Since Monica insisted on staying, Owen didn't push the issue. Instead, he found some tools in the storage room and helped her fix the front door.
It wasn't a difficult task for him. His father had passed away early, leaving only his mother and younger sister, so he had learned how to handle household repairs at a young age.
Once the door was fixed, Owen was hoping to linger a little longer with Monica, maybe enjoy some more alone time.
But Monica, with a teasing smile, pushed him toward the door.
"Not today. I need a proper shower—I haven't bathed in days."
She grinned as she shut the door behind him, giving him a playful wink and a little wave before disappearing inside.
Owen stood there, speechless. Seriously?
She had totally misunderstood his intentions—he hadn't been planning to go for a home run tonight. But now that she'd put the idea in his head… well, it was hard not to think about it.
Too bad his goddess had already issued the "get lost" order.
Resigned, he left.
This time, Owen didn't bother driving that old Ford. He ditched it somewhere discreet and hailed a taxi straight home.
He hadn't really felt it before, but the moment he got into the cab, the longing for home hit him hard.
After being on the run for so long, unable to visit his mother and sister, the thought of finally going back made his heart race.
As the cab slowly made its way through Los Angeles' streets, inching closer to the familiar neighborhood of Purple Forest Lane, Owen found himself growing more and more excited.
Finally, the taxi pulled up in front of his house.
Owen quickly paid the fare, got out, and practically sprinted toward the door.
"Hey, Owen! You're back!"
He turned around to see Mr. McCall, the elderly neighbor, sitting in his usual spot on the porch, reading a book.
"Hey, Mr. McCall! I'll drop by to chat later—I just got home!"
With a quick wave, Owen rushed to the door and unlocked it with his fingerprint.
"Mom! Amanda! I'm home!"
He called out excitedly, but the house was quiet. No response.
Only then did it hit him—his mother was probably still at work, and Amanda would still be in school.
In his excitement, he had completely forgotten.
Owen sighed, then wandered upstairs, checking every room.
The house was exactly as he had left it. Even his own room was spotless—clearly, his mother had continued cleaning it regularly.
Seeing everything untouched, safe and intact, filled him with relief.
With nothing else to do, he went back outside and headed toward McCall's house.
"Mr. McCall."
"They're not home yet, are they?"
"Nope. I forgot what time it was," Owen admitted, rubbing the back of his head.
"All taken care of?"
McCall's sharp eyes locked onto him. Owen knew he wasn't asking about his trip—he was asking about the Montel family.
"Yeah," Owen nodded. "It's done. No more trouble."
Saying those words felt incredibly light. Ever since he'd gotten tangled with the Montels, his biggest fear had been for his family's safety. He had even sought help from the mysterious McCall.
And McCall had been a great help—not only agreeing to keep an eye on them but also giving Owen that karambit knife and training videos. That knife was still on him now.
They chatted a bit longer as the sun set, then Owen excused himself and went back home.
He considered cooking a big meal to surprise his mom and sister.
But before he could even start, exhaustion hit him like a freight train.
He hadn't had a proper night's sleep in weeks.
From the moment they planned Monica's rescue, to executing it, to the constant tension in Colombia, his body had been running on adrenaline.
Even after rescuing Monica, the cargo hold had been hot and noisy—hardly a place to rest.
Now that he was home, with nothing to worry about, the fatigue crashed over him all at once.
Within minutes, his eyelids grew heavy.
Forget cooking.
Dragging himself upstairs, he collapsed onto his bed and passed out immediately.
"Damn… my own bed really is the best…"
He had no idea how long he slept before a sudden shriek jolted him awake.
"AHH! Steve?! What the hell?! You scared me to death!"
Groggy, Owen blinked his eyes open.
Standing in the doorway were Amanda and his mother, both clutching Ruger LC9s.
Clearly, they had returned home, noticed signs that someone had entered, and assumed the worst.
"Amanda, this is a terrible way to greet me," Owen grumbled, still lying in bed.
His sister, always the troublemaker, smirked.
"Well, well, look at what we have here! I caught an intruder in the act! Hands up, or I'll shoot!"
She playfully brandished her pistol, making a show of it but keeping the muzzle well away from him.
Owen decided to play along.
He obediently raised his hands, grinning.
"Please don't shoot, Officer Amanda! I was just informed that a certain Amanda's old socks are selling for big money on Amazon. I came to check if the rumors were true."
"WHAT?!"
Amanda shrieked, instantly leaping onto the bed to wrestle him.
"You asshole! How dare you say my feet stink?!"
Laughter erupted as they rolled around, play-fighting like they always did.
Their mother simply stood by, watching with a gentle smile.
For a parent, moments like these—seeing her children safe and happy—were the greatest joy in life.
After a few minutes, when they were both out of breath from playfully attacking each other, their mother finally spoke up.
"Steve, weren't you afraid of putting us in danger? You said you wouldn't come home. So why now? Does that mean everything's resolved?"
Leave it to a mother's intuition—she had already pieced things together.
Owen nodded.
"Yeah, Mom. It's over."
"Oh, that's wonderful. So that means… Steve, you're home for good now?"
Amanda cheered, rolling happily on the bed.
But Owen hesitated, scratching his cheek.
"Actually… sorry, Mom, Amanda. I'm moving out."
"Why?"
"Yeah, Steve! Why? There's nothing wrong with you living here!"
Just as he expected, his mother and sister were both surprised.
Owen sighed and tried to explain.
"It's mostly for safety reasons. Besides… I'm not a kid anymore. But don't worry, I'll visit all the time."
That was part of the truth.
The other part?
Monica.
Her reaction today had reminded him—he had a girlfriend now.
There was no need to say it out loud, but deep down, they had already accepted each other as partners.
And relationships came with certain… intimate moments.
What was he going to do, bring Monica here?
Go to a hotel every time?
Move in with her?
None of those options felt quite right. It was time to have his own space.
Amanda pouted, clearly unhappy.
But their mother, sharp as always, seemed to understand.
She didn't press the issue.
That was a relief—Owen had been worried they'd argue about it.
If they had, his love life might have taken a serious hit.
That night's dinner was nothing short of a feast.
The family was back together—what could be more important than that?
As was tradition, a special occasion called for a big meal.
His mother prepared several of his favorite dishes, and they ate to their hearts' content, warmth and laughter filling the house.
Owen didn't tell them the full details of his past few weeks.
No bloody gunfights, no high-risk missions.
He simply said the Pentagon had stepped in, and the Montel family was gone.
There was no need to let them worry about what really happened.
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