A month and a half earlier

Johnathan "John" Price was no stranger to warzones.

His life was a cycle of operations, moving from one high-stakes mission to another, making life-or-death calls without hesitation. He'd faced insurgents, warlords, and mercenaries alike, scars—both visible and hidden—reminding him of every battle. But despite all that, there was one enemy John could never shake off.

One stubborn, loudmouthed Scotsman.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish.

The bloke was relentless, constantly pushing his buttons, and today was no exception. Soap had some madcap idea about "modernizing" his Captain's personal life, and apparently, he wasn't going to rest until he'd seen it through. So now, here they all were, in Kyle "Gaz" Garrick's apartment, which was more bachelor den than actual home.

John stood there, watching Soap spin around on a swivel chair with that damnable grin plastered across his face. Soap tapped away at his phone, far too pleased with himself.

"You did what?" His deep and raspy English tone was known, irritated. He was regretting not heading home after killing his free time with the sergeants.

Soap shot him a glance.

"Set up a SparkMatch fo' ya," he said casually in his deep Scots accent, all nonchalance, as if he'd done John a favor by going behind his back.

His fists tightened, his patience thinning by the second. Dressed in a plain gray t-shirt and dark cargo pants, he looked every bit the grizzled soldier he was, even without his signature bonnie or beanie hat. His hair, still bearing the imprint of his headgear, was a tousled mess.

"And you did this without askin' me?" he growled.

Soap didn't even blink. "Cap'n, you've been livin' like a hermit. It's time you get out and meet some cute lasses. Do you good, trust me."

"Why in fucking hell would I need this?" John shot back, voice icy.

The dim light of Gaz's apartment, coming from a floor lamp in the corner, cast long shadows across the room.

The place had the telltale signs of a young man who didn't stick around much—a few personal items here and there, stacks of magazines, half-empty energy drinks, and a gaming console strewn across the coffee table. It was cozy enough but unmistakably a bachelor pad.

Soap shrugged, still absorbed in his phone. He was dressed in dark jeans and a snug black t-shirt that stretched over his broad chest and shoulders.

"You've barely had a day off since... well, who knows? Shepherd finally gives us a break, and you're actin' like it's the end of the world. Might as well spend the time meetin' people, instead of shootin' targets."

John scoffed.

The idea of 'relaxing' by talking to random strangers on some app seemed stupid. He was a man who'd earned the right to be left alone—followed orders, gave orders, even stood up to the bloody brass when it came to that snake Shepherd. And here was Soap, acting like he knew what was best.

From across the room, Gaz sat sprawled on the worn leather sofa, legs kicked up and crossed at the ankles, nursing a beer. Dressed casually in a hoodie and sweats, he seemed to be enjoying the show.

"I'd listen to him," Gaz said casually, taking a slow drink. "You know Soap doesn't let up once he's got an idea."

Relentless was one word for it.

Bloody infuriating was more like it.

Soap flashed his phone screen in John's direction, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Look at this! You're gettin' matches, sir! Told you, you're a catch."

"Delete it," John said sternly, his stare icy. He refused to glance at the phone screen.

But Soap, grinning, dropped onto the couch beside Gaz, looking far too smug for his own good. "No can't do, Price. We're in this together."

John took a measured step forward, his eyes fixed on Soap. "I said, delete it, MacTavish."

Soap just laughed, leaping off the couch and darting around the kitchen counter, putting some distance between them.

"Tell you what," he said, voice full of cheek. "I'll delete it—if you message one lass. What's the harm?"

John growled more. His patience wore thin, and the tension rising in his shoulders as if he were about to walk into a firefight.

"Johnny," John began, his tone rumbled in his throat as a clear sign of annoyance. "I don't have time for this. Delete the damn app."

"It's not a game, Cap'n," Soap continued. "It's a chance for you to meet someone who's worth your time. Don't tell me you plan on livin' the rest of your life alone with just your cigars and bloody mission reports."

Gaz chuckled from the couch. "He's got a point, you know. No harm in seeing what's out there."

John shot Gaz a glare, and then to Soap.

"You're lucky Gaz is here, or I'd toss you out on your arse."

"Gaz would miss me too much, wouldn't you, mate?" Soap said, grinning when he glanced at Gaz.

"Aye," Gaz chuckled before taking another swig of his beer.

John shot him a withering glare. "You too, Kyle?"

