part of it—even if he didn’t know that yet.
Riley Marksman, perched on the tailgate of his truck with a thermos in hand, raised an eyebrow as Bateman passed, making his way to his own truck.
“I’m telling you, baby,” Riley said into his phone. “Bateman’s husband curses like a poet raised by sailors.” He spotted Bateman and grinned. “Yeah, he’s headed down there now. No, I don’t think he would appreciate me taking the phone down to the gate for you and Finn to enjoy the fireworks. And I’m not slowing him down—he’s got his murder face on.”
Bateman flipped him off without breaking stride.
Riley just laughed.
When he reached the gate and parked his truck to the side of the driveway, as soon as he turned the motor off, he heard his husband. Blake’s voice carried over the distance—sharp and furious.
“Look here, you giant piece of shit,” Blake was snarling at Dale, apparently not giving a shit that Dale towered over him. “If you don’t turn your gargantuan ass around and get Anton to come out here now, I’m going to surgically remove your spine with a dessert spoon and beat you unconscious with it! Do you hear me, you goddamn shit-eating son of a diseased camel!”
“Yes, sir,” Dale replied calmly. “At the volume you’re using, I’d say the entire county of Redwood Falls heard you. The neighbors are five miles out, but I bet Nate at the sheriff’s office is already logging the noise complaint.”
“I will not step foot on that land!” Blake growled. “Every legal attempt I’ve made to cut ties with that man has mysteriously vanished.” Bateman sent a silent prayer of thanks to Marsh and his mostly legal, but sometimes not so much system hacking. “I’m terrified that if I even breathe the same air over that fence, I’ll legally own half the damn place.”
Bateman smirked. Blake already did own some of this place. Not that now was the time to mention it.
“I’m here, Blake,” he said, stepping into view.
Blake jerked, turning slowly at the sound of his voice.
When their eyes met, something shifted in Bateman’s chest—something old and broken and aching for repair. Blake looked good. Even furious, he was stunning—dark-blond curls, warm brown eyes, face set in cold fury. Bateman’s fingers twitched, desperate to touch, to feel that he was real.
“Anton,” Blake said icily. “Nice of you to join me. In fact, that’s exactly what I came to ask you.”
Hope surged. “You want me to join you?”
Blake’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Not the way you’re thinking. I’m not here for a reunion. I’m here to take you to the courthouse. Or a lawyer. You pick.”
Bateman blinked. “What for?” Maybe—just maybe—Blake was here for more than paperwork. Maybe he could still build a bridge over the chasm that stretched between them.
Blake’s jaw tightened. “I want a divorce, Anton.” And then again, maybe not.
Just like that, the world tilted beneath his feet.
“I have filed twice in the past few months. The paperwork’s mysteriously vanished. Your death certificate? Gone. But don’t worry—I kept a copy. I buried you, Anton. And now I need to bury what’s left of us.”
Blake wanted to divorce him. Bateman barely processed the rest—just the ringing in his ears and the cold weight in his gut.
He forced a breath through his nose and stepped forward. “Then I guess you’d better come inside.”
Blake snorted. “Not a chance. I’m not stepping onto your land.”
“I’ll hear you out, and talk about what you are after,” Bateman said quietly, unlatching the gate. “But we’re not doing this out here. Not with the whole damn crew watching.”
They stood there, silent for a beat.
Then Blake nodded once. “Okay.” Short. Sharp. And Bateman knew—they were far from okay, but at least now, they weren’t running.
And maybe, just maybe, that was a start.
- Series:
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