"When's the last time you did something for yourself?" Gaz asked casually.

Taking a deep breath, John pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't want to deal with this, and John knew from experience that arguing with Soap was like arguing with a brick wall.

"I've done this before, you know," John said, his tone cutting through the room like a knife. "Dated. Chatted. Went through all the motions. And do you know what it got me? A waste of time."

Soap frowned, his grin faltering for the first time. "Come on, it can't have been that bad."

"Most of them didn't want me, Johnny," John gave him a flat look. "They wanted what I could give them. The rank. The paycheck. The fancy dinners and shit. But stickin' around for the hard days? None of them lasted long enough to prove it."

"Maybe those women weren't the right ones," Soap pointed back. "Doesn't mean you should write it all off. There's gotta be someone out there who sees you for who you are, Cap'n."

John shook his head, a dry chuckle escaping him. "You're an optimist, MacTavish."

"Someone's gotta balance you out," Soap said, grinning again. "You're broody enough for all of us. And besides, what're ya goin' to do for the rest of yo' life? Look after us like it's your full-time duty?"

"Lookin' after you two is a full-time duty." John retorted. He could already sense a headache creeping in.

Soap giggled and looked back at the phone as yet another notification buzzed.

"Oi, they're lovin' you! See? The lasses know a good catch when they see one."

"What the fuck did you do to make me a catch?" John asked incredulously.

Soap held up his phone, the screen flashing a series of notifications from SparkMatch.

"Couple of good pictures, some clever details, and voilà," he said, clearly proud of himself.

"What pictures?" His eyes narrowed.

Soap waggled his brows, tapping the screen smugly. "I dug deep into my collection. Got one of you lookin' all stoic during that mission in Qatar—y'now, the one where you had the sunrise behind you. Perfect lighting."

"You're tellin' me you've been hoardin' pictures of me?" John arched an eyebrow at him. And then, looked at Gaz, who was now doubled over with laughter, his beer close to spilling. "You let him do this?"

"I had no idea," Gaz said between laughs.

Soap shrugged, unbothered. "They're good pictures! Took 'em during downtime. You're not exactly a photogenic bloke on purpose, but trust me, I found your best angles. I got another one of you smokin' that cigar on the deck during leave. Classic rugged vibes, mate. And then there's one of you at that pub with Gaz and Gabby—you looked almost relaxed. Women love a man who can look both broody and approachable."

"Oh, fucking hell," John muttered, running a hand over his face, but his curiosity was starting to gnaw at him. "And what exactly did you write on this damn profile?"

"Simple," Soap said, scrolling down the profile like it was a masterpiece. "Strong, loyal, soldier. Love the outdoors, appreciates a good whiskey, and values commitment. Tossed in that you've got a soft spot for dogs."

John blinked. "Dogs? I don't have a dog."

"Everyone loves a dog guy," Soap said quickly. "The ladies eat that up."

John stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. "And you think this is going to make a difference?"

"Aye, I do." Soap said smugly. "Because you're stubborn as a damn mule to do it yourself, and you need a push. Plus, let's be honest, Cap'n Crunch—you're not gettin' any younger."

"That's rich, coming from you," John shot back.

"Age don't matter when you've got charm."

"Delete it," John repeated, his voice a dangerous calm.

"Not until we check out some of these lovely ladies," Soap said, unfazed. "Come on, what's the worst that could happen? You've saved the world more times than I can count—you can handle one date."

"We've been off-duty for a month, and this is what you lot came up with?" John grumbled.

Soap shrugged. "Or you could be out enjoyin' yourself. Just sayin'. You need a break from all the doom and gloom."

"Doom and gloom's what's kept us alive," John frowned.

Gaz set his beer down and he leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees while his back hunched as he glanced at John. "You don't ever take a break, boss. Could be good for you."

With a weary sigh, John sank onto the couch next to Gaz, rubbing his temples. "I swear, you two are driving me crazy."

Soap took the opening and dropped himself between John and Gaz, phone ready in hand.

"Come on, Cap'n. Swipe with me."

"You keep on with this cheek, and I'll have you swipin' full-time, MacTavish." John narrowed his eyes.

"Aye, no need for threats," Soap said, undeterred. "One message. That's all I'm askin'."

With a defeated exhale, John leaned back, glancing up at the ceiling.

Fuck, he thought, feeling more exhausted than after a battlefield. Should've just stayed in bed today.